t t t t t a i THE AND PEOPLE'S PENNY t t t i e POLICE GAZETTE. No. 58. LONDON:— SUNDAY, MAY 9, 1841. ffolitt. B O W S T R E E T. The following case, which is a sort of parody upon the principal incidents in the Merchant of Venice, came on before the magistrate :— A Frenchman, named Marchand, who was stated to be a commission agent, was' summoned before the magistrate by his countryman, Monsieur Jaques Octrois, eating- house keeper. The complainant said, in very indifferent English, that the defendant had, some time ago, incurred a debt of fourteen shillings for cooked victuals and drink, and that he treated all applications for the amount with the most annoying contempt. MAGISTRATE.— 1 am sorry to hear it, but I can't interfere. It is a mere debt, and yon must summon him to the Court of Requests. DEFENDANT.— Ah, ah, sare, it is a debt, sare, and dat will pay dc all of it, ( throwing a printed paper on the table, and looking about exultingly.) MAGISTRATE.—' This paper is Mr. Marchand's discharge under the Insolvent Act. ( A laugh.) MAGISTRATE,— This is your answer to the demand, is it ? DEFENDANT ( putting his arms akimbo). Ah, ha, yes, sare, dat is my ansare ; dat is all de money 1 give him. MAGISTRATE.— It is very dishonest in you not to pay, for you seem to be well able to do so, and he is a very jjpor man. DEFENDANT ( grinning).— Ah, ha, put you eye dere, ( pushing the paper towards tbe magistrate) : read — read— you vill see de money vas paid by that paper. MAGISTRARE.— 1 see that you have passed through the Insolvent Court, since you ran in the poor fellow's debt. DEFENDANT ( laughing heartily).— Oui, oui'. Ah, I did eat and drink before dat paper come to me; but, my lor, dat paper pay all my debts ; I don't owe noting — noting at all. MAGISTRATE ( to the complainant).— Well, my poor man, 1 am sorry I cannot prevail upon him to pay you. He is a very bad fellow indeed. DEFENDANT.— AH, my lor, | your lorsliip act veil, vera veil. You can't make u me pay my debt no more; no, no, I no pay noting more, " sare." MAGISTRATE.— I wish I could compel you. DEFENDANT.— Ah, sare, you are de just man— you know de law, ( taking his discharge, and clapping it into his pocket). It is good law, sare— vera good law. ( Laughter.) The complainant, in language scarcely intelligible, regretted his loss to tbe magistrate, especially as the defendant had strnck him a violent blow when he pressed his demand. MAGISTRATE.— What 1 Did he blacken your left eye in that manner with his fist ? COMPLAINANT.— Oui, milor. He did strike vera much. He push his fist in my left eye, and it knock de fire out, and de black in. DEFENDANT.— Ah, because he talk big words. He come in my house, and he say, " A h , ha! you pay we fourteen shilleen vat you owe." MAGISTRATE.— And then you struck him ? • - DEFENDANT ( closing his hst, and striking the table.) Den I push him in de left eye. ( Laughter.) MAGISTRATF..— Then you shall have the full measure of justice. Come, if you don't immediately pay this poor man his fourteen shillings, and the expenses incurred, I shall fine you three times tbe amount for the blow. ( A general burst of laughter.) DEFENDANT.— Vot you say, sare? ( pulling out his discharge again). 1 von't pay no fourteen shilleen, Lonk dere. Dat is dc law. MAGISTRATE.— I don't care a pin about that noiv. If you refuse to discharge this old bill of l'oui teen shillings, [ shall positively fine you forty shillings and expenses; and, i f you won't pay ihe fine, you shall warm your shins on the treadmill for a fortnight. Come, which will you have ? COMPLAINANT.— Milor, he can pay de fourteen shilleen, and he can varm his shin too. ( Laughter.) DEFENDANT ( with an altered expression of countenance),— Vat is varm de shin on de treadmill ? COMPLAINANT.— It is ven you come up de step, de step come down to you. ( Laughter.) MAGISTRATE.— 1 shall decide immediately— what do you say ? DEFENDANT.— Veil, 1 sail talk vid my good friend, Monsieur Detrois. MAGISTRATE.— No, no. Which will you pay, fourteen, or forty shillings ? DEFENDANT ( with a very long face).— Four shilleen 1 Veil, I vill pay de four shilleen. MAGISTRATE.— If you don't pay fsurtccn this instant, you shall be fined forty. DEFENDANT ( pulling out his discharge).— Vont you let de law pay it ? MAGISTRATE— No, there is no law in that now. DEFENDANT ( throwing down a sovereign).— Veil, veil, sare, dare is de money ; give me de change. MAGISTRATE Let the poor man be paid his fourteen shillings, and four shillings for his expenses. Monsieur Detrois, have you blackened the eyes of any more of your creditors ? DEFENDANT.— No, sare. I pay dem vid dc law ; I pay no more vid black eyes. ( Great laughter.)— The de fendant himself went away laughing. Vol. a F O U L M U R D E R . BARBAROUS MURDER OF MRS. WEBSTER, HER SISTER, AND THREE CHILDREN. We learn that a most brutal murder, attended with circumstances shockingly aggravating, was committed last Sunday evening, at a place known as Kimball's grocery, on Big creek, Lincoln county. The murdered man was named Henderson, and the murderer Foster. It seems, that a week before the murder, the parties had some difference, the nature of which we have not learned. On the evening above- mentioned, Henderson, who was at home with his wife and family, was requested by a person to walk over to the grocery. Henderson accordingly left home, taking with him two small children— his sons. As he approached the grocery, Foster, who had just come out of it, met him in tbe yard, and solar as we learn, without any words whatever, immediately set upon him with a large hunting knife, and, in a lew minutes, inflicted no less than eleven wounds upon his body, many of which were mortal, and pro duced almost instant death. There were several persons witnesses of the scene besides the two children. They say, they were not aware of what was going forward— but the children say, that their father was conevery time it was drawn from their father's body, the children, one of whom was ten years old, it v scene of agony and horror, beyond the power of language to describe. After the murder, Foster was in and out of the grocery several times. Tbe body lay in the yard — not being received into the house until next day— and was there watched by one or two of the bystanders, who were moved by tbe piteous spectaelc of the weeping children, and who kept oil" the dogs and hogs, that were ready to fasten upon the corpse. Next day, some persons, at a distance, hearing of the affair, repaired to the scene of the niuider, and took care to have the body buried. Henderson has left a wife and four small children. Foster has not, that we learn, been yet apprehended. The author of this atrocious crime, John Webster, is a native of Boston, and by profession a carpenter. He has always borne the character of a steady, industrious man, and an excellent husband. His wife, the unfortunate victim of his dreadful crime, was born in London, but lier parents emigrating some few years since to the United States, settled there in business. She had been married to Webster fourteen years, and borne liim seven children, four of whom are still living. She was a remarkably handsome woman, but the levity of her conduct had often been the subject of animadversion among her neighbours. Her husband, too, hacl often noticed it; but such was his opinion of liis hapless and ill- fated partner's integrity, that he discarded all idea of anything wrong from his mind. At length, however, circumstances took place, which drew his attention towards one of his fellow- workmen, v\ ith whom he had been particularly intimate, and frequently invited to his house. He watched his conduct narrowly for some time, and, at length, his suspicions were confirmed, by seeing him and his wife at the theatre together, she having told him that she had gone on a visit to her sister for two or three days. He watched them out, and saw them enter a house together. What corroborated his suspicions was, that Wilson, the seducer of his wife, stayed away from his employment during the time that his wife was absent, and returned to it exactly at the same time that his wife came home. Stung with feelings of the . most ungovernable jealously, according to his own confession, on the day of the murder, he drank until he was in a state little short of madness, and hastening home, he seized upon a hatchet, which he found in the yard, and entered the parlour, in which his wife, her sister, and three children were seated. Giving utterance to some threatening expression, he aimed a blow at his wife, which missed her, and descended on the head of her sister, who was killed upon the spot. The unfortunate wife sunk upon her knees, and screamed aloud for mercy; but the words had scarcely escaped her lips, ere her husband raised the deadly weapon, and with repeated blows dispatched her and three of the children. Human nature shudders to dwell upon the appalling subject. Since Webster's conviction his conduct has been most exemplary ; lie admits the justice of his sentence, and expresses the utmost horror at the dreadful crimes he has perpetrated; he only regrets that the seducer did not meet with the untimely end, instead of the two unfortunate women and children. F A N C Y P O R T R A I T S. A pair of fancy portraits these— Such as no one could ever fancy ; It can't be said that they're bewitching, Therefore not skilled in necromancy. Had Hogarth lived, how well would he Their phisiognomies have sketcli'd ! " Sure such a pair were never s e e n "— At least they never could be match'd. A P O L I T E S E A - R O B B E R. We often read of extteniely polite and gentlemanly highwaymen, who rob with such marvellous courtesy, that a man can hardly feel it in his heart to withhold his purse, or aught of goods and chatties, that he may chance to have about hiin. But it is quite otherwise with your sea- robbers, alias pirates, who are represented as a most brutal and unfeeling set, who have not the least dash of politeness about them, to redeem their characters from unmitigated odium. Such being their general reputation, it is with no slight feeling of relief, that we read the account of so polished and courteous a villain, as the one described below. It is extracted from the " Adveutures of a Wanderer." He had shipped at New Orleans, on board the Governor Griswold, bound to Havannah and Liverpool, as steward. We got, ( says lie), under weigh, and proceeded down the river, until we came to a place callsd the English Turn, when a boat, manned by twelve or fourteen men, came off from the shore, and when they had arrived within hail, they called to us, and asked if we wanted a pilot. The captain answered " N o w h e r e u p o n , the man in the stern of the boat, ordered one of the men to throw lnm a rope. The rope was handed him, and it being made fast to the boat, he came alongside. He ascended the ladder, and came on board with all his men, excepting four, who remained in the boat. The captain of the desperadoes was a tall man, dark complexioned, and terrible in aspect. His eyes were black and piercing, his nose slightly Roman, and he wore a huge pair of sable mustachoes. His men were a ferocious- looking band, hardy, and sun burnt. He saluted tbe captain in a courteous manner, and was profuse in compliments. His men, who wore long, red Indian stockings, red caps, and were armed with pistols and knives, sauntered carelessly about the deck. The pirate captain asked our captain where he was bound; he answered correctly, " t o Liverpool, via Havaiinah." Our captain then cut short the interrogation of the pirate, by saying, " I know yonr business." The pirate then turned to our crew, and asked them what sort of usage they had received since they left Europe. " Tolerable," they replied, " but very little grog." The pirate then called for the steivard. I made my appearance. " Have you plenty of grog on board?" inquired he. 1 replied in the affirmative. " Fill up that bucket," said he, " and carry it down the forecastle, for the men to drink." I took up the. bucket at which lie pointed, carried it into the cabin, and filled it with liquor. 1 then took it forward to the forecastle, where the men received it, and conveyed it below. As soon as the crew had got below, and were assembled around the bucket, tbe pirate placed two of his men upon the scuttle to prevent any of the crew from coming on deck, while be, with two of his gang, stuck close to the captain and mate. " Now, steward," said the pirate, " go down and invite all your passengers to come on deck." 1 did as. I was ordered. Our passengers were a lady and two small children, and a gentleman who had been engaged in teaching a school in New Orleans; but, having received a letter, purporting that the death of a near relation had left him heir to a large fortune, had embarked for his home, which was London. These persons came on deck. The lady was much frightened, but the pirate told her to be under 110 apprehension, and soothed her with language which would not bave disgraced tbe court of Great Britain. The pirate now gave orders to bring up the gentleman's trunk. The trunk was laid at his feet. " Now," said he, " bring up the captain and mate's property." They also were produced. He ' which S T R I K I N G F O R A N A D V A N C E. Poor Assiatic animal, At thee the shafts of scorn are hurled; Unlike the ambitious human race, You won't get forward in the world. And like the discontented hind, Who his condition would enhance, Thy master here, we plainly find, Is striking loo for an advance ! " A v a s t ! avast 1 there, that's enough, I'd sooner fa the battery of ninety- eight, than stem the torrent ° f female eloquence!" He then ordered some brandy for himself and his men. The liquor was brought; I poured out a glass full for him, when he said, " Stop ! captain, jnst be so good as to drink this off yourself; after you is manners, i don't know what you Yankee inventors may have pot into this liquor. You may have thrown an onyx in the cup. The captain drauk it off readily. The pirate eyed the captain closely for a few moments, and then said to his followers, " Come, my boys; vwe may venture," and the decanter was soon drained of its contents. The pirate then pointed to the main. top, and requested the captain to take a walk up that way. " And yon, Mr. Mate," said he, " begin to travel up the fore- rigeing. But, mind!" said he, " s t o p when 1 tell yon !" The captain and mate had proceeded half- way up the lower rigging, when lie summoned them to halt. The captain was about steppiug upon the next rattling, when the pirate again hailed h i m — " I f you stir an inch backward or forward," said he, '* yon will come down faster than you went up." The captain looked down and saw several pistols levelled at him, ready to be discharged on the instant. He then remained stationary. Then the pirate taking off his cap, addressed the passengers, he told them he was once poor himself, and, therefore, knew how to sympathize with persons in distress. He hoped they would be grateful for the lenity which he had shown them, and, then wishing them a pleasant voyage, he stepped over the side into his boat, and was soon lost to our view beneath the foliage of the thick underwood which lined the shore, and hung over the green wave. D U E L L I N G A N E C D O T E. The following anecdote, derived from a most authentic source, is highly illustrative of the sang froid, and determination which characterised the French officers of the old school about the time of the first Revolution. The Comte de B , a colonel in the line, distinguished for his gallantry in the field, as well as for the length of his service, was ordered to Martinique, with his regiment, in Ihe year 179—. At that period the rage for duelling was every where prevalent, but in no place more so than in the West India Islands, where the civilian as well as tho military man alike endeavoured to establish his reputation by the questionable test of " an a f f a i r . " Among the officers quartered in the garrison of St. Pierre, was one, a Capt G , whose sole delight consisted in fighting or fomenting duels, and who measured every man's character by the number which he had fought. He was a man of brusque manners and arrogant bearing, but of undoubted though misapplied courage. It happened one day that conversing with the Comte de B , ; the subject of duelling came on the tapis, when the Colonel observed, that although he had seen much and various service, it had never been his chancc to be engaged in a single affair. I he words appeared to act like wildfire on the mind of his inflammable companion. " What!" he exclaimed, " What — Yon have never had a cause for quarrel ? " " Never," replied the Colonel calmly. " Eh bien done," cried Capt G , " voila u u e ! " ( well then, here is one for you,) and raising his hand, while his eyes gleamed with ferocious pleasure, he struck M. de B — a violent blow on his cheek. The latter eyed him for a moment — nor attempted to return the blow— then pointed significantly to his sword, he left the spot. The consequence was inevitable. The preliminaries were arranged, and the same evening the parties met. It was decided to fight with small swords— indeed, duelling with pistols was rarely, if ever, practiced in the French service. The Comte B came on ( he ground, wearing on his cheek a large patch of black taffets, as if to conceal the place where he had received the injurious blow. They were both expert swordsmen, but the Colonel, though no duelist, was a perfect master of his weapon. His antagonist was soon at bis mercy, but he contented himself with inflicting a severe wound in his sword arm, and having disabled him for the lime, he took out a pair of scissors from his pocket and clipping off a corner of the patch, very coolly observed, " C'est unpeu mituxP" ( It is a little better.) As soon as Capt G — — recovered from his wound he received a second message from M. de B , and a second meeting was the consequence, attended fcy a similar result. Again they met and again, and on every occasion, the Colonel wounded his adversary, and clipped ott'Ja corner from the taffeta on his cheek, accompanying the act with the same observation. For the fifth time the Comte de B invited his enemy lo the field, and with a stern determination, equal to the perseverance which dogged him, Capt G obeyed the summons. Their swords crossed agaia, but the Colonel's aspect was changed. After a few passes he saw his advantage, availed himself of it in a moment, and in the next his sword had pierced Capt G ' s heart, who fell dead to the ground. The Colonel sheathed hii weapon, turned round to his friend and pulled off the remainder of the patch. Then glancing at the dead body at his feet, he quietly observed, " Maintenant c'est gueri." ( And now it is quite cured.) Then turning to the passenger—" You," said he, " I will treat fairly ! You will want," continued the pirate, " w h e n you arrive in Liverpool, two dollars to pay the porter for carrying your trunk;" he laid down the money ; ' ' your passage to London will cost you £ 2 10s.;" lie counted it out, and placed it with the two dollars ; " your dinner will coine to five shillings, and you may want £ 2 more to treat some of your friends ; " he laid down the money with the rest; " a n d , for fear that will not be sufficient, here are twenty five dollars more." He presented the amount of these several items to the passenger, gave the remainder to one of his gang, and told him to pass it into the boat. He then very courteonsly asked the time of day. The captain pulled out a fine watch, and answered that it was half- past three. " Your watch takes my fanay mightily," said the pirate, and taking it from the captain, he put it into his fob with then proceeded to overhaul the captain's trunk, - great nonchalance, and walked away to the forecastle, hich contained " no great shakes." | Come up here, two of you, who are sober," said he. " Captain, you have a very poor k i t ! " said he, with a i f, yo of thein stumbled up, and the rest, eame reeling scornful smile. ifter. The pirate then exatniHed the passenger's trunk. It j " Go down into the cabin, and bring me np all tbe contained about four hundred and forty dollars in specie, j small arms you can find," said the pirate. The two first In rummaging the trunk, the pirate fell in with the letter j sailors went down, aud soon returned with an old fovvl- — " « - « - - « * - . - piece, and a pair of pistols. ' Now," said he, turning to the sailors, " i f any of . i, boys, wish to change your situation for better pay, • il a shorter passage, I will give you a chance ; for rent am after, and rent I'll have ! But, stop!" cried he, i s v I had almost forgotten ; conic here, madain, Jnc hear a little of your worldly concerns." She immediately commenced an eloquent harangue, accomp ied with tears. She had gone on for some time, in i. manner, when the pirate immediately cried, containing the information in respect to the. fortune wh; had been left the passenger. This letter the pirate rea and giving a significant glance at the fortunate man, 1 y whose direction it bore, folded it up carefully, aud laid it j a down. He then turned to the captain, and asked him if the man had paid bis passage. " No," answered the captain. " How much docs his p'astitge cost ?" inquired the pirate. " Two hundred and twenty dollars," replied the captain. " That you must lose," said the pirate. SPANISH CEREMONY.— I c a l l e d o n e m o r n i n g o u a h i gh dignitary of the church, and, ascending a magnificent staircase, passed through a long suite of rooms to the apartments in which the reverend ecclesiastic was sealed. Having concluded my visit, I bowed, and departed ; but turned, according to the invariable custom of the country, when I reached the door, and made another salutation. My host was slowly following me, and returned my inclination by one equally profound; when I arrived at the door o f t h e second apartment, he was occupying the place I had just left on the second; the same civilities were then renewed, and these polite, reciprocations were continued till I had traversed the Whole suite of apartments. At the banisters, I made a low bow, and, as I supposed, a final salutation ; but no: when I had reached the first landing- place, he was at the top of the stairs; when I stood on the second landing- place, he had desceuded to the first; and, upon each and all of these occasions, our heads wagged with increased humility. Our journey to the foot of the stairs was at length completed. 1 had now to pass through a long hall, divided by columns, to the front door, at which my carriaee was standing. Whenever I reached one of these pillars, I turned and found his eminence waiting for the expected bow, which he immediately returned, continually progressing, and managing bis paces so as to go through his share of the ceremony on the precise spot which had witnessed my last inclination. As 1 approached the hall- door, our mutual salutations were no longer occasional, but absolutely perpetual ; and ever and anon they still con tinned, after I liad entered my carriage, as the bishop stood with uncovered head till it was driven away. ROYAL S E N S I B I L I T Y . — T h e f o l l o w i n g is a n e x a m p l e of the bard- hearted levity with which weak princes desert tbeir dominions:— Louis III. took out his watch when be guessed that the axe was on the neck of his favourite Cinq Mars', and said, " My dear friend must now make a sad figure!" THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE.' THE DEATH GHASP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE ! < yAN ORIGINAL ROMANCE OF STARTLING INTEREST.) rfritten expressly for " The Penny Sunday l imes," BY THE AUTHOR OP " EI. A, TUB OUTCAST," " dUNA,',' " KRNNEST1NB DE LACY," KrC. ( Continued from ou: << Hy T She no sooner looked at the superscription than Laurette knew it to be in the hand writing of Adolphe, and involuntarily she pressed it to her lips, and, iu spite of the injunctions of her father, she felt that, whatever might happen, let him be in ever such adversity, or even disgrace, nothing c- - aid have the power to estrange her affections from him. But to forget him!— The idea was not only preposterous, but, her heart convinced her, impractiaabk . and, indeed, much as she was anxious that she should not swerve from the duty she owed to her fatbe, > nd in spite of all the conflicting ideas that had pr haunted her imagination, she felt assured that cv j sooner sacrifice life even, than she could cease • jeinber Adolphe with the most unbounded affection, jiie opened the epistle which had been forwarded to ler by her lover, and in trembling haste perused the contents. It was couched in the most affectionate aud impressive terms, of which, in fact, Adolphe was a complete master; and after assuring her of the deep horror and anguish he felt, at the melancholy and lamentable fate ot his friend Eugene, he, iu the most ardent manner, implored her not to forget tlie vows she had pledged to him, and the promise she had made him to become his bride. He urged her to meet him on tiie following day, at their former place of assignation, when lie would have all the arrangements made for their union, and lie had not the least doubt that, notwithstanding the strong opposition her father had ever made to his advances towards her, nay more, to her friendship, or the prejudice he had most unaccountably imbibed against him, he would soon grant them his forgiveness, and not only that, but would be inclined to receive him with all the affection of a parent. Time after time did Laurette peruse these lines, and, although she too well remembered the aversion her father had, from the first moment he became acquainted with his name, evinced towards Adolphe, she, knowing the former's natural kind and liberal disposition, would, when he found that her affections were irrevocably fixed upon Adolphe, pardon them for the step they had taken, and receive the latter as his son- in- law, at iengtli resolved at all hazards to meet him, and to fulfil the promise she had previously made him. Accordingly, she returned Adolphe an answer to that effect, and agreed to meet hiin on the following day. This letter she delivered to Fanchette, who had informed her, that the confidential valet of Adoiphe, who had brought the billet doux to her, was waiting at a short distance from the chateau. Having done this, lier mind was deeply harassed by doubt, suspense, and agitation; and atone moment she blamed herself for having done so, imagining that she had acted wrong, aud at another she commended herself for the resolution, considering that it was a return no more than was justly due to the fidelity and affection of Adoluhe, whom her father most unreasonably and unjustly opposed, without giving her any motive lor so doing. Sometimes, indeed, a pang shot through her heart, and she remained in a state of uncertainty as to in which manner she should a c t ; she was doatingly attached to her father, and to do anything which might cause his breasta single pang, her heart recoiled from with horror; but yet, after weighing maturely every circumstance, she could not perceive any reason why that parent should seek to make her happiness the sacrifice to his caprices. This was a most wretched day to our heroine, and there were times when she was half inclined to alter the resolution she had formed, to return a positive refusal to comply with his wishes in a clandestine manner, aud, confessing to the marquess, her father, her love for the former, implore his asseut to their addresses. But then, the strange aud unalterable aversion which her father seemed to have to her lover, and the utter hopelessness of her ever being able to persuade him to yield to their wishes, made her shrink from such a step, and she ultimately came to the determination to act as her affections prompted her. From a feeling which she found it impossible to vanquish, she avoided the presence of the marquess as much as possible that day, and under a plea ot indisposition, retired at an early hour to her chamber, but not to rest; no, her mind was too much perplexed with the various ideas that crowded upon it, to suffer her to do that, and " he recalled the various actions of Adolphe to her memory, to see it there was anything which could give her cause to justify the prejudice which her father had imbibed towards him, but in vain. He appeared to her a being every wav worthy of tbe affection she had placed upon him, and could not for an instant doubt but that in the present instance, which would seal tlieir fates, he would act with that strict honour and integrity that appeared to be tbe characteristics of his character. Then the solemn an'' ambiguous behaviour of tbe marquess in the chamber which was deposited the portrait of her mother, rece to her memory, aud as she remembered every line; - of that angelic countenance, which was so ably rep, seuted on the canvas, her bosom swelled with a feeing that was altogether new to her. " Spirit of my sainted mother," she piously ejaculated, raising her eyes towards heaven, and claspi is her hands fervently, " look down upon thy poor child, and instruct her liovv to a c t ; if she is about to take a wrong step, oh, in pity to her, assure her by some token of the same, so that she may avoid the error, aud continue in the same path of rectitude and honour, it has ever been her study and earnest wish to pursue." She arose from her knee-, and .1.3 she did so, a sweet mid heavenly strain of music seemed to fill the apartment, . 1 Wetted her --- til iti rapture, and having gradually • 1! away, all b e , ae wrapped in the same silenceashad before prevailed Laurette glanct id the room, half fearfully, and half anxiously, expecting to see the sainted object of her invocation ; but nothing whatever met her gaze, and after a pause of a short interval, she ejaculated:—" Those sounds seem to betoken that heaven approves of the choice me heart has fixed upon, and 1 will follow the bent of my inclination ; yes, dearest Adolphe, I am thine, irrevocably thine— nor do I think that I shall ever have cause to repent of the choice my heart has made." As she uttered these woids, a deadly chill, which she vain tried to conquer, fell upon her heart, and she uld almost have sworn that a deep groan, as if of some • jersnti to excruciating agony, smote her ear. Again she cast her timid glances around the chamber, and as she did so, fancy pictured to her the shadowy form of some dark object, which seemed to flit with the speed of thought past the farther and dark side of the room, and immediately vanished ; and such was the terror this occasioned her, that she found it utterly impossible to repress a scream. But yiickiy afterwards she cliided herself for what she cottsidi red to be nothing less than childish weakness, am1 ';<> inic; r her lamp, as she did not feel inclined for repose, she took up a book, which she had been perusing a day or two previous, and eudeavonred to divert her thoughts Vom the subject which at that time engrossed them, by reading its contents. This, however, .-• lie found to be a useless ta li, and she soou threw it aside, and again her miriii wandered to Adolphe, and the promise she had made him; - solemn injunctions of her father, and the portrait r mother, which the marquess had shown to her, ai: lo: what reason she could not conceive, he kept co. : cd in such a mysterious manner from the - ght. T „ i< he had met with , ome early sorrow, she could tot for a moment hesitate ia coming to a conclnv. it cut what was use nature of that sorrow, she w? entirely . t a loss to conceive. And then again, as this thought . iossed her mind, she paused and hesitated at the step she had resolved to take; would not her opposition to liis wishes add to tbat grief, aud might she not thus be the means of rendering his declining year* truly miserable ? But, no, no ; that was npossible!— A union with a man of the amiable character which she firmly believed Adolphe to be, could ouly be productive of every happiness, and assuredly could ot occasion him any additional cause of sorrow. At length wearied with thought, and sleep descending heavily upon her eyelids, she retired to bed, and quickly sunk to rest. She arose at an early hour in the morning, ,! id descended to the breakfast room. The marquess had lot yet left his chamber, and, as the morning was fine, lie walked from the house into the garden at the back of the chateau. The beauteous flowers, just opening their Ikeu bosoms, breathed their odoriferous perfume upon the air, and came refreshing to the senses of oar heroine. Often here had she met, Adolphe, aud when her father was ? m home, they had given utterance to those vows that had gained such ascendency in their bosoms, l'erhaps ere long she would have to bid adieu to this spot for ever, and her father might not suffer her to enter again into | his presence. But no; she could not believe that her ' father could ever come to the resolution to discard that | child towards whom he had always evinced an affection approaching to adoration. Never could he view with any other sentiment than that of love, his fond, his affectionate Laurette. She viewed the different plants with which the garden abounded with an irresistible feeling of melancholy. They had most of them been reared by the hand of her father, and everyone of them recalled to her memory some tender reminiscence counected with him. Perhaps, erelong, she might not be suffered to contemplate them, and the heart of he who had reared them might become withered by care. It had been arranged between Laurette and Adolphe, tbat after they had plighted their vows at the hymeneal altar, Laurette should return to the chateau, and seize the first favourable opportunity that presented itself to disclose to him the secret, and solicit his forgiveness ; but much as she trembled at the idea of being separated from her parent, Laurette almost repented having made such an agreement, doubting much whether she should be competent to the task, and shrinking from the idea of meeting the gaze of her father, after having been thus guilty of her fiist act of disobedience towards him. Never, she felt convinced, could she so act the hypocrite, as net to betray hersell immediately; aud she was in a state of torture and uncertainty ill which way to act. After wanderiug in the garden for more than an hour, she returned into the house, and then found her father awaiting her presence at the breakfast table. He arose on her entrance, and embraced her with even more than his usual affection, and then leading her to a seat, lie observed, in a voice of tenderness,— " Thou hast risen early, iny Laurette, and lookest pale; hast thou had a bad night's rest, or art thou ill, my dear child?" " I have not slept well, dear father," replied onr heroine, in a voice of tremulous emotion, " and when I did, dreams—" " Dreams!" interrupted the Marquess, with a faint smile; " oh, they are but the mere idle chimeras created by fancy to tantalize us in our sleeping moments, and deserve not a serious thought; for instance, my Laurette, I myself did dream last night, that thou wert disobedient to me ;— that thou haslst disgraced thy fond father's name, and fled thy paternal roof, to throw thyself into the arms of a villain ; thus, then, have I not unquestionable cause to treat dreams with contempt and incredulity ; for I know that my fond, my gentle Laurette, could sooner suffer an awful death, than deceive her doating old father, or wilfully give him cause for a single pang.— But, Heavens! my child 1— Why do you turn so ghastly pale ?— you tremble 1— What ails thee ?" A deadly sickness had come over Laurette as the Marquess made use of the observation we have mentioned, and it was with difficulty she could prevent herself from sinking on the floor. In vain she tried to speak for a few seconds;— her tongue clave to the palate of her mouth, and as a sensation of indescribable anguish shot thiough her brain, she almost resolved at once to acknowledge her sentiments for Adolphe, and confess the plot they had formed,— but fear restrained her. " What is the matter, my beloved Laurette i " repeated her father with increased emotion ; " why do you not answer me r the holy rites had been solemnized, but at length, fearful that her father might return before she did, and be alarmed at her absence, especially after the melancholy condition in which he had left her in the morning, Laurette tore herself reluctantly from his embraces, having fixed upon a spot in which they might daily meet, until she could find a fitting opportunity to make known to the Marquess their secret marriage, and implore his forgiveness. She found on reaching the chateau that hsr father had not yet returned, a circumstance for which she was grateful, as it would g i v e her some little time to endeavour to regain her composure, so that she might meet him, without giving him any cause to excite his suspicions. This, however, she fouud to be no easy task, and it was not without the most powerful and painful struggle with her feelings, that she was enabled ia any way to accomplish it. At last, however, she did partially succeed and shortly afterwards, she heard her father's well known knock at the door. And now, again, a deadly faintness came over her ; her limbs trembled, and the courage she had previously acquired, almost en tirely forsook her. How could she meet that parent whose injunctions she liad so recently violated ; whose peace of mind she had, perhaps, destroyed for ever? Hearing his voice upon the stairs, however, she made a desperate effort, and with a forced calmness, hastened forth to meet him. The Marquess embraced his beauteous daughter with the most ardent affection ; then suddenly withdrawing himself from her arms, he gazed at her intensely for a few seconds, in silence, shook his head, aud observed,— " Still pale,— very pale, my child, and trembling;— " sometliing'I am convinced, has happened to move thee thus!— Come, come," Laurette, thou hast, I believe, never hitherto had a thought which thou wouldst wish to conceal from thy fond father i do not, therefore, now, my child, seek to deceive me." " Deceive thee, father," gasped forth Laurette, hanging her head, and the words almost choked her. Forgive me, Laurette," said the Marquess; " my expression may have been too harsh; but— but— what strange, what unaccountable feeling is this which comes over me, and which I find it impossible to conquer ?— Follow me, Laurette— follow me." Laurette looked at her father a moment, in trembling astonishment; he motioned her solemnly to follow him , and, shuddering with doubt and apprehension, she obeyed in silence. The Marquess led the way to the chamber, in which was the portrait of her mother; and having closed the door, he laid his hand upon the arm of our heroine with an expressive gesture, and thus addressed h e r :— ( To be continued.) ERNNESTINE DE LACY ! OR, T H E R O B B E R ' S F O U N D L I N G. [ A N ORIGINAL ROMANCE, W R I T T E N EXPRESSLY FOR " I K E PENNY SUNDAY T I M E S , " BV THE POPULAR AUTHOR O* " ELA, THE OUTCAST," " A N G E L I N A ," " G A L L A N T TOM," " T A L E S ANO LEGENOS OF OTHER D A Y S , " & C. & C .] ( Gontinued from our last.) TO CORRESPONDENTS. It is nothing, father," said our heroine, in an agitated tone ; " a sudden faintness came over me ; but it will soon pass away. With your permission, I will return to the garden for a few minutes, and, probably, the air will revive me." " Well, well, my child," said the Marquess, aflec tionately, " e'en be it as thou w i l t ; but I am fearful that thou art not so well as thou wouldst appear to be ; in spite of all my efforts, I cannot divest my mind of the dismal thoughts and| presentiments tbat oppress i t; and to add to my disquiet, business again compels me to leave thee to day, Laurette. I will, however, return as early as I can ; and I hope thou wilt be able to welcome me with thy usual buoyant smiles and roseate looks of health." Laurette's emotion incieased to an almosLinsupportable degree ; and as she arose to go lo the garden, her feelings so overpowered her, that she sunk back in the chair, and burst into tears. " What means this, my dear child ?" interrogated her father, with an expression of the utmost anxiety " " pray tell me, Laurette ; something inor-' tl: " 1 uiius! .. u st have occurred to occasion this ' ; : " I t i s nothing,— notkirr," answered our heroine, again hastily drying up Eer tears, and endeavouring to conquer her emotion s ; " 1 am very weak and silly but, but— nay, my dear father, a walk in the garden will restore ' me 1" With tW; e words, Laurette threw her white arms ' ondiy around the neck of the Marquess, and kissed him frvently s then tearing herself a w a y ; scarcely ventur- < 0 look at him, and once more entered the garden. She hastened to the alcove in which she was wont to sit for hours together, and from whence she could behold spread before her, many a rich and luxuriant parterre, all arranged with the exquisite taste of the Marquess, and whose variegated sweets exhaled a fiagrance which stole with rapture to the senses. Here, throwing herself upon a seat, she gave vent to the melancholy feelings that oppressed her heart, and bursting into tears, exclaimed,— " Wretch! hypocrite, that I am, thus to act with duplicity towards one of the best, the most affectionate of parents! But it is not too late to retract! Shall I confess all, and implore his sanction to our love ?— But alas 1 of what avail would that be, when he has so peremptorily enjoined me never to mention the name of Adolphe, even, nnd evinces such an utter aversion to him?— And can I resign Adolphe?— Oh, no, no;— dearest youth, such is the ascendancy thou dost hold over my heart, that all other sentiments fade before it, and in spite of whatever the consequences may be, though the step I am about lo take may bring the most terrible misery upon me, I feel convinced that I can bear it with fortitude, rather than resign De Floriville." The noise of horses hoofs aroused her, and approaching the entrance of the alcove, from whence she could behold the garden gates, at that moment she saw her father, on horseback, pass by. He saw her; kissed his hand two or three times to her, in the most fervent and affectionate manner, and then rode on. The agitation of Laurette, when she saw him, became most intense, and again she was half inclined to hasten after him, implore him to return, and acknowledge the thoughts and designs which inhabited her bosom; but, again the form of her lover presented itself to her imagination, and, turning back, she once more resumed her seat, and gave herself up to the conflicting ideas that perplexed her mind. Hour after hour passed away, in this manner, and at length the time at which she had appointed to meet Adolphe rapidly approached, and, as it did, the emotion of our heroine became somewhat abated, and she longed for the moment to arrive, and the ceremony to be over, that her fate might at once be decided. At length it wanted but a quarter of an hour to the appointed time, and that would be exhausted in reaching the place of assignation. Laurette had returned into the house, and having hastily thrown her cloak over her shoulders, she implored the protection ofthe blessed Virgin, and with trembling, but cautious steps she quitted the chateau, unperceived by any of the domestics. We will pass hastily over the scene that took place upon the meeting of Adolphe and Laurette. Iu spite of the horrors by which the former was continually haunted, he had so far recovered himself, that he appeared not the least disconcerted, and met our heroine with a passionate embrace, and expression of love and adoration, which almost immediately had u e effect of dissipating her angnish, and conquering her scruples. They left the vicinity of the Chateau, and bent their way towards the Monastery of Saint L'Clair, where Adolphe had made arrangements with a priest of that order to perform the sacred rites. The holy father was at the place of meeting according to appointment; the ceremony was performed, the ceremony which indissolubly united them one to the other, and Laurette de Clmmont, became the bride of the murderer of his frienc. f;—- the gamester,— the profligate, Adolphe de Floriville ! It was with the utmost difficulty that Adolphe and his new made bride eould tear themselves assundet, after We are much obliged to M R . MC D O U A L L , who shall re ceive prompt attention. Accepted: G. A L P I I I N G T O N , W . J . O R A N , N . DIAS, Z. J. M., A. J. W,, ( Aberdeen,) G. S., C. W D U C K E T T , D ' A N C O M , J . E. LEWIS, ( M a n c h e s t e r ,) W. MASON, ( Richmond,) and G. W. C., Birmingham.) The letter o f ' N U L L I S E C U N D U S , " arrived too late; tut tee shall be very happy to hear from him again. We strongly suspect that the lines forwarded to us by W . B . R I D D E L , ( Manchester,) are not original. The lines by " S U S A N N A , " would better suit some religious periodical than our publication. " M r H E A R T " is declined. We feel highly flattered by the compliments paid us by G . YANGOORST. To his first question we answer that the weekly sale of " T H E P E N N Y SUNDAY T I M E S , " is teventy- five thousand copies. To Ms second M R . H . C . F R E E M A N it mt forgotten. L O U I S A W A T T S , ( Northampton.) ought to '.., ., re. r.', ii the first number of " KATHLEEN with No. 54 ' " T H R . ' E N N Y S P S ^ A Y T I M E S . " ' W. II. fi. '. riderfan-.,, may get the work by order f atij) resp ... able news- agent. The following are intended for insertion: W. , M, " A F R O S T Y M O R N I N G , ' * " A SMUGGLER'S F R O L I C ," " M Y FATHER'S GR. MVE," G . G . M . , ( N e w c a s t l e , V and SARAH P E A U C S . 1 The Answer by " FLORENCE," ( Leicester,) arrived too late. W. L. L.— F i f t y - t w o. J . KANE.— We will re- peruse the articles, and give a decisive answer in our next. % * All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to t h e E d i t o r of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, Highstreet, Shoreditch, THE P E N NY PEOPLE'S AND POLICE GAZETTE. MISERIES OF HUMAN LIFE. 1st.— Having taken considerable pams iu finishing a drawing, which has called forth tbe praises and approbation of all who have seen it ; to leave the room on some trivial occasion, and to find on returning, the last corner of your work burned to ashes, owing to your window being open ! 2nd.— Passing through fallow laud, with shoes and white stockings on ; several pounds of clay hanging to your feet, at every step, besides the pleasure now and then of leaving your shoe a few paces behind, and having to hop after it, ai the risk of the other foot giving way! 3rd.— Passing through a narrow passage, in a great hurry, behind an old woman ( whose decrepid gait but little agrees with your impatience,) and who suddenly stops to adjust the siring of her patten ; and you, in your haste, being obliged to give yourself a violent check, in order to prevent the unpleasing ceremony of making a somerset over her. 4th.— After having stood under a tree for shelter, during a shower, ( which you vainly hoped was trifling,) being obliged to pursue your journey, in the storm, to your friends house ; having lost above an hour in waiting, to cross a corn- field near your destination, ( in order to save a couple bf miles,) the wheat ears beating your legs, and lodging their wet contents in your " ~ devant" clean shoes 1 5th.— Coming home from town, fatigued aud exhausted, to find two or three of those " obliging sort of people," who " make 11 point" of seeing you the moment you return, and make a practice of telling every thing they hear ! But, who will offer not the slightest apology for their " unreasonable visit," except, that they know they are intruding on your patience, but must excuse them, as th « y call from motives of " pure friendship," ( alias, " cariosity I") fith.— Going out to dinner, ( rather behind time,) meeting an old acquaintance, who will keep you chattering about his own affairs; and, though you make several efforts to rid yourself of him, and at last succeed, running till you are out of breath, you find you are too late for dinuer, and have to enter the room, just as the cloth is being removed, obliged to apologize for your conduct, to be received cool, ( though you are exceedingly warm,) aud welcomed with black looks, by the mistress of the house 1 7th.— To sit next a lady, who is determined not to converse, ( and you try, by every art, which gallantry can suggest, to make yourself agreeable;) she, at last, removes herself from you ; and you are rewarded, by the tittering of the junior part of the assembly, and the hems of the seniors ! Lastly.— Entering a room full of company, you are attacked by a little cur, which keeps gnawing your stockings, and which you do not like to kick, lor fear of giving offence to its mistress, ( with whom it is a greafavouritc), and who makes no apology for its unmannerly conduct towards you! All conversation destroyed by its noise; and you secretly determine never to repeat the visit.' For some miuutes after Lord Raymond and his sister had quitted the spot, neither Godfrey or Ernnestine were able to speak to each other; and the former, with folded arms aud contracted brow, walked backwards and forwards with uneven and agitated steps, while his heaving chest, and the sighs that frequently escaped his bosom, told at once the mental anguish he was enduring. Ernneetine, too, evinced the greatest emotion, while, at length, her feelings completely overpowered her, she burst into tears, and placing her long lair fingers 011 her lover's arm, she looked up reproachfully in his face, and in a voice of deep agitation, said,— " Alas 1 Godfrey, what strange infatuation has taken possession of thy reason; how has thine Erunestine deserved this ? " , " My Ernnestine," repeated the young man, pausing, and looking at her s- tedfastly, while he in vain struggled to repress the powerful feelings of jealousy that racked his iniud, " saynotso; the name is mockery: thou art 110 longer my Erunestiiie— thou hast deceived mecruelly, heartlessly deceived me '." _ " Godfrey," ejaculated Ernnestine, as a mingled sen timent of offended pride and resentment tilled her bosom, " this from thee ! But no, no- my ears must have deceived me ! Thou conldst not be so unjust— thou must belabouring under some unfortunate delusion; otherwise, I must still think too well of Godfrey de Lacy, to suppose him capable of entertaining such ideas of her who has ever shewn how sincerely, how fondly, how unchangeably she loves him." " Ernnestine," ejaculated Godfrey, clasping his forehead, , " thou torturest, thou distractest me I Leave me ! Oh, no, 110; there was a time, and but a few short h » urs since, when I fondly believed that no woman could love man more fervently, more sincerely, than thou didst me ; but the delusion is fled— the spell is past— the mist is removed from before mine eyes: Ernnestine's heart belougs not to Godfrey de Lacy!" " Godlrey," said Ernnestine, in a voice half stifled by sobs, and turning away her head, " I will not reproach thee, for I feel assured that thy mind must be disordered, or never couldst thou give utterance to language such as this, to her who has ever been ready to make any sacrifice for thy sake. Alas ! alas'. what a cruel fate is mine, to meet the suspicions of he for whom every fibre of my soul throbs with woman's most ardeut affection." " Ernnestine," returned Godfrey, " canst thou deny that I caught this titled wooer on his knee at thy feet, pressing thine hand to his lips, and breathing forth in accents of eloquence, the protestations of his love and admiration?— Did not mine eyes behold this maddening sight, I say ? Deny this, and I will acknowledge how much I have wronged thee, aud make thee all the atonement in my power." " I cannot deny— I will not attempt to disown, Godfrey," said the beauteous maiden, " that thou caught Lord Raymond in the position thou hast described ; but he had that moment only made his appearance to me, and the words he gave utterance to, were only such as the ardent nature ot his sentiments and friendship, I feel confident, prompted." " Friendship!" reiterated the impetuous youth, with a bitter smile ; " bah ! it is the libertine's mask— the villain's shield ! Well do I know the base schemes these noble sycophants make use of, in order to further their guilty views. Ernnestine, canst thou, wilt thou solemnly declare that thou hast never encouraged by word, by thought, or by deed, the passion which, I am certain, Lord Raymond St. Aswolph hath imhibed for thee." " Godfrey de Lacy," solemnly returned our heroine, aud in accents that for a inomeut or two abashed the youth, " if thou canst think so basely of Erntiesiine, she , is unworthy of thy love ; and though her peace of mind be destroyed for ever— though her heart be broken in the attempt, she will release thee from I be vows thou bast so ten made to her, and — " " Hear Erunestine, for the lo, ve of Heaven," in- 1 terruptC: ' ifrey, moved to irgoiiy by the alteration in her man;- . ... .1 tile stilt'iiimty of her tones, " i f I have been pi ; ; i by tbe fervour of my love for thee, to do thee wrong, I implore thee to forgive nie ; but answer me two or three questions. Nay, thou must." " What wouldst thou of'me, Godfrey?" asked the damsel, timidly. " T e l l me, has Lord Raymond ever before made any advances towards thee ?" " He has never, by word or deed, given me reason to believe that he felt for me any other sentiment than that of friendship." " A n d thou lovest him not?" " Godfrey, Godfrey, thou distractest me," sobbed Ernnestine ; " I have ever— shall ever esteem the noble Lord St. Aswolph, for the services he hath rendered to thee and thy father; but to love any other man than Godfrey; — alas ! alas ! 1 am an unhappy wretch, thus undeservedly to be suspected of faithlessness by he whom 1 thought could sooner have perished than doubt my troth 1" She turned away in bitter angnish, and lierteais fell fast and unrestrained. Godfrey looked at her for a moment with all that intensity of agony which racked his breast, and then exclaimed ,— " Should I have wronged her, oh, how can I hope for her forgiveness or pardon myself? It cannot be ; Ernneatine false to me! love another, alter all the tender asseverations she hath so often made to me— impossible! To believe that would be to suspect that there is no purity in heaven. Some accursed spell has taken possession of my senses. I am mad ! Why do I take such pains to torture myself ? Wretch that 1 must be to accuse this beauteous innocent of harbouring a thought which truth and virtue would blushat! But, 110,110; my brain wanders— I know not what I am uttering !— She is innocent, or virtue itself is guilty !— But then the prognostications of the magician !— Ah 1 the recollection of them agaiu maddens me '.— The position, too, in which I caught Lord Raymond, which seemed so well to corroborate them! Distracting thoughts ; worse than the torments of perdition I— I shall go mad ! " Godfrey," sobbed forth the deeply- agitated Ernnestine, while the expression of her sparkling eyes beamed reproach and innocence upon him, " 1 did not deem that thou couldst do the too- fond Erunestiiie the injustice to doubt her constancy ; but it appears I imagined wrong, and since it is so, and thou suspectestlierof faithlessness, she must be unworthy of thy love, and therefore does she struggle against the strongest passions ot her heart, and lesign thee, sincerely hoping thou mayest find some other girl, who will love thee with the sincerity, the fervour, that she does 1" " Ernnestine," exclaimed the young man, with the most intense, the most ungovernable emotion ; " thou no longer lovest me, if ever thou didst, aud now only seeketh an excuse to cast me off for aiiotiier!" " By the Messed Virgin thou wrougest me, Godfrey; deeply, cruelly, wrongest me !— Have 1 not ever proved by my conduct that thou, ar. d thou only, wert the possessor of my heart, and that, even, should Fate ordain that we might never he united, now, in the face of Heaven, 1 swear, that no other man shall receive my love— my hand '." " Ah '. sayest thou so ?— Then, why continue to remain beneath this roof?" " Aud thinkest thou, Godfrey, that thy groundless jealousy would ever induce ine to behave with ingratitude towards those to whom we are all so largely indebted ?" demanded Ernnestine; " N o ; to Lord Raymond— his amiable mother and sister, we are greatly indebted; they have thought fit to treat us with tbat marked distinction, which the difference of our station would not have led us to expect; they have honoured us with their friendship; and shall 1 gratuitously insult them, by rejecting their hospitality upon mere caprice?— No, Godfrey, in thy unfounded jealousy thou dost forget those sentiments of reason and generosity that have hitherto distinguished thy character." Godfrey paused, and remained silent for a few minutes, traversing the place with hasty and uneven footsteps. He was evidently buried in deep rumination, and was engaged ill a painful struggle with his feelings. Ernnestine, in tbe meantime, was cuduriug all the poignant anguish which the circumstances had given rise to, and covering her face with her hands, her grief found vent in deep and convulsive sobs. Godfrey turned his eyes towards her; and, after a moment's hesitation, he approached, with an air of gentleness, and in subdued accents, as he took her hand, ejaculated,— " Ernnestine, dearest Ernucstine, I feel that I have been wrong; but the strength of my affection for thee hath been the sole cause; say, caust thou, wilt thou pardon me ?" Our heroine looked up with an expression of the most unbounded tenderness through her tears, aud, after trugglin? for a moment with her feelings, she replied, sweetly,— ' Forgive thee, Godfrey 1— nh, caust thou doubt me for a moment ?— But," she added with the most bewitching archness and simplicity, " I cannot yield my pardon, without exacting certain conditions from thee." " Name them, sweetest Ernnestine," said Godfrey,— " there is nothing thou canst request of me that I will refuse thee." " Never to repeat these unjust suspicious; that is all I would demand ! " returned Ernnestine. ' And that do I solemnly promise thee, my love," said Godfiey, as he pressed the blushing maiden to his heart, and they sealed their reconciliation - in the most fervent kisses. At that moment a loud and hollow laugh resounded through tbe wood, and made the lovers both start, and look fearfully around them ; but nothing at all met their gaze, and Erniicstine trembled violently and turned very pale, at the singularity of the circumstance. Godfrey drew his sword, and rushed towards the spot from whence the sounds appeared to issue, exclaiming,— " Some insolent churl hath been watching us, and listening to our converse; but, by my troth, be shall pay dearly for his boldness and curiosity." He reached the place, and looked around him, but no object met his gaze, and after a minute scrutiny, he sheathed his glittering weapon, aud returned to Erunestine in a state of the most indescribable astonishment. " Who can it have been?" he cried, " lam certaiu I was not mistaken." " Oh, doubtless, it was only some ru- tic passing along, and joking with his companion," said Ernnestine, who had quickly recovered from the alarm into which the circumstance had thrown her. " Aye, likely it was so," answered Godfrey, endeavouring to regain his composure, but succeeding very indifferently ; aiid after many other tender asseverations, and embraces, they parted, and Godfrey bent his steps from the castle towards the residence of his fatlie.. In spite of the vows he had made to Ernnestine, he did not feel at all satisfied with the conduct of Lord Raymond, especially after the circumstance he had witnessed, and the prognostications of Hal of the Glen, and his mind was distracted with a variety of conflicting thoughts, when, suddenly, he felt his ann arrested, and turning round, he was thunderstruck at beholding the awful and mysterious subject of his thoughts, the magician, standing before him, and gazing upon him with a look of demoniacal exultation. ( To be continued in our next.) THE SOLDIER'S FUNBRAL, Hark t hark I amidst the busy • tir of life, And the crowded city's hum, I hear the thrilling tone of the fife, And the roll of the muffled drum. But their altered tones chime sad and slow, To the mourners silent tread ; And they breathe the hallowed dirge of woe, To the solemn march of the dead. And looks of woe and grief are there, And stern eyes drop a tear ; And soldier'sfaulter as they bear Their youthful lenders bier. And, see, as that bier draws nigh, tt brings Bright arms— a useless show; He hath 110 m- ed of these gaudy things Who sleeps in death below t For the voice that gave the stern command, Hath sighed Its latest breath; And an infant now may snatch tha brand. From his dull cold grasp of death. And the breast so true and the ' - oud Are cold and senseless,— all- He hath changed for the martial v » kt . ; thrond — For the soldier's cloak the pall. He would have hailed the dart aped His s-, nl to a warrior's r' ' But a slow and sickly eoe reild To watte him to the tonnj. ' TU& y have borne him to ihe sacred porch, They have borne him . t h e grave: And the laat ftau ritei of holy church, Are paid to the young antt brave. They have breathed tbe funeral prayer and hymn; They have lired the soldiers knell ( But it reached not. alust the ear of him, Who sleeps In that narrow cell. They have lower'd the coffin dark ind drep, I n the louo grave's- hollcw womb. And the lady he loved may come t- weep This eve o'er the soldiers tomb. OUR PASTOR. Josiali Woodman was Ihe pastor of my native village. Never was there a clergyman more sincere in his profession— more simple in his habits— or more arduous in his duty, than he. His chief thema was that gospel, whose mission he bore, and his chief occupation, the attending his little flock. By his frequent and familiar visits he had so ingratiated himself into the affections of his congregation, that he was made acquaintedwith all their private affairs— chosen as arbiter in a ll their disputes— and consulted whenever any of them was about to undertake business of importance. He employed his leisure hours, either in studying, or cultivating his little garden. Ilis house, a neat little cottage, was situated in the most rural part of the country ; it was nearly immured among trees : a stream, which flowed near the cottage, had been so contrived by him as to form a small cascade. It was truly delightful to sit in his study- room during the summer months. The fragrance from the hundreds of blooming flowers, which decked his parterres, perfumed the air. The noise of the water falling over the artificial barrier, and the warbling of the birds among the trees, made a most pleasurable sensation upon the mind of every listener. It was in such a place as this our pastor lived : here had he determined to pass his days. About five years after his residence in the village, a family of strangers arrived. Report said that they had seen better days, and that they had retired to our remote village in order thai their depressed circumstances might be more effectually concealed from their former acquaintances. Our pastor resolved to make upon them an early call. If they had been unfortunate he might be the means of mitigating their sorrow. But what was his sui prise to find that they were a family to whom, in his earlier years, he had been tutor— to one of whom his heart had then glowed with the purest affection; an affection which knew no change. The great difference in their rank had made him cautiously conceal i t : but, although withdrawn from her society for many years, and unacquainted with everything concerning •. for a long time, h' 13 heart still continued fixed, and undivided in its first love. In chance thus throwing them agaiu together— in the removal of the barrier, which had formerly rendered his case hopeless— in the discovery, at the avowal of his love, that the lady had all along entertained for him a mutual passion, he thought he could distinctly perceive the traces of some mysterious power, that had thus levelled the obstacles which had prevented the union of two hearts similarly influenced.— The bridal day had been fixed, and a few short weeks only intervened between the pastor and the completion of his happiness. But, alas 1 for the fallaciousness of human hopes, ere that day arrived, death had marked her for his own. The sun which was to usher in the wedding morn, shone over the one which consigned her to the damp and stilly vault. Our pastor shed no tear, nor gave aiiy of the ordinary expressions of sorrow : his grief was of a more serious and heartfelt nature. He continued for some lime after, ta go through the regular routine of his duty, without much apparent change; his attenuated form, and pale, livid cheek, however, soon gave intimation that disease had began. What was ascribed by his physician to a cold, but what had its true origin in the blighted affections of his heart, confined him to bed : from it he never arose. Before a year had fled, his spirit had joined that of his beloved, in the better land. His cottage is now dismantled ; the flowers 011 which he spent so much pain, now grow wild ; the stream flows, unchecked in its course ; the trees have bent beneath the woodman's stroke, and the only memento that exists, is a simple, though beautiful tombstone, raised by the villagers, over his grave, inscribed " To the memory of O u r Parson." J, B . Barrhead, 1841. THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE.' THE DIAMOND MIRROR ! OR, THE TRANSFORMATIONS. A F A I R Y T A L E. ( Written for " The Penny Sunday Times.") A l i Harouri Rescind, was the beloved ruler of a flourishiiig province in the e a s t ; the stringency of their laws he had ameliorated— the money- griping Emirs had been discarded— all sects of religionists were tolerated ; the bow- string was an obsolete phrase, and even the bastinado was almost forgotten; consequently, the happy people rejoiced in their monarch. He ascended the throne e a r l y , by the demise of his revered sire ; and his subjects soon had an opportunity of t e s t i f y i n g their love and loyalty at the consummation of the royal nuptials, which soon followed the accession to tbe throne. As previously stated, his sway was that of a parent over a cheerful f a m i l y ; grievances were quickly redressed; and all kinds of commerce was encouraged, so that content and plenty gave no opportunity to faction or disquietude : indeed, the sole desire of the people was the perpetuation of the Ali Haroun race, ana their joy was unbounded when the first information was given of an heir in embryo to the crown. This was, indeed, an event of j o y ; magicians, soothsayers, and even fairies, were invoked, to make the affair propitious; and the last- mentioned ethereais quickly attended the royal summons, and promised all that could be desired.— Niglit and day did they hover around the beautiful Sultaness, and performed their favouring charms. The great object of the royal pair was, that their offspring should be, in disposition, like unto themselves, that the people's luture rulers should not swerve from tbe path of their predecessors ; and this the fairies promised, so that all their attention was directed in forming the mind of the expected scion of royalty. But all is not gold that glitters, and the full t i d e ' o f joy may ebb in sorrow, and trouble was gathering, like the simmoon storm, to wither the general j o y . It so happened that the Fairy Queen had a subtle enemy, in a powerful magician, Agriano, whom she had once thwarted in an evil design, and, ever since, he endeavoured a relation without e f f e c t ; but now an opportunity again presented itself, and he resolved to be avenged; his skill soon informed him of what the fairies had done, and, as he could not destroy their potent charms, he grieved ; yet, a ray of hope cheered him,— for although he could not deform the mind, lie could the body, which the fairies had neglected, considering it unimportant, the royal pair being unexceptionably handsome and well- proportioned, and why their offspring should not bear their impress never occurred to them ; consequently, Agriauo rejoiced, and with deep maligni, y pronounced his spells, defeating the hopes of tbe empire, and the poor fairies. Not to prolong our narrative, we approach at once to the auspicious day of the nation, and the Sultan's hopes, b u t , alas 1 disappointment followed the event. The Sultaness, indeed, gave birth to a child ; but such a deformed, u g l y urchin, never breathed the breath of l i f e; all shunned the hideous little object, even the fairies fluttered away in dismay, and the loyal subjects of Ali Haroun even suffered themselves to be gloomy one ent i re day, in the sad feeling of blighted joys. However, as a child is flesh and blood, aud a parent will have its yearnings for its own, the poor despised creature was t a k e n proper care of, and, strange to say, although its appearance was repulsive, it gained the affections of all, by its amiable disposition ; but, y e t , there was no hopes for the crown, as the child was a f e m a l e , and princesses could not reign, and in that there was some c o m f o r t ,— for such a deformed creature would only have excited the derision of the court. In due time the Sultaness gave birth to another child— a female also, but unlike the first, being beautiful in the extreme ; but here the magician had been at his diabolical spells, for what he had not injured in body, he had in m i n d ; so t h a t , as time developed the faculties of the young princess, she became hateful to a degree, for her unconquerable disposition; and, as she advanced in years, her poor deformed, ugly sister, had a woeful time of it, particularly as she, spite" of her hideousness, engrossed the affection of all by her talent, wit, and u r b a n i t y ; her features and figure was always covered with a long silver tissue veil, which concealed her deformity, and it was never alluded to by any but her handsome sister, who, instead of compassion, gave nought but opprobrious epithets.— Time passed on, and each attained womanhood, and as the Sultan had been solicited by a neighbouring prince, rich and youthful, to marry one of his daughters, he deemed it fit to inform them of the offer. Poor, deformed Z i l l a sighed h e a v i l y ; she could have no hopes of the bridal s t a t e ; — w h o would lovn HOT 3 AmUia tossed her head, h a u g h t i l y , wYtli aVi the conscious pride of superlative beauty, and enquired if he was rich aud handsome. " To a m i r a c l e , " a n s w e r e d the Caliph, " and amiable, too, being tbe most peerless gem of a l l , " added her sire, with a look full of meaning, which Areliia severely felt, and, dashing by her sister, cast herself ou an ottoman, and shed tears of passion. " T h e prince, dear sire, you say is amiable ? Now do I lament my want of charms. Oh '. that I possessed my sister's b e a u t y , " murmured Z i l l a to her parent. " A n d with it her disposition, Z i l l a , " said the Sultan. The maiden shuddered, but answered not. " Well, lovely A r e l l i a , " resumed the S u l t a n , " w h at answer shall we return the prince ?— You alone are the arbiter of his f a t e ; he is aware there are two princesses, and, having beheld but one portrait, he believes both beautiful a l i k e ; but when lie arrives it requires no judgment of ours to point out the chosen object,— will you receive him ?" " We will see him, s i r , " haughtily answered A r e l l i a; and the Sultan, satisfied with that amount of her condescension, retired to award the favourable answer to love's ambassador. " Zilla, my sweet, come and share this ottoman ; I would converse with t h e e , " said Arellia, with an affected air of tenderness. Z i l l a , by the power of her mind, was perfectly aware of Arellia's intent ; but immediately yielded to the request,— for it was her peculiarity of disposition, so moulded by the fairies, to give no cause of offence, so that no one could quarrel with her. " Well, dear Z i l l a , " began Arellia, " here is an opportunity for thee to wed." " Me, the deformed!" " Aye, you ; remember he is amiable— he will not insult your plainness; besides, you are covered with a beautiful veil— you are amiable— and ought to be u n i t e d ." " A h ! Arellia, the eye must be satisfied, else love's reign would be b r i e f ; and when he glances on you, my sister, who shall break the spell ?" " Very t r u e , Z i l l a ; but I am not in mind to marry. W h a t ! — s u b m i t to another's rule— the subject of another will. The rule and will of affection ought to be mutual— the cliaiu of love ought to be as gold— bright, pure, and lasting. There, there, Z i l l a , cease ; I am surf e j t i n g ; go— leave me— away ! " she almost shrieked, "- fincTZTria, sobbing, retired to lier favourite alcove in the palace shrubbery. There she ruminated on the youthful prince, and again sighed for b e a u t y ; the charms of her sister, she believed, must win his admiration and l o v e ; but should he wed her, his misery would be complete : and that the nuptials would take place, she felt assured, knowing that the indifference of her sister was the result of pride, and that tbe same feeling would prevail, to espou- e him, if even it was only to exult over her unhappy deformed sister. Thus meditating, time w a n e d ; Zilla heard the shouts of revellers, and guessed the Prince bad arrived,— but it moved her n o t ; the quiet grove harmonized with her mind, and there she remained. What would it avail her to seek an interview ?— She might behold the noble youth, and love. N o ; her determination was to seclude herself until the marriage was settled, which, doubtless, would be on the following day. The bright moon was now high in the Heavens, and thousands of stars glittered in the soft b l u e hemisphere; not a zephyr waned the silver- sprayed flowers, and calm tranquillity presided over the scene. Zilla fancied she beheld thousands of ariel visitants sporting around ;— beautiful melodies enchanted her ears, ana the life of a new world of joyous, angelic, innocent creatures, ap lieared to surround h e r ; but, l o ! a mortal's foot- fall was Iieard, aud all of fairy land vanished. Zilla looked forth, and beheld the lover prince approaching: she arose to greet him, when he courteously saluted tbe hand he now tenderly pressed. Zilla for a moment enjoyed an age of gratification, and s a i d ,— " M o s t noble prince, you do nie boniur. Is it your will we return to tbe palace ?" " No, dear princess, unless it is your w i l l : the beauty • i summer's eve by far excel the glare of palaces." • T h a t is my poor opinion. Oh! how oft I wish to be He imple village maid, with all its plain rusticity." " The companion of some handsome, hardy youth, unskilled iu tbe arts aud vices of high life. Is it not so, sweet princess ?" " I n d e e d , my lord, those are my sentiments," answered Zillah. " But, yet, dear princess, think you they alone engross all the qualities approaching nearest the Godhead ?— Do we not share a portion ?— Cannot we, the rich anil powerful, possess wisdom, goodness, aud love ?" " f t w o u l d he c r u e l , unjust, and wicked, not to believe s o , " said Zilla. " Z i l l a , my beloved Z i l l a , — f o r , indeed, 1 must call thee so, for thou hast possessed thyself of my affections so firmly, that I cannot live without thee." " My l o r d , " murmured Zilla, almost fainting. " Y e s , beloved Z i l l a , my lips speak the feelings of my s o u l ; I f e e l , as it were, entranced. I have beheld your beautilul s i s t e r ; but scorn has no words to express my abhorrence of her folly, vanity, and pride ; and leaving her presence to enjoy the delights of the grove, I have encouutered you, who 1 discover a mind and disposition calculated to make me supremely happy. Then, dearest Z i l l a , bless me with your consent, and to- morrow shall shine on our nuptials." Z i l l a felt paralyzed. Oh! he knew not her deformity — her hideous visage!— Should her veil be once removed, would he not loathe her ?— She knew the softness, the melodiousness of her voice— the sentiments she was empowered to give utterance to— the urbanity of soul which must always meet with preference— therefore, she pitied the prince, who had been thus, as it were, ensnared ;— but could she sacrifice h im to a loathsome- visaged partn e r ? — N o ; her own feelings she would yield, and thus answered,— " Prince, 1 respect and honour your offer, but you know not what you seek. 1 do not possess beauty ; not a single feature to retain thine e y e : you would abhor thy choice." " Z i l l a , I admire thy confidence ; but, yet, will wed thee. I seek not beauty of feature, but those qualities which enrich the faculties of the frame, b e that what it may: but here end we our commerce— to- morrow, l e t us meet again. F a r e w e l l !" Thus saying, fondly saluting her hand, he departed, Z i l l a intently gazing on his noble form, as it receded from her sight, and then wept till her soul had nearly l e f t its earthly tenement. She could not, dare not, meet him a g a i n in that dark g r o v e ; he could not guess her deformity : slie wished for death— anything but returning to the palace at this trying moment. The apparent vision of the fairies r e t u r n e d ; they flitted in the air, hovered among the flowers, and danced on the green s w a r d ; celestial music filled the a i r ; tiny voices carroled the most delightful melodies. Zilla felt entranced, until the lovely Fairy Queen, attended b y a b a n d o f elves, approached the unhappy maid, and, in a voice of celestial harmony, she breathed,— " Dear Zilla, the deformed, thy trials are at a c l o s e ; we have triumphed over our enemy, Agriano, by the elaborate manufacture of a mirror, the work of many years, collecting the various materials requisite for its construction; we have succeeded, and you shall behold and enjoy its wonders." Z i l l a humbly and heartily thanked the f a i r y ; yet wondered how it could benefit her. While thus musing, Z i l l a was commanded to turn and look on the mirror, suspended at the back of the grove. She did so, and an exclamation of surprise escaped her, for she beheld her sister's features and figure even more lovely than before; she looked more k i n d and p l e a s i n g ; there was not the least sign of haughtiness and pride, as was usual with her. Zilla stepped forward, as the figure appeared to advance. " Dear s i s t e r , " slie cried, but no answer was returned; by this time Z i l l a was close to the glass, and she discovered it to b e the reflection of h e r s e l f ; she screamed aloud with j o y , and turned to bless the fairies, but they were gone. She was alone, with the clear, b r i g ht moon shining above h e r ; she gazed on her f o r m : it was, indeed, changed. She passed her hands over her features,— they were beautifully formed; she walked easy, and with a noble bearing. She rushed to the palace, wild with j o y ; but none knew her until her voice and manner, so familiar, satisfied them it was their beloved Z i l l a ; and the young prince was enraptured. Her beauty surpassed the haughty sister, A r e l l i a ; and he folded her to his enraptured heart in extacy of j o y ; her parents were delighted, and Zilla was, indeed, supremely happy. But, A r e l l i a — h e r passion knew no bounds; she could have destroyed Zilla, the once ugly, deformed being, Who could not be looked on— who, cripple- like, halted in her gait— now her rival in beauty and l o v e , it was maddening, and she yet resolved, if possible, to be avenged. She feigned kind-' ness and affection to her sister— congratulated her on the important change, and inquired how she had effected it. Zilla acquainted her with t h e whole particulars, and Arellia determined immediately to visit the grove, and solicit the fairies to make her outvie her sister in b e a u t y, and restore lier to the y o u n g prince. When she approached the magic grove, there was neither fairies or mirror, and Arellia despaired : she invoked all the good and evil spirits to aid her ; but, for a time, she called ill vain. She became desperate,— for a storm was g a t h e r i n g ; the moon was obscured by dark, dense vapours, aud the wind howled fearfully. At length, a peal of thunder shook the earth to its centre, and a livul sheet of fire illumed the entire face of Nature; the favourite appeared one solid body of flame : a moment more, and darkness was all around. Arellia was horrified ; but, looking upwards to the grove, she observed a black, shining mirror, encircled with serpents, while the ground was covered with horrible reptiles of every class ; instead of the usual array of lovely flowers, which gave beauty and fragrance to the grove, it was crowded with hideous monsters of such forms, that defies description. Arellia shuddered even. to gaze on them ; b u t , y e t , there was tlie mirror, although not like the one described by Z i l l a , bright and d a z z l i n g as an enormous diamond, supported by a host of beautiful fairies : but, y e t , this one was a mirror, and in it she was determined to gaze. While standing, trembling, and fearful of the horrible creatures about her, a voice of thunder c r i e d ,— " A d v a n c e , and b e h o l d !" With a maniac force she rushed into the arbour, when all the monsters attacked h e r ; but in the midst of her agony, she gazed in the black mirror— a most terrific shout of yells,, screeches, and hisses, commenced, which Arellia soon joined in: indeed, her screams were more wild than all the infernal host together,— for she was changed— but it was to the deformed and hideous visage cast off by her sister. A most boisterous shout of fiendish laughter followed, and all became c a lm and tranquil as before. The pale moon was shining above, and Arellia observed her crooked shadow on the ground before h e r ; her heart now failed her— pride was gone with her beauty— and she fell on the earth, in real grief, a sorrowful, pitiable b e i n g ; and in this mood Z i l l a discovered her ; but when she observed the change, her gentle, sympathizing heart yearned for her. She raised her from the ground, and endeavoured to comfort her but she was past consolation. Zilla entreated her not to despair, but her only answer was sighs. Zilla in voked the aid of her guardian elves, and they appeared at lier c a l l ; she entreated them, by the love she bore them, to aid her sister,— for, if they did not, according to the sentiments they bad instilled into her bosom, she should be for ever unhappy if her sister retained her shape. In a moment the first mirror appeared in the grove ; and Z i l l a , with conscious hope, led her sister, deformed and ugly, forwards. Arellia was fearful of looking at i t ; Zilla raised her facc towards it, and in a moment she was restored to her former b e a u t y ; her overcharged heart burst forth in tears, aud f a l l i n g on her sister's n e c k , vowed to love her for ever, and render every one happy around her— for the change had effected a great moral lesson, that the deformity of disposition was more hideous than tbe plainest countenance that ever disfigured frail mortality. The two sisters returned to the palace, fondly linked together, to the great j o y of their delighted parents. A f ew days after, the young prince was united to his beloved aud beautiful Z i l l a , to whom Arellia acted as bridesmaid mo6t cheerfully, and shortly afterwards was united to a cousin of the prince, who had attended him on his nuptial embassy. And thus having made all parties happy, we take our leave of the royal family, and wonderful magic of the fairy mirror. J . L A M B E. SEARCH AITER WISDOM.— In one of the imperial towns in Germany it is customary to address the Mayor as " Y o u r wisdom." A party, who had consumed hour after hour in a bootless chase after the sapient functionary, having at last fallen in with him, very innocently hailed him, e j a c u l a t i n g , " I have been rummaging every nook and corner the whole day long, but deuce a bit could I find out your wisdom."— Athcnaiuni' The following interesting Tale is taken from the novel o f COMPTON A U D L E V ; OK, HANDS NOT H E A R T S . By Lord William Lennox. The book is well written, abounding in incident, and affording many scenes which show ail extensive knowledge of human nature. We have no doubt it will he received with great interest. London : Richard Bentley, Burlington- street.— THE T W O WATER PARTIES. " I n about an hour the passengers were safely stowed on board the Endeavour, and boiled away, at the conclusive rate of ten knots an hour, towards the Eel- pie- house at Twickenham. Dudley had unfortunately been detained in the House of Commons, and only reached Whitehall- sUirs in time to hear that the Endeavour had started some ten minutes. Whilst hesitating what to do, a jolly young waterman, who, like Dibdin's, ' was thinking of nothing at all,' approaching Ravenswoith, and said, * I see a smoker a- coming, she a'n't a regular plyer: but step into my werry. I'll hail her, and mayhap she may give you a passaga.' At this moment Priddie drove up. 4 J u s t in time to be too late, I fear,' said the exquisite. Dudley turned away disgusted at the prospect of his society ; but Priddie would not take a hint, and entered into the proposed arrangements for joining the party. In about a quarter of an hour the steam- boat neared th « stairs ; it was most gaudily decorated with flags and banners, and laurel and artificial roses, and pink and white calico awnings. Kavensworth hailed the captain, who, after some little consultation with the passengers, agreed to take him and his friend to the Eel- pie- house. Dudley got on board, accompanied by Priddie, and was about to congratulate himself upon his good fortune, when he was addressed by a pert, little, flippant, vulgar man, with a red face and a white wand. * Beg pardon, sir, who have I the pleasure of addressing ?' ' Mr. Ravensworth,' replied Dudley. Mr. Ravensworth, M. P., I presume ? I have the honour to be honorary secretary to the Cow- crcss and West Smithfield Equitable Loan Society, and Anti- fraud Association. Josias Sims, sir, at your s e r v i c e s h a l l be proud to present you to the members, please to step this way.' Dudley mechanically followed the worthy secretary, and descending a few steps entered the cabiu; loud voices burst upon his ears. ' Silence, ladies and gentlemen!' cried Mr. Secretary Sims in a stentorian voice; 1 1 have the very great gratification in presenting fo you Mr. Ravensworth, M. P., who has kindly honoured us With his presenceon this auspicious occasion.' ' Room for Mr. Ravensworth!' shouted a dozin voices, and Dudley found himself forced into a seat j supported on the right by a fat, flaunting, painted, vulgar loan woman. Sim's better half, as he called her, when presenting her to the refined M. P. and on the left by a tall gaunt damsel, who gloried in. the name of Buffy, Miss Adeliza Euphemia Buffy. Priddie. who had now joined Dudley, declared she must, be a relation of a then truly popular comic actor, inasmuch as he had never seen a face so tull of humour. To describe the luxuries that the tables of the Cow- cross and West Smithfield Equitable Loan Society groaned under, would be impossible; suffice it to aay, slices of cold raw beef, sickly- looking veal, coarse streaky ham, pork pies, Bologna sausages, saveloys, salad, radishes, onions,! water- cresses, single and double Gloucester, cold plum- puddings, stale fruit tarts, carraway's seed biscuits, Bath buns, ' decked the board.' Bottled stout, aleand cider, sprucc- beer, ginger- beer, soda- water, every liquor from ' humble port- er' to imperial pop, was ready for the corkscrew. A band, consisling of one fiddle, a clarionet, and a harp, played occasional airs throughout the repast; the equitable dinner being ended, the ladies, headed by Mrs. Sims and the demoiselles BufFy and Sparling, retired upon deck. Mr. Ravensworth's health was proposed by the chairman, with an obligate flourish about the respectability of the CapeJocracy, as the erudite secretary denominated the shopocracy of Cow- cross and West Smithfield. Shortly afterwards the gentlemen received a summons to join the ladies. A country- dance was called for, and Priddie opened the ball with Miss Matilda Julia Sparling, lirst cousin to the before- mentioned ^ deliza; a young lady with brief petticoats and unexceptionable ankles, dressed in a geranium- coloured muslin dress, white straw bonnet trimmed with red ribbons, a splendid assortment of rings, a huge gold watch and chain, and open worked stockings. Dudley had been previously presented to " her aunt, Mrs. Buffy, a woman of most surprising corporeal dimensions, with the reddest possible face and the crossest possible look. ' I Beg, Mr. P., t h a t you will take special care of my niece, Tilda, for there is sitch a mixture of company, and Miss. S. is very partiklar.' * My Tilda,' as Mrs. Buffy called her niece, ' and her cousin Addy,' had been educated at Miss Stiffkey Pudnam's seminary, the Grove, Paragon, Claphamr i s e ; where, among other accomplishments, they had studied a language well known at all such seminaries for the diffusion of knowledge, called gibberish: by this known unknown tongue young ladies are enabled to carry on conversation before their mothers, chaperons, or instructresses. To the seeker of knowledge it may be as well to add, that the simple process of making the language, is by repeating every syllable, and placing a o before t h e vowel in its repetition ; E. G.— as the grammars say— How, howgow, and andgand, it, itgit.' As the counus, attended by their chaperon, paced the deck, the following inquiry was made by Miss Addy, « Aga, handgandsomegome niangan isgi^ Misgisterger Ragavensgenseworthgo; th.' ' Vegerygy, isgls hege margarriedgied?' " Ohgo, r. ogo,' replied Tilda, * andgana richgicli asgas Croegoesusgus.' For the benefit of country gentlemen we translate the above ; ' A handsome man is Mr. Ravensworth.' * Very; is he married ?' Oh, n o ; and rich asCrcesus!' This colloquy was put an end to by the band striking up. * Drops of brandy,' in what might be called a * spirited' manner, and which proved t h a t the musicians had imbibed no small quantity of the name of the air they were playing. At the expiration of three hours the ' Favourite* ( as the steamer was called) shot Richmond bridge, passed the Twickenham meadows, and neared the far- famed Eel- pie- island. ' Ladies and gentlemen, silence !' ejaculated Mr. Secretary Sims j ' I have the pleasure tc inform you that, after* pacing all expenses, I find' I have a balance of five- pounds, fourteen shillings and threepence halfpenny, in hand.' ' Hear ! hear!' cried the party. * I propose,' continued the popular chancellor of the exchequer, ' that we should land at the Island, and devote thatfsufti to a tea- party for the ladies.' * Hear him! hear him 1' shouted a dozen voices from the coterie assembled ; ' three cheers for Sims, and the Cow- cross and West Smithfield Equitable Loan Society ! ; one cheer more !' As the last cheer began, the ' Favourite' took up her moorings off the island, and Dudley, to his horror, saw his own party just sitting down to dinner. Mr. Sims attended by Mr. Kilwarden of St. Mary's- hill, or, as he was called, Mr. Kevarde: of s'mmery- hill. treasurer to the society, landed, accompanied by . drs. Sparling and Buffy ( who felt themselves rather squeamish) and Dudley Ravensworth. The band played ' Fly not yet,* in honour of the departing guests, and a shout of ' hip, hip, hurrah !' attracted the attention of the Cheetham pic- nic. ' Ravensworth and Priddie, I deciare!' echoed a dozen voices ; ' b u t who on earth has- he got with him ? who can it be? How extraordinary ! Well, I never !' and other ejaculations of surprise issued from many of the party. Messrs. Sims and Kilwarden, having deposited the ' Cyelades* from the ^ Egean deep, as Priddie called them, in the bar, proceeding to make arrangements for ' hot- watering, sugaring, milking, and shrimping, the Cow- cross and West Smithfield Equitable Loan Society, at the small charge of sixpence a head. Dudley, tnking leave o f h i s friends, joined his first- formed party, but was unable to get near'the object of his wishes. Lady Atherley had been seized upon by Priddie, and Dudley found himself located between Mrs. Barnsley Screwton, who obligingly made room for him, and ayoung exquisite of the guards, who, with his pouncet- box, & e., reminded you of Hotspur's- fop; the one little object of self was the objectof his worship through every hour of the day. In the mean time the ' freight' of the ' Favourite' had lauded. Tea over, Mr. Kilwarden rose to propose that there should be a whip among the gentlemen for the punch and the weed. This proposition was carried unanimously, and iu less than five minutes, pipes and large bowls of arrack punch were produced. The band were ordered to ' play up,' and a country- dance, to the aristocratic air o f ' Merrily danced the Quaker s Wife,' was commenced. Reader, picture to yourself the horror and consternation of Lady Cheetham and Mrs. Barnsley SGrewton ! Waiters running to and fro with glasses of rum and water, ' h o t with,'— bottles of ale, bottles of stout, ginger- beer bottles going off, practical jokes going on. Nor did the nature of the conversation, interlarded as it was with oaths and coarse sayings speak much for the quality of the company. In vain did Lady Cheetham send the waiter to request the party would not mar her ffete: shouts of laughter, uproarious mirth, bacchanalian songs, attending this remonstrance; a temporary calm gave her hopes. ' Would Lady Atherley kindly favour us with a song; it may, like Orpheus of old, ' soothe tha savage brutes.' Lady Atherley was about to reply, when a growled a- hem from Lord Atherley, which in language matrimonial means ' hold your tongue S' decided the question. ' Silence for Miss Buffy's song !' shouted the president of the Loan Society; and, after sundry excuses of cold and hoarseness, Miss Buffy warbled forth ' my art with love is beaten.' Dudley, disgusted at the disasters of the day, had just proposed a ramble to Lady Atherley; and was congratulating himself that he should escape the noise and confusion of the island, when he heard his name loudly called. On turniug round, he beheld two individuals almost breathless with haste: the first gained upon him, and he recognised him as the stoker of the Favourite,— his ' steam' was evidently up. * Stop her !' he exclaimed, meaning ' stop him,' fancying himself still on board his craft. ' Sir, sir, Mr. Ravensworth ! Mr. Buffy insists upon you stopping: he wants Miss Buffy's ridikule.' At that moment Buffy himself, accompanied by Mr. Sparling, appeared, both evidently under the influence of the jolly god,— that is, if Bacchus presides oves such vulgar beverages as are called upon to exhilarate loan societies! ' Damn it, sir!' cried the infuriated puppy; ' what, scudding away?— heave t o! Our readers must be informed that Dick Buffy was a junior clerk in one of the city wharfs, and was part proprietor, with his friend Jack Sparling, and others, of the Water Wagtail cutter, a yacht of ten tons. Dick fancied himself a regular seaman, and dressed out after the fashion of the gentleman that dances the naval hornpipe at the minors,—- that is, in checked shirt, glazed hat, striped stockings, blue jacket with anchor buttons, white trowsers, black neckcloth, and boatswain's whistle. He always interlarded his conversation with nautical phrases. < « - of caulking # And quarter- deck walking Fore and aft And abaft Hookers, barkeys, and craft, Of binnacles, bilboes, the boom oalled the spanker, The best bower cable, the jib and sheet anchor, Of lower deck guns, and of broadsides and chases, Of taffrails and topsails and splicing main braces." • None of your piratical tricks, you lubber of a land shark,' said Dick Buffy, staggering; ' heave to, or I'll fire a shot into you.' 4 Sarve him out, Dick,' hiccupped Jack Sparling. ' Out of the way, s i r ! ' s a id Dudley, firmly. ' You're drunk.' ' Drunk, am I?' replied Mr. Sparling with drunken solemnity. ' I'm sober as, as a — a judge, who dares deny it is a— a— a—- that's what I say.' Ravensworth kept his temper. Lady Atherley, frightened at the ' rencontre,' drew back, and remained a passive witness of the scene. ' What is it you want, gentlemen ?' asked Dudley, with as much calmness as he could command. ' Stow your gab,' replied the ireful Buffy. 1 ' I'll let you know what I want, you son of a seagun ; when you took my sister in tow, you laid your grappling irons on part of her cargo. I've been cruising on the look- out for the last hour ; and now I've caught a glimpse of the proper signal, damme but every timber shall start before I give up the chase!' ' Sir,' said Ravensworth, ' your anger makes you forget yourself.' 1 Very heroic, pon honor,' replied Sparling; ' b u t whether intended for tragedy or comedy, fleece me if I can guess,' The mystery was now dissolved j Ravensworth remembered that when Priddie had led Miss Euphemia Adeliza Buffy forward to t h e dance, that she had entrusted him with her reticule ; a salmon coloured bag trimmed with blue ribbons, and ornamented with bead- work, and in which ' locker' Miss Buffy had had the providence to ' stow away,' as her brother would have called it, certain sweet articles, in the shape of figs, raisins, Norfolk- biffins, Bath- buns, oranges and gingerbread. Dudley began to apologise, and, producing the ' reticule,' expressed his regret that an accident had occurred to it. This was evident from the stains that appeared. Buffy, on opening the ' sac,' found a j am of the articles we have before mentioned. • his infuriated him to such a degree, that he was about to break the peace, when he was held by Jack Sparling. Jack was a lawyer's clerk, and knew that assaults and batteries were very formidable affairs. ' Take the law of him, Dick. You a gentleman 1' addressing Ravenworth. ' You're a— you're everything that's not actionable,' said the prudent limb of the law. * Law be d— d !' replied Dick. •' He deserves tarring and feathering,— a round dozen at the grating;— but here's my card.' Buffy presenting his c a r d ; it ran as follows :— MR. BUFFY, JUN. N o . 10, PIG H WHARF, BLAGKFRIARS. ' Really, sir,' replied Ravensworth, ' l a m very much shocked. Permit me to replace the ' sac ' to- morrow. I shall have much pleasure in forwarding one to——' At this moment a shout from the Favourite announced that she was getting ' u n d e r weigh.' ' Well,' said Sparling, ' come along, Dick.' Then, turned to Dudley, said, ' If you are a gentleman, act as sitch; if not, we'll commence proceedings for the damage uoue, unless the debt Is paid, together with five- shillings for this application.' The pair reeled off together. Ravensworth, to his annoyance, found t h a t a messenger from Lord Atherley had recalled Lady Atherley. The following day, the house of Dyde and Scribe, now Harding and Howell, Pall- mall, were considerably shoeked at having to send a most b e a u t i f u l ' sac,' embroided in gold, to the following plebeian address ;— 4 Miss E . A. Buffon, ( they had the good taste to alter the name,) No. 52, Gough square, Farringdon Without. We return to the . Cheetham party, who, after considerable discussion, had agreed to adjourn to Vauxhall. All the carriages, cars, vans, chaises, & cM that could be mustered in Twickenham, were retained to convey them to t h e ' Royal Gardens;' the bill was called for ; one of Lady Cheetham's pet tiger's proposed that the gentlemen should pay for the ladies. ' Hear him, hear him!' cried a respectable eldcriy gentleman, who had four unmarried wall- flowers of daughters. ' Including the steam- boat, band, Tyrolean singers, and the carriages to Vauxhall-—' * Conductors including,' said Lady Cheetham, ' only three pounds, fifteen shillings, per h e a d ; how cheap ! Landlord,' continued the lady, who had always an eye to the main chance, ' you could not j u s t order your gardener to make up a small bouquet of flowers.' ; Certainly, my lady.' And don't forget t h a t splendid trout; it will be quite a curiosity in London." ' Thank you, my lady.' * I think, next week, we shall pay you another visit;'— the only thing, on such occasions, her ladyship ever did pay. The obsequious landlord bowed, made up what was required, and charged at the head o f h i s forces. The party entered Vauxhall- gardens at a little after ten, j u s t in time to hear a lady, dressed in sky- blue satin, swan's- down tippet, cream coloured hat and feathers, sing a duet with a white waistcoat and falsetto voice, in which the former imitated the cries of a young infant, and entered into all the mysteries of the nursery, and the latter delighted his hearers with ' his famous farm- yard imitations.' Lady Cheetham expatiated upon the beauties of the^ ardens, the variegated lamps, the well- kept gravel- walks, the Moorish band, the military band, the cosmorama, the dark walks, and the hermitage. After walking round and round the gardens, like horses in a mill, only with infinitely less purpose,— paired, not matched; for, in the rush to get seats at Twickenham the most extraordinary couples found themselves together; a bell announced the fireworks. Then came the rush, then the phiz; rockets went up. sticks came down, amidst the ohs! and ahs ! and oh laws! and oh dears ! of t h e ladies. Mrs. Barnsley Screwton was frightened to a degree. Lady Cheetham declared it terrific. Blue lights, yellow lights, red lights, blazed forth and discovered an interesting looking young lady, the fair Nourmahal, as the bills called her, with a blue turban, pink tunic, white spangled trowsers, yellow boots, who, with a pole, painted like a barber's in her hand, Avas standing upon one leg on a tight rope, extremely well lit up. After sundry evolutions of twisting and twirling, t h e aforesaid damsel disappeared in an explosion of fireworks by the celebrated pyretechnic artist, Signor Giovanni Flaruppi Vesuvlo." M Y F E L L O W C L E R K S . CHAPTER I. " Invoke before me," said a ysucg prince of the east to a sage © f olden times, " the great men; I wish to see them, and to converse with them."— Reader! we will consider this demand as addressed to ourselves, and we now most willingly and cheerfully bring before you " great men," in the persons of Tom Pipes, Jem Jenkins, and Sam Nobbs, three very delightful young gentlemen. I t may be as well for us to mention, that at the baptismal font these sweet individuals were presented with the names of Thomas, James, and Samuel; but for brevity, we will use the shorter and more friendly- like names. Young years are the merriest, and it is at this fresh and lively period that we introduce the above named birds of good promise, when they are in lovely blossom, and, indeed, in their greatest prime. If there is any one secret people, generally, are averse to divulging— any one subject ladies are silent about— it is age; for it is, indeed, a most delicate and tender topic, scarcely so much as even to be hinted at, yet we use a writer's license, and must speak out. Our heroes have just emerged from " teenage," and are each of age, an era very important in the lives of those lucky, and certainly enviable, youths, who have pro • pertv, heritable or parsonal, to succeed to ; but in the case of our friends, who were not troubled with any such cares, and who entered life with a clear capital cf nothing, but brilliant talents, a period of no particular consequence. The reader may wander far and near— he may traverse the burning sands of Egypt, or the frozen rivers of Iceland— he may search through the Indies, east and west— or ( if he likes better) through America, north and south— or even he may ( if he can) enquire at the Poles, but he will not anywhere, in any place, country, or clime, find three individuals, endowed and gifted with such marvellous abilities, and such wohderful genius, as Tom, Jem, and Sam ( let us add, in their own estimation). They all belong to the same establishment in London; one which, unluckily, is not aware of the treasures which it possesses in our heroes— is not aware of the bright stars which glitter around it. " Ignorance is said to be bliss," but in this instance it is considered most unquestionably " misfortune." First, we will describe Tom. or, to speak more politely, THOMAS PIPES. He cannot be called eithe* good- looking or graceful; he has not an attractive or seducing figure, being rather a short, punchy fellow, with particularly little of handsomeness to boast of. Stoutness may be improving to some persons, doubtless it i s ; but though Tom eould, like Sir John Falstaff, sport a " portly belly," we cannot admit he is very " well built," ( as he stoutly declares " he is,") or " neatly put together." However, it is not in body, but in mind, Tom looks upon himself as particularly blessed. In mind, for here he shines and excels. Tom is a great orator, and is the Demosthenes of the establishment, being very fond of hearing himself talk, and of making speeches. He is a member of a city debating society, or club, where ( to credit his own report) he is a " great man"— a person of much consequence— for he is looked upon not only as a wise debater, but a great ornament and acquisition. None equals him for depth of argument, for flow of language, for eloquence of speech. He does not scruple to say he is the envy and admiration of surrounding friends, and to avow his knowledge that his acquaintances are jealous of his bright abilities. We must say a word; he is— " One whom the music of his own sweet tongue Doth ravish like enchanting harmony." When the " toils of the day" ( words he is very fond of using, wishing thereby to convince the " green" how hard he labours tor his master's interests, and to » hew what creditablc feelings guide his every action) are over, ( if it is not club- night), he proceeds home, and composes his speeches. The good clothes are put off, and old ones are put o n ; the ink- bottle, pens, and paper are laid upon the table; he paces through the room, composing and inventing. If a happy idea springs up in his fertile brain, he seizes the pen, and commits the precious sentence to paper. Again he resumes his walk— again a lucky thought flashes across him— again the pen, and it is recorded. Some evenings he invents very quickly; and great, inexpressibly great, is his delight and satisfaction to read over any very fine and unusually sublime paragraph. Joy lights up his delighting face — vanity makes him assume ( even when alone) a proud look— genius triumphs. Now comes the correcting and beautifying part of the business; sentence by sentence he slowly goes over his speech; he critically examines if nothing can be put in to render it better, more dazzling, and still more splendid. Next to the getting it by heart, at one time he addresses himself to the door, at another time to the window; sometimes he favours the fire or the candle. They are mute witnesses to his victory over hard words and difficult phrases. He has to study the attitudes, and the proper places for " breezes" and " calms"— i. e. where he is to be loud and thundering, or quiet and gentle. He takes a peep, occasionally into futurity; and in his own person he sees a second Pitt— another Fox— a greater than Canning ! " I n the " establishment" he endeavours, occasionally, to get Jem and Sam to listen to his forthcoming production, under the excuse of asking their opinions. Alas! for Tom, his words, when addressed to Jem, are as words spoken to the winds; nay, far worse; for if spoken to the winds, Boreas would bear them away on his swift wings, and " leave not a wreck behind," to mark their beauties or their f a u l t s : but when spoken to Jem, he catches at particular phrases, stores them up in his memory's mansion, and, when occasion suits, brings them out, and uses them as taunts and jests against the unlucky Tom. " Words do well when he that speaks them pleases them that hear." Tom is a victim of fate and circumstances. His words do not please j in fact, they very often have a contrary effect. They call forth no compliments or praise, but, instead, receive censure and condemnation. This is a true sketch; it is drawn from every day life. We do not flatter; nay, we have rather been " wanting in our praise." If we have not lauded, we have not blamed t h a t gallant and bright worthy, Tom, alias Thomas Pipes. CHAPTER II. " Heroes approach"— Atrides cried aloud— " Stand forth distinguished from the circling crowd." Reader, permit me now to bring to your favourable notice JAMES JENKINS. Jem is very unlike Tom Pipes, as unlike as a beer barrel to a walking- stick. He is tail, lanky, and half- starved looking, one whose outward appearance would denote his practice of the " total abstinence" system. His figure is anything but symmetrical; it is badly proportioned, and much too scraggy to entitle him to being called a " handsome man." His face is by no means remarkable for anything like good looks. His eyes are dull and heavy, his nose slightly puglsh, and his mouth somewhat lengthy. To make up for thei; e faults in his appearance ( for nature has not beha\ ed bountifully towards him in the matter of shape and features), he has an abundance of self- conceit, if anything, perhaps a shade or two more than is generally requisite. " Olv l would some power the glftie gie us, To 8 efi ourselves as others see us." Jem is by no means celebrated for good manners. He is a plain rough- spoken twig; yet, though he be blunt, I know him passing wise ( bariii always hi « self- pride). He is not rude in his speech, only unrefined, only requires polishing and brushing up. From this it will be easily gathered, that he Is not suited for ladies; he wants a stroke of politeness, an indispensable article for female society ; he has no small talk and soft speeches to amuse and entertain them with; he cannot pay compliments, cannot make love to the youns? ladies, or talk politics to the old ones. In the company ot the " f a i r portion of creation" he is shy and dull. Here he is out ofhis own proper element; for amongst young men a more merry, jovial, and cheerful person could not be. Jrm knows " What's what, and that's as high As metaphyslc wit doth fly." He is full of humour and fun, always laughing, and creating amusement; a bit of a wit, and possessing a little touch of waggery. This he cannot display before ladies, he is so bashful and so extremely modest. Notwithstanding that his figure would forbid the assertion, it is a fact, known and undented, that Jem is very partial to good living, which phrase means good eating and drinking. Where Jem is Jem, is at supper parties and snug glee clubs, where singing and smoking are the delicacies most admired and relished. Here " Richard is himself again;" here he is full ot fun and anecdote, full of laughable stories and strange adventures; he smokes his cigar scientifically, sings a good song, and he has the honour to be voted a " trump,' a " g e m , " a " j o l ly fellow.'' He discusses eloquently the merits of the favourite actors and actresses of the " prima donnas," of the concert squallers and opera singers; he learnedly criticises the new comedies, melo- dramas, and farces; he tells how, in his opinion, one writer is " good," another " s o , so," and another " very poor;" he is an admirer of the turf, and delights to talk on the subject of horses and hunters; he occasionally frequeuts the singing taverns — the " Coal Hole," and " Evans," and others, to pick up new songs and new glees, to discuss a Welch rabbit, and sundry " goes ' of gin calldum cum. He declares the pit is the best part of a theatre to hear and see from, and dislikes very much to be an occupant of t h e boxes. Such is James Jenkins— not a bad youth in his way either. He has a good heart, though a conceited head ; he has many faults, but he has to counterbalance them many good t r a i t s ; and though he is not " Complete in feature and in mind, With all good grace to grace a gentleman." Yet he is an honest, kind youth, and has " a heart as far from fraud as Heaven from earth." CHAPTER III. " Last," but, truly, " not least," is SAMUEL NOBBS. He is neither tall nor short, but of a very useful and comfortable size; he is deeidedly handsome, and undeniably good- looking; he carries his head high and proudly, and makes the most ot his body by keeping it upright. Ills walk is stately, his gait most aristocratic. If there is anything which more particularly than another calls for admiration, it is his nose, which is of the Roman order; and if there is anything objectionable, it is the colour of his hair, which is but a few shades removed from carroty. This being a rare beauty, ought to be a greatly praised one, but the general opinion is against its being considered attractive. Sam is one rather fond of dress, and with a full stock of vanity— perhaps, indeed, his htock of this commodity is too extensive. Sam is a great admirer of the fair sex, and of himself; he is a great beau amongst tbe young ladies, and, generally speaking, a greaf favourite of their mothers. Sam is considered quite the thing for a quiet pic- nic, or country pleasure party, being very genteel, very obliging, very amusing, and so very polite. From this it may be inferred he has been often in love— in fact, he is always in this state. Some have called him fickle; and really, if the t r u th was told, he is a flirt. He is a nice young gentleman for a small ten party; he has abundance of conversation, can talk of everything, and enterta'n the company, if requisite and matters have arrived at such a desperate push with nonsense. Sam is a musical genius, extremely fond of singing, pianoforte- ing, guitar- ing, and any instrument ing. He sings tastefully ; and love or sentimental airs are his choice. His voice is rather feminine, and he is otten " praydo ed" to sing in words, such as the fairy Tltania addressed to Bottim—" I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again; mine ear is much enamoured of thy notes." So fond is he of singing, that often in the place of business he will be heard humming over some of his love ditties. Sam does not like this there, and invariably interrupts him in his performances. If Sam hums " I know a Bank," Tom declares he knows several banks, but that he prefers the Bank of England above all others. If Sam sings " I have a silent sorrow here," Tom politely asks him " where?" as if, judging from appearance, he thinks it very difficult to discover anything ot the kir. k; and if he did not tell the world he had a " silent sorrow," he is afraid the world would never find it out." Sam, it is admitted by the ladies, is a person f* free of speech," and who '• sings, plays, and daqct; s well." He is one who " cannot stay the siege of loving terms," nor " abide the encounter of assailing eyes." Love is a very good sort of thing in its way; but too much of it operates in the same manner as too much learning, it " maketh a man mad." Sam is a would be poet, and is a studier of the muses. He prides himself on having a " poetic turn of mind." The world has not yet seen his productions but, doubtless, his genius will one day be disclosed, and the world be astonished. His style is lofty, high- soaring, Miltonic. He dreams he is a mighty man; he peeps irjto time to come; and a place in the '• Poet's Corner" is his reward at the end. Such is, readers, Samuel Nobbs. The reader will confess we have brought to their notice three very nice, though vain, young g. nt'emen. They are by no means uncommon characters; nay, such swarm everywhere in the great metropolis. In the ease now in hand our heroes look upon themselves as " wasting their sweetness in the desert a i r . " It is said, " our virtues lie in the interpretation of the times; and, unfortunately, our noble- hsarted friends live in an age when genius is too often " snubbed," and bright talents are much too often crushed. A T A L C O F T H E O L D E N T I M E . I t was in that dark and troublous period, when Presbyterianism was fresh being established in Scotland; when it was endeavoured to compel an unwilling and loathing people to receive the solemn league and covenant under pain of excommunication, and the most cruel temporal tyranny, that a few Episcopalians, one evening, met in a secluded house, near Glasgow, to worship their God, in the manner they were wont. This they durst no longer do in public. Not only had the assembly destroyed the liberty of the press, but it had, likewise, prohibited the book of Common Prayer. The ' use of it in public or private, was considered a crime of the most aggravated nature, and subjected the persons who were guilty of it, to the greatest punishment. The minister who officiated upon that fatal evening, was one who had been proscribed, and a reward offered for his apprehension, on account of his having frequently committed this act. He was a man about forty years of age ; but the many sufferings he had borne, made him look much older, and had covered his head with the snow of age. As he stood in the midst of the kneeling group, arrayed in his white robes, his features expressive of the patient resignation to his lot, and a holy confidence in God, he seemed like a being from another and a better world. He had j u s t concluded t h e devotional services of the Liturgy ; his hands were raised over the bended forms of those around him, as he was about to deliver the benediction, when the door was violently thrown open, and a loud laugh of fiendish exultation bursting from the Hps of a band of armed ruffians, who rushed into tbe apartment, and put an end to all further procedure. " We have oaught the old fox at last," said the leader of the party, as he advanced to seize the minister. " B a c k ! advance one step more, at your peril," said one of the minister's friends, jumping to his feet, and unsheathing his sword. All his comrades imitated his example, and soon the minister was surrounded by his little congregation. " Deliver him up, or die !" " Not as long as we can draw a sword in defence." " T h e n perish," said the ruffian, as he and his companions levelled their muskets to take aim. " Stay thy purpose!" shouted the minister. Stranger, I am thy prisoner. Friends, deslat from this intended bloodshed. I would not that you should lay down your Jives for mine; it were not worth such a ransom. The God in whom I trust, if it be his will, Is able, of himself, to deliver me; but, I may truly say, that for me to die is gain ; let nie urge you, as I have always done, never to employ the sword against your fellow creature ; let not a single hair of these strangers be harmed by you; they know not what they do ; rather pray that they may be brought to see the error of their way, and led into the knowledge of the truth. Farewell! my friends, farewell! despise not these my last injunctions. I shall now, for t h e last time, bestow upon yuu the benediction in which I was interrupted." " The grace of our Lord— " None of your damned mass book, in ray hearing," said the rude leader of the intruders, as he pulled the pastor towards him, arid gave him in charge to one of the gang, " away with him," continued he, and, from you, ye popish dogs, we demand your arms." " We give them u p , " replied the grief- stricken Episcopalians j " he, in whose aid we would have ch* erfudy wielded them even to the death, requests them not." When th « arms were piled upon the floor, the covenanter again began. " Your lives will now ba granted, upon one condition : sign this, and l i v e ; " and he drew forth a copy of t h e covenant, upon which the names of the fanatical subscribers, were, for the most part, written with their blood. I t would be impossible to describe the haughty and uufeigned eontempt that was displayed upon the countenance of every person that composed that little band of faithful men. " Never !" simultaneously burst from every lip. " Die, then, in the name of the covenanted Jesus 1" said the blasphemous wretch, as he gave the command to fire. The fatal word was scarely uttered, when the inhuman murderers poured the contents of their fire- arms upon their defenceless and innocent victims. When the smoke cleared away, all, except one, were rolling in the agony of death upon the floor. The survivor, was a young man, scarcely twenty years of age j he had been wounded in the head, from which the blood flowed freely. He stood for a moment with folded arms, and surveyed the bleeding and convulsed bodies scattered around him. Then suddenly seizing a sword which lay near him, he frantically rushed forward, and ere he could be prevented, buried it to the hilt in the leader's bosom. In a moment, the gallant youth was transfixed by many a weapon, and he fell— shouting revenge— dead among his comrades. A seene of barbarity now ensued, which, perhaps, never was equalled. The ferocity of these miscreants was roused to its highest pitch by the death of their leader. They mangled the bodies of the dead, and tormented th^ se of the dying in a manner too shocking to describe. The minister, after this, was brought in, and, having inflicted upon him unheard- of cruelty, they finally put an end to his sufferings. They then set the house on fire, and departed; and ere the morning awoke, no traces remained of the ravage and massacre that had been committed there. Nothing was left to mark the bloody footsteps of bigotry and intolerance, save a heap of smoking ruins. Barrhead, 1841. J. B, THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE.' ^ Fragments for ttje © urtotts. ERIN'S LAMENT.— A VISION. BY R. T. ORANNELL, On the Shannon's green borders— Hlbernla's pride, An angelic maiden 1 saw in despair; In heart- resdinit tones, mourn'd the harp at her side,— O'er her marble- whlte shoulders flow'd richly her hair. Long settled anguish bad wrinkled that brow. Which once as the lily was lovely and fair ; She'cast up her blue eyes from ber wild harp below. To the great God on high, reslgn'd, and In pray'r ! Her soft milk white robe, and pure bosom of snow, Were deck'd with a broad scarf of emerald blue ; The first bore the shamrock, In Its sweet native glow, The latter, her own harp, embrolder'd so true. IJnalloy'd, she pour'd forth her wild strain of grief, In exquisite sadness,— her soul- thrilling song [ I, In vain, tried to soothe,— to afford her relief, Again I began ( the harp mournfully rung) :— " Oh ! Erin, mavourneen, why art thou weeping ? Why bathe thy sweet eyes In heavy salt tears ? Art thou sad for the fate of thy warriors sleeping ? And mourn'st thou thy heroes of long vanisli'd years ?" " Assuage, then, thy grief, for those brave souls long fled, In battle like Lions.— in peace now they lie ; To their Saviour they're gone— to their Heavenly bed. No more In this foul world on war- steeds they'll fly 1" " Tis, alas ! but too true," Erin faintly replied ; " But others shall rise tor the trumpet of fame ; God rent thee, slain chief I * thou hast boldly tried, To shake oft' oppression's,— now tamely born chain ! " Klngof Fola's streams ! stop thy winding course, and weep, For noble Emmet's fall!— Ye mountains so hlghi Bow doivn your haughty heads,— choke up the sighing deep, Our patriot's gone,— who calls him ' Rebel ?'— Fie !" " Oo, thou, my son, and such examples follow, Or thou'rt not worthy of Hibernian name i And like the Phoenix, when thou'rt old and hollow, Will other ' Rebels' rise from out thy flame 1"— She said j—" Let not this from mem'ry be effaced, Aad thou, above, thy just reward shall find." She waved her hand, her scarf threw round her waist. Then sought the clouds— no trace was left behind. * Robert Emmet. A DELICATE APPETITE.— A Jesuit, one day, found a Brazilian woman in extreme old age, and almost at the point of death. Having catechised her, instructed her, as he conceived, in the nature of Christianity, and completely taken care of her soul, he began to inquire wliether there was any kind of food which she could take .— ' Grandam,' said he, ( that being the word of courtesy by which it was usual to address old women,) ' if I were to get you a little sugar now, or a mouthful of some of our nicc things which we get from beyond sea, do you think you would eat i t ? ' — ' A h , my grandson,' said the old convert,' my stomach goes against everything. There is but one thing which I think 1 could touch. If I had the little head of a little tender Tapuya boy, I think I Could pick the little bones ; but, woe is me, there is nobody to go out and shoot one for me.'—( Southey's History of Brazil.)— This story alludes to the early settlement of the Jesuit Missionaries, in South America, when they found the Indians with an almost incurable attachment to cannibalism. FATHER JOHN. " You are old Father Jolw," the young man lie said ;— " Tiie few locks that are left yon are grey; You are bale, Father Jolin a hearty old man,— Now, tell me the reason, I pray.' " In the days of my youth," Father John replied, " I remember'd that youth would fly fast; And abused not my health and my vigour at lirat, That I never might need tliem at last." " You are old, Father Jolin," tlie young man lie said, " And pleasures with you pass away ; And yet you lament not the days that are gone,— Now tell me the reason I pray." " In the days of my youth," Father John replied, " I remembered that youtlr would not last} 1 thought of the future whatever I did, Tint 1 never might grieve at the past," " You are old Father John,'' the young man he said, " And life must be hast'nlng aivay: Yon are cheerful, and love to converse upon death, Now tell me the reason I pray." 11 I am cheerful, young man," Father John replied, " Let the cause thy attention engage ; In the days of my youth I remembered my God, And he liatli not forgotten my age." WHfST.— Mrs. Bray relates the following of a Devon shire physician, happily named " V i a l , " wlio was a des perate lover of whist:— One evening, m the midst of a deal, the doctor fell off his chair in a fit; consternation seized the company. Was he alive, or dead ? What was to be done ? All help was given ; hartshorn was poured almost down his throat by one kind female friend, whilst another, feelingly singed the end of his nose with burning feathers ; all were in the breathless agony of suspense for his safety. At length, he showed signs of life, and retaining the last fond idea which had pessessed him at the moment he fell into the fit, to the joy of the whole company, exclaimed: — " What is trumps ?" HOME !— DEAR HOME ! WRITTEN BY A. KYNE. Home! dear home 1 from thee I've stray'd, To scenes so novel and so fair. That pleasure with her smites eBsay'd, To fix my wand'ring footsteps there. Though there ' twas mine to rove ot will, Remote from care, serene and free ; I found my heart was bias'd still, And warmly thrill'd, sweet home for thee. Though there proud domes majestic rise. Though these has fashion rear'd her throne, And plenty's horn by enterprise, Is fill d with stares from every zone. Thy simpler traits me more engage, " t hy rer. ka that brave hoik breeze and sea, Delia, loin, and woods, an heritage, By rature given, sweet Home to thee. Cohl Is the heart that can forget, The merry pastimes of its youth, j iiat never feels some sad regret, That manhood's pleasures want their truth. To me, ' tis sweet in musing dreams. From manhood's thrall, to be set free ; To act the sports, and sing the themes, Of youCri, when blest, sweet Home with thee. A NICE DISTINCTION.— Lord Byron describes a hell to be a gaming- house, so called where you risk little, and are cheated a good deal; and a club is a pleasant purgatory, where you lose more, and are not supposed to be cheated at all. An orator holding forth in favour of women— divine women, concludes thus ; — " Oh, my heaven, depend on i t , nothing beats a good wife." " I beg your pardon," replied one of his auditors, " but a bad husband does." A stingy old lady once having occasion for a party, . after the viands, the lootman brought up a remarkably small piece of cheese. '' Is that the first of the hundred weight?" asked she. " N o , marm, its the last of the pound," responded John. Happiness consists in the multiplicity of agreeable consciousness. A peasant has not a capacity ; for, having equal happiness with a philosopher, they may be equally satisfied, but not equally happy; a small drinking- glass, and a large one, may be equally full, but the larger one holds more than the small one. LINES ON SEEING AN OLD SHOE. Alas ! poor shrivelled shoe 1 hard fate Is thine, In thy old age thus to be cast away :— All- desolate; left lonely here to pine Amid thy TSARS, poor creature, of a day 1 Thy laceless holes, are months which seem to pray For water ; but of water they are shorn. Where is thy brother In misfortune?— Say,— Who has despoiled thee, and thy upper torn,— And lelt thee here to die companionless— forlorn ? Sun- dried art thou— thy torn toe is upturned, As if a boon ' twere begging of the sun ( Whose hot relentless rays have it quite burned), To send a molifying shower;— but one Would fill thy SOLE with gratitude, and shun Thy poor scorched form from his piercing rays. Since In thy youth no evil thou hast done, Feelings of reverence thy GREY HAIRS should raise, To give thee ease and nourishment for all thy days. A coat of Warren's rich Japan would be A savoury mo- sel for thy brown- parched skin j Though from the first coat no effect we'd see,— So thirstily and fast thou'st drink it In ;— Yet to withhold It surely is a sin. I saw the TEARS of gratitude which stole From joint to joint;— and when I looked within. The tattered linings liung beside each hole,— And from my weeping heart I pitied the poor SOLE. Nor was my pity lost, nor my fine feeling;— It silent told a bosom- rending tale;— Its SOLE'S inmost recesses full revealing. I shuddered at the sight;— I turned quite pale ;— A dull, cold gloom came o'er me like a veil: My eyes grew dazzled, andfe thilling sound As of ten thousand t rumpets did assail My aching ears. I cast a glance around. And, clasping the old shoe, we both sunk to the ground. H. Y. Cfjcatm. Co V E N T GARDEN. — The attraction of London Assurance continues unabated, and Mr. Planchfi's Beauty and the Beast, fills the house in every part at half- price. " \ utics, of course, being in the boxes. The language ... this extravaganza is smart and pointed, and Mr. I'latiche brings in the vulgarities of the day in such an amusing shape, as to delight the pit and gallery, if not always the occupants of the boxes. There is one thing which is a drawback to the piece, and that is, the songs ; they are much too long, and sometimes become tedious, although they are admirably executed by Mr. Harrison, Madame Vestris, and Miss Rainforth. There has been much care taken in bringing out Beauty and the Beast. Some of the scencs are ingenious. A change from winter to summer is good, and the finale is gorgeous in the extreme, and does, credit to Mr. Brad well's inventive and mechanical genius. HAYMARKET.— In consequence of the absence of Mr. Power, Mr. Webster has been obliged to produce old stock pieces, and we need not say that they have not filled the house to overflowing, for the public seek after novelties, yet the talent of the company, and the acting of Celeste, in particular, have drawn together sufficient nightly audiences to keep up the spirits of the performers. Town and Country,- the Road to Ruin, and other excellent plays have been revived during the week. The drama of Suzanne, in which Celeste performs so beautifully, has also been revived, and nightly hailed with much applause. ENGLISH OPERA.— Mr. ( Samuel Lover has written a comic operatta, which was produced at this theatre last Wednesday night, and has exhibited " Paddy's" peculiarities in a country as yet foreign to his blunders. II Paddy Whack in Italia, is, in some respects, not void of merit. Mr. Lover often writes some very excellent pieces of music, and his language is sometimes jocose and witty. The present piece is pleasant enough, as far as regards the music, which is capitally sung by the characters, but the body of the operatta is dry, and Paddy is nearly robbed " of the best friend he ever possessed—" his blarney." The laughable part of the piece turns on an Irish gentleman, ( Balfe,) dressing up as a footman to trick a rival, who, by unfair and dishonourable means, attemps to run off with the young lady whom the former is betrothed to, and whilst a carriage is waiting to escort the fair one away, this gentleman- footman takes her place, and the discovery leads to a laughable dilemma. Wilson, Duruset, Stretton, and Miss Would, played admirably, and much of the success of performance rested on Mr. Balfe, who sang one or two Irish songs with much warmth and humour. Duruset too, supported an excellent part with spirit. The converse of this piece might be amusing, aud, as Mr. Lover has introduced the Irish into Italy, he may bring an Italian into Ireland where he would be strangely out of his element. THE STRAND.— We asain visited this house last week, and found ( what we do not always meet with,) a full audience, and the faces of the actors, instead of being, as we sometimes see them at the sight of empty benches, long and meagre, hiding their inward grief by forcec. smiles, and would- be merry countenances, were cheered by present success, and the prospect of a brilliant future. In fact, both in acting and looks, they were " excellent well." The success of the Strand is not to be wondered at, for the public are not long before they find out real worth, and whether it be in a barn, or in a place celebrated and favoured, it is sure to meet with its reward The small company at this theatre, conscious of their own powers, have not gone beyond their pretensions, and the trifles they have offered to the public, are well written, and acted in a spirited style. If the talent? of Mrs. Keeley outshine the rest of the company, the latter, as a whole, arc well calculated to act up to, and give her sufficient support. OLYMPIC.— Charles O'Malley, and The Little Gipsy have lost none of their attraction, and will, we predict, leng remain favorites. A new farce of considerable humour, called The Two Jack Sheppards, has been produced with success. Mr. Graves's capital burlesque of Cupid, has also been revived, and received with shouts of laughter. CITY.— Since the management of this elegant theatre has devolved upon Messrs. Cockerton aud Shepherd, it has been distinguished above most of the minor theatres for the excellence of its performances, and the splendour, taste, and spirit with which they are brought forward ; but the most decided hit that has ever been made at this house, is the last new drama, called The Hebrew Maiden; or, The Lost Diamond, which we need not inform our readers is taken from the celebrated O L D A L E G E N D OF S A I N T P A U L ' S. B Y M. H. AINSFORTH. romance, now publishing, weekly, at the office of " THE PENNY SUNDAY T I M E S . " For j u d i c i o u s a n d s p i r i t ed ( Continuedfrom our last.) C H A P T E R XX. A NEW DEVICE. Upon returning home the goldsmith began to think more coolly over the incidents that had occurred iu the cathedral, and the kindness lie had hitherto borne towards his apprentice was again revived in his heart. He no longer doubted that he had been imposed upon by an artfully contrived tale, and wishing to make all the reparation in his power, he determined to return to St. Paul's, and convince himself whether his conjectures were- right or wrong. Leaving his daughter, therefore, in the care of Mrs. Lester, he hurried away from the house, and once more entering the sacred edifice, began looking up and down the place in hopes that he might see some one who could afford him the information he desired. Beginning to despair, however, at last, he was hasitating and deliberating what he should next do, whin a voice that he remembered to have heard before accosted him, and looking round he saw Sir Lionel Preston leaning carelessly against one of the pillars. " So," exclaimed the knight, " you have found employment, 1 see, that is likely to keep you occupied for some time to come." " You seem to know the business that has brought me here," answered the goldsmith, with surprise. " I do;— you are looking after an ungrateful apprentice, who is scarcely worth the pains you throw away in his behalf." I certainly am looking for the person you have mentioned," answered Arnold Lester, " but it is yet to be proved that he is so worthless as you describe him." " He is," exclaimed the knight, " and I could prove my words if it were necessary. " Do so quickly, then," returned Martin Lester, " for there is nothing so base as to stab the character of a man with insinuations." ' In the first place he is not quite so honest as you imagine," answered Sir Lionel; and, secondly, he has not only deceived you by a false profession " of love for your daughter, but is at this very moment pouring forth his vows of love and constancy at the feet of auother girl." " ' Tis f a l s e ! " exclaimed the goldsmith, with warmth. " These words, sir," retorted the other, threateningly, " would have produced disastrous consequences had they been uttered by an equal. As it is, however, I take them from whence they came; though I must warn you to be more choice in your selection of expressions when next you doubt my word." " I have neither time nor patience for this folly," exclaimed the old man, turning to take his departure. " I came hither in search of a youth who, I believe, I have injured, and as he does not seem to be here I take my leave of you." " Stay, you have not yet heard me out," cried Sir Lionel; " I have told you the youth has transferred his affections to another maiden, but I have not yet mentioned that they arc within this building, and that I can take you where you may see them without being seen in return." ' ' Will you do so ?" demanded Lester, eagerly. " T o be sure I will;— you shall see t h a t ! have been guilty of no exaggeration, and then, perhaps, you will be satisfied that your apprentice ought not to be allowed within your doors any more." " Lead on, Sir Lionel, and if I find you have not de ceived me, I ' l l —" " You will make me an ample apology for the doubt you just now threw upon my assertions," interrupted the knight, gaily. * So now follow me in silence, and whatever you may see do not let the young people be aware ofyour presence." The goldsmith gave the desired promise, and silently following his conductor he passed from the main build ing to the place where we have before seen Martin Pal liser and Stella, just after the former had been taken with the first symptoms of the plague. The door was standing open as Lester and his guide approached, and as the youth had just sunk from exhaustion upon liis knees at the feet of the maiden, it . seemed to confirm the assertions that Had been made by Sir Lionel Preston, At any rate Arnold Lester felt satisfied that the appreri tice no longer loved his daughter, and smothering hi « indignation as veH as he could, he followed his conductor back to the place from whence they had started, " Now," said Sir Lionel, " are you not convin that I have told you the ruth ?" ' You have said well, friend," answered the goldsmith, " he shall be welcome to partake my hospitality, and you also shall accompany us to my house until this storm has in some degree passed by." A hint to this effect was accordingly given to the preacher, who forthwith leaped from the stool upon which he had been elevated, and with many expressions of gratitude thanked the worthy citizen tor the kindness he had manifested. The vile rabble," he said, " are deaf to the advice I would give tliem, and as it would be useless to try them any further, I will e'en accept your generous proposition." " Then let tis go without further loss of t i m e , " exclaimed Arnold Lester; " my house is opposite where we are now standing, and a few moments will serve to convey you to a place of safety." " But perhaps," observed the other, " the fellows will break your windows for the good turn you would do me." " There is no fear of that," answered the citizen; " I am pretty well known and respected in this neighbou A o o d , and when the people find that they have compelled you to retreat, their anger will quickly evaporate, and we shall see them quietly disperse. So follow me, aud I'll warrant this storm will not be long before it blows over." The preacher wanted very little persuasion, and accompanied by the man who had before sided with him, they all three made their way through the crowd, and entering the goldsmith's house were immediately conducted to the room occupied by Mrs. Lester and her daughter. Here a formal introduction took place, but no sooner did Marianne raise her eyes towards the supfiosed preacher, than a death- like paleness spread over ler countenance, and with a faint exclamation of surprise she sank, half fainting, into a chair. Astonished at this the goldsmith and his wife eagerly enquired of her what was the cause of her sudden indisposition, when quickly rousing herself she declared that it was nothing more than a slight faintness that had come over her, and that she now felt nuite well again. This explanation satisfied her father and mother, but Ralph Lobson, who chanced to be in the room, at once made a discovery that was little dreamt of by his master and mistress. Hastily descending to the kitchen, he found his fellow servant, Patty, busily engaged in lier household duties, to whom he at once related all that had happened in the drawing- room. " And now, Patty," he adiled^, " being a ' cutish chap iu these things, I've made a discovery that I think will not fail to surprise you." " Why, you don't mean to say that Eustace St. Clair has been playing any of his tricks again ?" " But I do mean to say it though," answered Ralph, " for he is tbe supposed preacher that master has brought into tbe house, and the other chap that came with him is one of his friends." " Then they are going to try to carry off young missis again ?" " T o be sure they are, but that's no business of ours, you know, Patty, especially as they will pay us hand- y somely for keeping our tongues quiet. So don't sav a word about what I've told you, and we shall see some fun yet if I am not mistaken." With this he left Patty to go and listen at the door to what was to follow. ( To be continued.) LLOYD'S LIST OF POPULAR WORKS. S I X T Y - F I V E H U M O U R O U S E N G R A V I N G S B Y A N E M I N E N T A R T I S T , A N D T E N N E W C O M IC S O N G S ( B Y P R E S T ) F O R O N E P E N N Y 1 ! ! " T H E P E N N Y H I J N D A Y T I M ES GALLERY OF COMICALITIES," CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING ORIGINAL COMIC SONGS, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THE WORK :— Shocking Ex- The Contented Man. My Sarah and Me. Domestic Economy. Brandy and Salt. Population; or, It's all owing to the Family Ointment. Dublin. REBUSSES. I. My first, the cause of many a tear, Makes handsome maidens biusli and fear ; I would they were all like my second, Perfect Indeed they would be reckoned. My whole, a grace, by females worn. That from them can't he by ftiry torn. II. J . GOSLIN. I'm seen amid the tempest's roar. Dashing against the rock and shore. M v letter first reject, and you Will see what all devout men do} Another letter take away from me, What the bright sun emits you then will see. III. A knave I am without a doubt: My first letter take away. And you'H see what we all feel - In the summer- sun's scorching ray; Another take, aHd you then wtit see, What all- who can, do every dav. A. J P ENIGMAS. " I a m indeed,' answered the old man, with agitaacting, gorgeous pageantry, splendid dresses, beautiful t | u u ; « I had hoped that we might be reconciled, that scenery, extensive machinery, and scenic effects, seldom been equalled, and, certainly, never s u r pa The adapter has well executed his t a s k , and made J best use of the plot, startling incidents, and gr; tj.,> language of the author of t h e tale. The actors have capital parts allotted to t h e m , a n d exert themselves with great surer s. Wc have seldem seen Mr. Bennett to more advantage than in the Jew of Tadcaster, and Dunn was most irresistibly funny in the part of Simon Snout. That remarkably- clever actress, Miss Emme- , line Montague, surpassed herself in the part of the heroine of the drama; and Mrs. Honey, as Adrian, the page, was extremely fascinating— played most charmingly, and sang several pretty songs very sweetly. We should not forget to mention that Mr. Atkinson, in the character of Richard Cceur de Lion, both sing and played admirably. A new drama, called The Rose of Newark, concluded the evening's entertainments; the principal attraction of which, was the first appearance of Mr. Shepherd, who enacted his part with his usual excellence. The whole of the performances went off with immense eclat. PAVILION.— No nautical drama since Black- Eyed Susan, has met with such triumphant success as Mr. Prest's drama of Gallant Tom; or, The Perils of a Sailor Ashore and Afloat, as the tumultuous applause with which it is greeted every night of its representation, fully testifies. The plot is a deeply- interesting one— the language forcible and natural, e d i t i n g tears and laughter alternately ; and the incidents so admirably worked out, that tbe interest never flags. Mr. H. Rignold, as the honest, hardy sailor, brimful of generosity and kindly feeling, has achieved a complete triumph. Undoubtedly, he is one of the best representatives of nautical characters of the day. His acting in the present piece is admirably true to nature. Mr. Tyrell played the repulsive character of the revengeful African, Saib, with much spirit and judgment, and elicited frequent shouts of applause. To all the other performers the greatest praise is due, especially to that prince of funny fellows, Rogers, in the laughable character of Toby Twitter, a gentleman, with a fortune of eight pounds, thirteen shillings, and a penny ha'p'ny, " yearly per anni- wum." We must not forget to mention Mr. Bradshaw, who did ample justice to the part of the Earl Fitzosbert; also Mr. Wass, who played Mat Williams in capital style. Miss Adelaide Cooke was beautifully effective in the character of Ellen; aud Miss Palmer, Mrs. Loveday, and Miss Young, were equally successful as Rosina, Patty, and Cheeki. Little Miss Loveday has a character just suited to her, namely, the boy Richard, and excellently she performed it. Mr. F. Neale, the talented stagemanager, has got up the drama in excellent style: the scenery and effects are really splendid, and are alone sufficient to crown the success of even an indifferent The Episodical Vision, in which is exhibited a beautiful moving Miriorama, painted by Mr. Beaumont, does that skilful artist the highest credit, and is, nightly, most rapturously applauded. The fleet in full sail; the battle of the N i l e ; the bearing down of the French Admiral's ship, L'Orient, and the last scene, are all highly effective. The nautical flag hornpipe, by twelve, is also excellently danced. In fact, the whole performance reflects the greatest credit upon author, manager, actors, and all the persons engaged in it, and we are confident that Mr. Denvil will meet with a commensurate reward for his liberality, in having bumping houses every evening. ROYAL ALBERT SALOON.— E x t e n s i v e a l t e r a t i o n s have been made in this popular place of amusement, and such improvements as cannot fail to increase the attraction. in addition to the other entertainments, there is now an exhibition room, iu whi< > me beautiful scenery, moving Panorama's are shewn. The performances in the Saloon, by the bes • > npany in London, vocal, dramatic, terpsichorean, and usreal, continue on tli eft a me excellent scale, while the attractions in the beautiful gardens is unabated. A more delightful place for a summer resort cannot be found in the metropolis. he might hava become the husband of my daughter, and t h a t tb t ie happiness of all parties* would have • en complete." " And after a l l , " observed Sir Lionel, " you find out that he has been deceiving the girl he professed to love." " I fear there is no doubt of i t , " answered the goldsmith, with much emotion; " at any rate it appears his love has been gained by this stranger, who I have never seen before." " She is the daughter of a wandering minstrel," returned the knight, with a sneer, " and may, therefore, be a good match enough for a city apprentice." " Martin Palliser may yet be your equal," answered the old man, sharply, " and as for being a city apprentice, how many of them, I should like to know, have risen to wealth and honour far beyond what can be boasted of by Sir Lionel Preston ?" " You are insolent, fellow!" exclaimed the indignant knight, and then smoothing his anger, he added, " but perhaps you have good reason to be ruffled, seeing that your daughter has been rejected by one that you would nave honoured so greatly." " Enough of this," cried Arnold Lester, impatiently; " you have already said quite sufficient to convince me that my kindness has been thrown away upon the youth, and, therefore, I would be spared any lurther pain upon the subject." With these words the old man moved away, and passing through the busy throng congregated in Paul's Walk, directed his steps homewards, whilst his mind was painfully occupied in considering past events. Indeed, so intently were his thoughts fixed upon what he had seen and heard in the cathedral, that he had reached his own door before he was aware that a great crowd was assembled near it, and looking about to discover the cause of so unusual an occurrence, he saw a man preaching with great vehemence and gesticulation. Attracted by this the goldsmith drew nearer that be might profit by the words of the expounder of the gospel, but scarcely had he taken a favourable position where he might hear all that was uttered, when ihe mob began to exhibit evident symptoms of impatience, some laughing outright, and others going so far as to throw mud and other missiles at the person who was addressing them. This excited the wrath of Arnold Lester, who forthwith began to address the crowd upon the lieinousness of the conduct they were pursuing; but his words were only received with laughter, and the missiles flew about faster than ever. " Friends," exclaimed the goldsmith, " forbear, I entreat you, and do not thus illtreat one who comes to reclaim you from your wickeduess." " Let him go and preach to those that want to hear him, then," returned the foremost of the mob, " we want none of his canting here, and if he don't vanish in double quick time, he 11 get a good deal worse treat - ment than he has yet received." " Would you injure the holy man?" demanded the goldsmith, in a tone of reproach. " We don't want to hurt him, only he shall not stay here," replied the fellow who acted as spokesman. " We have had enough of liis ranting, so the sooner he goes away the better it will be for him." Hereupon auother shower of mud and stones flew over the head of the preacher, none of which, however, hit him, nor indeed did it seem to be the intention of the mob to do more than frighten him away from the place. But this was not understood by Arnold Lester, who, making his way through the crowd towards the preacher, earnestly exhorted him to leave the place before any serious mischief occurred. Still the preacher maintained his ground resolutely, and then one who appeared to be a friend, whispered to Arnold Lester that he thought it would be better if they could get him into any house in the neighbourhood for shelter till the mob had dispersed. " If I mistake not," he added, " you live at no great distance from this spot, and seeing the danger that threatens this good man, it would be an act of christian charity to give him shelter till he may once again venture forth. If my readers will content the implements of an n they will find my first is one hem; after which, let t . search the flomla green- house, and there they will find my second. Let them put boih together, and they will find my whole, which Is a part of my first, when complete. II. My first Is a vegetable production, My second is a century, And my whole is dreaded aboard ship. III. Ye pensive readers of " The Sunday Times," Attend just here unto my simple rhymes, And dive at once into the mystic art, Which my brief pen wtll te your minds impart. Then you will find my first on rivers clear, AVhere some are distant, others are as near; And noble Thames has them across Its tide, Where some are narrow, others are as wide. Well, then, my second is an alphabetic letter— Is found In lettuce, and Is near a debtor; Find, then, my whole, a woman's name appears, Which has been used for full five hundred years. C. W . DUCKETT. IV. Pray, good reader, find me out. My name I will explain, Should you miss It the first time, I hope you'll try again. An Insect my whole will name, Though you may think It queer. That if beheaded I once get. Hard metal 1 shall appear. If docked again, I am not well; If again, 1 am worse then : But if again you cut me short, You leave two score and ten. A Private Still. Happy Land— a Sad Lot. Poor Jack— Please Re- Member Jack. Iphn Delf— In his Cnps. Hard- Up; c tremltles. AND ALSO THE FOLLOWING GRAPHIC SKETCHES: The Maid of the Mill.— A General Rising.— Physical Force — Bringing him too ( Two).— A Black Fast.— Ladies ofthe Court. - His Mind is on the Rack.— Settling a[ c] Count; Double Entry — Friar Bacon.— Giving Himself ( H) alrs-— Contracting an Acquaintance.— A Heavy Swell.— A Good Bite.— Hodge's Beat.— Sedan. terv Occupation.— Currant Jam , a Friendly Squeeze.— A Neat Turnout.— A Votary of the Nine. — Taking the Pledge. — Warltka Guise ( Guys).— Food for Reflection.— Celling Whacks) a B. l- frey — A Promising Child,— A Boy In a Fit.— Giving up the Ghost — Cabriolet Society.— Pleasures of" Fancy."— Best London Porter — A Back Settler.— Going by the Post; General Delivery.— Come' of Age.— Cutting Him to the Quick.— Breaking Cover.— Sauce ( 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 for Squalls.— Hebrew Melodies.— A Funny Pair.— A Good Calling A Shocking Stick.— The Pot- boy.— Summut Short.— Detachment of Cavalry.— Deprived of the Use of . their Organs.— Neat as Imported,— A Free- Booter.— Fancy Fair.— At a Stand Still.— An Unhappy Attachment.— Coming It Slap. 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