PENNY LONDON:— SUNDAY, JUNE 6, 1841. FFIFI ASSASSINATION or THE LATE LIEUTENANT FEIS, 32ND REGIMENT, GUILDHALL. Mrs. Ellen Shipley and Mr-. Matildi Hu'Jstth, two mar- ried women, were summoned for having thrown mud at a black man, named John Martin, ort the day of Ms wed- ding. The complainant, whrtse face w'fts jet black, and greasy to a degree, smt,, d thnjt |, e | efl fiil( re8| dencei Hose- court, Ea.' i Smith'field, a few days iigtt, in a coach, for Ihe purpose of being joi'iied in matrimony to Miss Dogherly, to whoirt lie >. ad been paying attention for some time. There hud been buslle and disorder in the neighbourhood While he and his bride were preparing logo, bat St the door of Aldgnte Church, whero ihe tetertttny was performed, ( lie two defendants began to • si fly mud as thick as hail at him. He and Ihe lady of his choice, however, succeeded in the object for which they visited the church, and walked arm- in- arm along the church- yard, rejoicing at the prospect of re- turning to dinner without further annoyance ; bul just as they reached the iron- gate, a shower of mud over- whelmed them, and they were obliged to get the assist- ance of the Police, but for whose exertions the com- plainant believed their grave would have been their wedding bed. ALDERMAN— Is Miss Dogherty hlnck or white ?" COMPLAINANT— Oh, fair, very fair, certainly. ALDERMAN.— Then I dare say there is some jealousy in this business ? COMPLAINANT.—( groaning)— I an't jealous, and if they were it an't my fault. ALDERMAN.— Did you promise either or both of them marriage? MRS. SHIPLEY ( in a voice mndeof diseased lungs and gin)— Ptease your worship, he's the blackest willain • nat ever lived, and so all the vomen In the court we livas in knows to their sorrow. ALDERMAN.*- Why, he didn't promise you all mar- riage, did he. ? MRS. SHIPLEY.— I depise him, and wouldn't have nutlin to do wilh him. This here lady ( Mrs. Matilda Hudson) can tell you a very melancholy rigmarole about the gentleman. 1 do assure your lordship that he's worse nor t'other black gentleman. ' ALDERMAN.— Ah, then 1 suppose he was to have been mnrried to Mrs. Ilndsnn in earnest. I COMPLAINANT.— Why, the truth is, my lord, their was a precious long string of them coming after me and no mistake, and me and Mrs. Hudson was agoing to be- come man and wife, and I've no doubt father and mo- ther, please yon, my lord, too. Well, I was at se « , and we was to be drawed together in the law when I arrived, but what does she do but marries a blind mau, and now she Is precious mad because I was to be mar- ried to an old pal of mine, and so she and the rest on em pelted me and my wife with mud. ALDERMAN.— Wh^, Mrs. Hudson, what right have you 10 think of getting this gentleman back, when you hare gothusband of your own ? Mrs. Hudson called heaven to witness that the black had belied her, and that the whole matter originated in a violent attempt made by him upon her virtue. She was quietly sitting in her room, when the defendant, the night before his marriage, walked in, knowing that her husband was blind, and had the imperance to tell her that he would get into her room by the windy, at a late hour, and put a regular pair of black bullock's hotns up- on poor old blind Jack. ( LaughterJ She then felt in a greater passion than ever she was in her life, and she dared him to do anything of the kind, and thus he left the house, swearing that lie w ould jist do as he said. Well, she waited and waited, prepared to give it him well, if he ventured for to approach, but he was afeared, for, arter all, he was bul a dirty coward of a fellow, though be was as black as the devil himself. ALDERMAN.— But still you had no right to pelt him and his wife with mud, although he did disappoint you. ( Laughter.) Mrs. Hudson assured the alderman that she had not bandied a morsel of mud, and that she merely went out to sec the shocking sight of a black man going to be married to a white woman, although the Lord knew that the wife was no great shakes, for it was only last Monday night she slept between two soldiers. The complainant said if it were usual for married women to appear before a magistrate so soon after they entered into that state, his wife would appear to sbo « how black both her eyes were made with the mud, and also to exhibit her bonnet, which, although as white as snow itself when she got into the church, looked as if ii came down the chimbly afterwards. ( Laughter.) ^" ALDERMAN.— I shall make you two ladies he bound over to keep the peace towards Mr. Martin and hi. wife. I see it is a matter of jealonsy. MRS. HUDSON.— We don't want to do him no harm, please your lordship, but if ever he comes to put those pair of black buttock's horns upon my old blind Jack, I'm blest if I don't sarne him out, that's all. COMPLAINANT.— Ob ! I'm blest if it o'int you as wants to put a pair of great cow's boms upon my mis- sus, but you wont do it if I know it. ( Great laughter) The parties retired, bound over, bat warm with pas- sion. BOW STREET. CLOSE SHAVING.— Phelim O'Farrell, the cut of a biped who in Ireland is generally designated " pool and hearty," seized " time by the firelot k," and popped into the witness box with the alacrity of a French Minis- ter pouncing upon a Palmerston blunder, or the pre- mier upon a seat nt the royal table. Phelim looked ir excellent humour with himself, w hoever else might have incurred his displeasure, for it wns as a complainant h< caine forward, and Mr. and Mrs. Callaghan after somi circumlocution, were, it was ascertained, the offending parties. Whether it was that the gentleman happened to be in a sedentary mood, or, which is more probable, was conscious of his error, he begged leave to absent himself on this occasion, and deputed his " rib" to d< the honours. " Where's your husband ?" asked his worship, ot Mrs. C„ who had a countenance as woe- begone as sh< could manage to insert into a face something ofthe hue of the inside of a new boot, with a short snub nose— wha' a drill serjeant would call " well up," with a pair of nail- eyes to match. " He's lyin' down, my lord, your honour," returned Mrs. Callag'nan, " wid a great impression on his heart entirely. I'm full sure, meself, he's ia for great sick- ness, if'tisn't a thing the Lord pats him over id— praise be to his holy name I" Phelim O'Farrell purred up his mouth, and, winking his left eye twice in succession, treated himself to n prolonged fit of laughter. " 1 ax pardin, gentlemen i oh, be gor 1 do," he exclaimed 5 " but that bales the pooi laws, so it does. Well, well, but aren't Ihey a deludin sex ? What look 1 had, that wouldn't have a leady spoken woman, lhat way, whiu I'd be in a hobble. Eira, Mrs. Callagbanyou don't foiget the bar ov a varse— ' Lough Neagh boats, Lough Neagh boots, Oo< i la ttkks, at) cosies out stones.' THE REICN ( RAIN) OF TERROR, Eh I warn't them the words your husband droned out, an* he raspin' me countenance ?" The bench intimated to Phelim O'Farrell that it would be acceptable his going into a detail of facts. PHELIM.— To be sure, sir, I'll ingnge; why not! I wanted to begin the new year well, as in jeuty bound, an' havin' a slight tremor in me hand, be rayson ov— Iycb no matlher— only why wash't Father Malhew born 20 yeais ago ? Well, sir, to shorten me story, I went to Ned Callaghan to shave meself, an' I axed him to sharpen the rbazheer first. ' Never fear,' says he, ' here's a hone all the ways from Belfast that a sodger jeni me, ' twill give an edge that id shave a mouse asleep and, with that he repated the rhyme ennsarnin' Lough Neagh, an' lathered, meself, an' I'll engage scraped me to that degree that 1 thought ' twas an_ oysteishell was travellin' over me countenance." " And," inteirupted his worship, " yeu grew impa- tient at the way in which he enacted baiber, and it led to an altercation between you." Pu ELIM O'FARRELL ( snapping his knees vehemently). —" Well, well," he suid," be all that's good an'gracious, a body id imagine your wurchip was lo ihe fore— tliHt was just the way ov id. ' See the state I'm in. Mur- phy,' says I lo Misther O'Neil, the musician, ' count o' ibis fellow prelendin' he knew how fo shave inc.' Well, Paddy O'Neil paused a ininit ' Never prelind, Ned Callaghan,' says he, ' to what you do. i't comprehind. I remimber a buxom young cook- maid axed meself wanst, at Kilkie, iv I liked lobsther- sauce. ' Oh. mighty well, Norry,' says T." ' Well, then, your band,' says she, handin' me a butther bout fill! of id. To be sure I never seen Ihe like used afore ; but I grew ashamed to confess me ignorance, so I only put the in- gradinnts to me mouth, an' med one swig ov id, clane and clear. Allileu 1 if ever a piper ped for it. I did. Wid respect to ihe com), any, 1 thought I'd never be done havin' back the thrash to the same cook. I'll be bound I was pale in fhe face for a fortnight afther id. Believe me, boys, ignoranse is safer than prizumpshun. Wasn't that sinsiblc o' Murphy O'Neil, gintlemen?" MAGISTRATE.— Don't putyouiself under Callaghan's razor again.— The case is dismissed. " See that, though ?" replied poor Phelim, with a look of half comical dismay. " Well, well, the world is shavin' me. Mrs. Callaghan, pace be u id vou, an' a i- pcedy re- tase from that impression on his hfaii to your husband ; all the liaim 1 wish him is « i frosly tnoinio', cowld wa- 1flier, an' a bad rhazheer, whin he's iu a hurry to go to confission."— (" great laughter). dark frock,' devoid of sleeves, Jand much torn, was wrapt abont her spare fonh— a crimson sash tied round her waist, and hanging to her feet— a small branch of yew, hung by a blue ribbon from her neck, and dan- Wed on her left side— her arms and small feet were bare, and no covering was upon her head. At this moment a heavy cloud veiled the face of the moon, and then the maniac started wildly lo her feet, and ran with headlong speed to another part ofthe crag. Here she halted, on the very verge of a gaining precipice ? and then, in a ha If whisper, she said, " Ronald! Ronald t Ronald) are you here ? They told me thou wouldst be here soon as the day was gone. I have wept for the coming night— 1' tis here— but where art thou ? Thoa used to clasp me in thy arms, and embrace me, when we met. Come, do not hide thyself, Ronald— let me to thee—' tis I, thy dear Madeline, who loves thee belter than her life. Nay, speak to me— could yon but see how my heart bleeds, yon would weep ior me. I have wept many times for thee since they tore thte from me, and sirange sights have crossed mine eyes while sleeping. Come, give me thy hand— t.' jou loos- est sad— thy eyes, are watery— nay, nay, thou shalt not weep— come, let me kiss thy tears away— come, come, come. Ah I he sinks through the earth— Sv'ay, Ronald— stay ; ' tis Madeline— thy own fond Madeline. Ah ! he is gone— he is gone 1" she shrieked. And the esho answered, " He is gone 1" She fell lifeless to the ground !— hsr lovely head and arms hanging o'er the dreadful precipice. The morn now awoke, and with it the notss of the maddening horn sang through the forest. The young and handsome Lord Glanberton was about to spend tho morning in hunting. Louder and louder grew the voice of the echoing horn, and then a wary hound was seen crossing a path ofthe forest, and again darting into the thick- trimmed underwoods. Then came Glanberton, riding by the side of his loving friend, Orlando Vardini, the wealthiest heir that Naples could produce. The daring huntsman, with a nume- rous field of sportsmen, brought up the rear. " A melancholy spot yonder," said Orlando, point- ing towards the Death Crag. Glanberton nodded his head, but spoke not. ' Tis, then, not some romantic tale connected with yonder crag ?" asked Orlando. " X have beard what a lovely " " Hark!" cried Lord Edward; " the dogs have Bcent— let us follow, or we may lose the sport." AHd he drove the spurs into the sides of his steed, as he galloped in the direction of the Death Crag. " What may this mean ?" said Orlando, when Glan berton was out of hearing. " I did not bear a single dog cry—' tis strange. And then when I spoke of the crag and its wild tradition, a cloud rose upon his brow, and tho smile fled from his features. H « was wont to shun this spot. I much wonder he cams this nay to- day—' tis strange—' tis strange, indeed !" Then, slacking his reins, his horse bounded forward, and a few moments brought him to the side of Glan- berton. " Merciful Heavens!" cried Lord Edward, checking his horse; " look yonder— seme human form is hanging , on the brink of the precipice." " Good God 1" exclaimed Orlando, springing from ! his courser's back, followed by Glanberton, who rip ' up the base of the crag, and in another moment held r the lifeless form of the maniac in his arms. " She is dead," he cried—" no, she breathes— she . may yet recover." " Let us bear her to yonder stream," cried Lord t Edward. " Come, a little water may restore her— ! let us make haste." 5 As Glanberton was about to raise the inanimate „ figuie in his arms— when his eyes rested on the wan features of the unfortunate Madeline, he started back, ' as from Ihe sting of a scorpion. A death- like hue f overspread his face— his limbs shook like the withered 1 leaves of a tree— his eyes rolled in their sockets, and • his hair seemed to stand on end. " You are ill," said Orlando. " Good God!" he articulated; then, burying his y face in his hands, he turned from the spot, hurried t into his saddle, and then flew down one of the darkest j paths the forest contained, and was soon lost in the gloomy labyrinth. " Mysterious powers !" exclaimed Orlando, " what may this mean ?— some dreadful secret lurks beneath this. Ah! she wakes— she revives— hush! she speaks." The maniac unclosed her dark eyes, and in a sweet plaintive tone, began to sing the following words,— " Ah I where shall I wander ' till the break of the morn ? e My love hnth decelv'd me and left me forlorn i 1. Where shall I hide me, and lie down to rest— i. I'd steep with the robin, could I find out his nest." e Then, turning her eye on Orlando, she said,— e " They told me he'd meet me here to- night, and > lhat I should lay my head on his bosom and sleep as e I had used to do ; but when I was about to grasp his ' t hand, he sank through the eartb, as he always does, or y flies in the air. ' Did you ever see a robin?' she I- asked, mournfully. I have seen them watching o'er ss their young, and heard ihem sing their little ones to i aleep ; and then when their young have wings, and can n fly, they leave their dames to weep and monrn. How ie cruel these are ? and yet they are not so cruel as men ; ss no, they robbed me of my lave, and I have never heard 3. him speak since. Yet I often see him— I have seen him now. Why did you wake me ?— I like to sleep, e because I always see Ronald. Sometimes we are roving through the woods together, and then when I try to kiss him, he vanishes; and I never see him till s> 1 sleep again." » s « < Poor creature !" sighed Orlando, id She was about to speak again, when the blast of the ly horn rang through the woods. She sprang to her feet, — and the change of her features showed the workings m of her wrecked soul. 1- " Hark!" she cried—' tis the war bugle— they are > e about to fight. Come, let's go home, or tliey will bear re you away as they did my love." n, She caught tha arm of Orlando, and hurried him down the base of the crag. The generous Orlando had 9n resolved upon conducting her to a placa of safety, and ie they, therefore, pioceeded together down a lone path, - d in a direction for the distant hills before mentioned, After travelling for half an hour, the eye of Orlando rl1 tested on awhile cottage, situated at the foot of the ch hills. They gained it, and the maniac ran in at the door. Orlando followed; and as he crossed the " n threshold, he beheld Madeline folded in the arms of an er old eottager, who, wilh upraised eyes, exclaimed, is- " Thank God, my poor child is once again returned." ed Redditch. W. S. , m _ n- An Irish lawyer of the Temple having occasion to gp er to dinner, left the directions in the keyhole, " Gone to • t- the Elephant and Castle, where you will find me; and if you cannot read this, carry it to the stationer's, and - he will read it for you," None of the papers in Canada have chosen to touch upon the cruel manner in which this murder was committed. We observe in the Quebec Gazette, that a well- informed correspondent has assured the Editor these particulars could not be published without exciting feelings of the most distressing nature. The same regard to sympathy and public feeling has, doubtless, restrained them all; but as a moral effect must follow, adding strength to the cause of loyalty, we shall not consent to forego the advantage, even though it be obtained through a most painful medium. Af After Lieut. Weir had been betrayed into the hands of the rebels, Dr. Wol- fred Nelson ordered his removal from St. Denis to St. Charles. The person entrusted with this duty was Jalbert, the ex- Captain of Militia. Mr. Weir's arms were forced back, and his elbows made fast to each other with ropes. Thus pinioned, he was placed in a cart, into which Jalbert, and another man under him, whose name we forget, also mounted, the former armed with a sword, the latter with an axe, and they proceeded towards St. Charles. The roads were in so very bad a state that the horse became fatigued, and with diffi- culty continued at a foot's pace. Jalbert first ordered the man to get out him- self— and finally he made a sign to Mr. Weir, who, although in so helpless a condition, descended as best he might. He had just reached the ground, and was steadying himself with one hand rested on the back of the cart, when Jalbert made a rush behind him, and plunged his sword into Mr. Weir's back with such violence that it transfixed his body. Surprised, writhing with pain, helpless ! and influenced by the first impulse of nature, the weapon was no sooner withdrawn than Mr. Weir got under the cart, where he lay bleeding and in agony. After a short conference the two assassins approached the cart, and commenced a most savage and brutal attack on their victim, one on each side ; the one stabbing with his sword, the othsr striking with his axe, as the wheels and the position of Mr. Weir gave oppor- tunity. At length the axeman inflicted a severe wound on Mr. Weir's left side, close to the hip. Roused by the brutal character of the attack, and the reflec- tion that to remain where he was, would be to die by inches, Mr^ Weir crept from under the cart, and regained his legs. Seeing these wratches again advance upon him, he resorted to the only possible expedient left, and weak, as by this time he was, he raised his right leg, and made a kick at Jalbert. The man with the axe seized the advantage of the moment, and aimed a heavy blow at the left side of Mr. Weir's head. He saw the blow coming, and instinctively raised his hand. The blow took effect across the side of the head, and on a line with the temple; after cutting off all the four fingers of Mr. Weir's hand, the axe laid his skull completely open, nearly severing the top of the head. The young man then sunk upon the ground, a dreadful object to behold. Those who knew Mr. Weir, as we did, will have difficulty to believe that any man could be so heartless as thus to have butchered him. He was of most manly heart, but most gentle manner; his countenance most prepossessing and agreeable, and of a freshness which gave an increased appearance of youth; the whole surmounted by the most beautiful, curly head of hair. Ingenui vultus puer, ingenuique pudoris. use a nuge lower, witn an enormous uase, uiai rose some twenty or thiriy yards from ihe level ground. The scene from the base was a dark and majestic one. Far as the purest eye could search on all sides, save the north, the slumbering wood lay outstretched— the distant village spire shot above the dead mass of trees; and this alone was the sole work of art lhat met the wandering eye. Far to the north, also, the forest extended, but there the barren side of some musky hills seemed to check its progress, and form a bound- ary. The night was such a one as we often witness in the month of April, when winter and summer seem struggling for the mastery ; the preceding day had been a sunny one ; but as the shades of night advanced, the slumbering wind awoke, and rocked the sturdy branches of the old oak, as though some giant hand were on them. For two hours an unusual darkness had hung like a pall over the earth, shrouding Ihe beauties of nature and art in one chaotic cloud of gloom ; bul now a pale streak of light is seen shooting along the verge of the eastern sky— larger and moie distinct it grows, till anon the gorgeous lamp of night bursts forth, as , from the bosom of some distant hill. The thick- charged clouds begin, like some enormous vessel, to roll away — the air becomes more bright— the wind more calm— the mountainous clouds separate, and then Ihey seem like some mighty army on the eve of battle, all travel- ling to one point, but in different paths. Now the earth is rich with silvery smiles— now the distant spire may be traced— and now a dark cloud veils the moon, and the globe seems wrapt in mourning. ' Twas on smli a night as this that a dark human form was seen lecliniug against the base of the terrific Death Crag. The wild and time- worn garments showed ( hey covered a woman's tender frame. The face of ihis midnight wanderer was ghaslly pale— her dark and eagle eyes weie fixed on the pale moon, which now sailed through a cloudless sky— long locks of uncurled hair, dark as her own fiery eye, hung down her wan cheeks, and then fell carelessly across her snowy breast and shoulders— the parled ruby lips dis- closed two rows of pure ivory, and a dark smile played round her well- shaped mouth. At one moment a gleam of joy flew o'er her pallid features, and anon it van- ished, and a gloomy fiown was there;— her lips qui- vered like one in eager talk, and then she waved her little hand, as> if calling some object that her bewilder- ed fancy bad given binb to. The poor maniac was clad in a singular foim j— a THE DEATH CRAG! OR, THE MANIAC AND THE LIBERTINE. ' Twas midnight; the moaning winds crept wilh a low murmur through the naked branches of ihe lofty elms which shaded the frowning Death Crag. The Death Crag, as it was commonly called, was, indeed, a wild and melancholy spot, situated in the centre of a lonely, silent, and unfrequented forest Tradition told lhat in by- « one days a love- born maiden had Ihere ended a life of misery and despaii.—' l' » as from this occurence that the flinty crag joined its- name.— But of this herealtei. M hen ihe rye of ( be traveller first caught the dark outline of the pile, hf might Iwve exclaimed, " Ah! what ivyclad towel The reign ( rain) of terror ' lis, forsooth, One dangerous to the constitution; When thunder, lightning,— rain in truth, Form quite an aerial revolution. THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE S POLICE GAZETTE.^ THE I) EATI[ GRASP; OR, A FATHER'S CSJRSE ! BY THE AUTHOR op « , ELJ, T THE OUTCAST, E' THE DARK (' Continued fi om our last.) CHAPTER IX. LADY OF THE HALL.— THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. a. now pass over another period of seven years, - f Which epoch there was a comfortable hostelrie si- of•• Ti" 1 3 villa- e near London, and known by the sign I •* i, Traveller's Rest." This same hostelrie was kept Oy as honest a fellow as England could boast of, and po sses sing a heart as brimful of humanity as he in variably ' niled his own tankards. Of this fact, we dare say our readers will not entertain a doubt, when we inform them that the wonhy host of wham we are writing, was none other than Master Caleb Swinton, now sobered down into the steady, sedate, married man, w'. th as comely a wife as any need wMi to have, and two l'ovely little facsimiles of himself and partner, yclept, a SOB and a daughter. Caleb Swinton had been proprietor of" The Travel- ler's Rest," for about five years, having failed in his bird- fancying business, anil during that period he had been a thriving man, and was rapidly accumulating a fortune; his house being the best attended of any for many miles around, affording, as it did, " good accom- modation for inau and beast." By what means he raised the money to get into this house after his failure, will preseutly be seen. It was night, a fine night in autumn, and Caleb was seated in his private parlour, in company with his wife, Mabel, and their two children, and busily engaged in conversation, while ever and anon he paid the most friend'y visits to the foaming tankard of ale which stood before him ; a beverage tor which his house was particularly celebrated, and if anything could be judged from appearances, fine fattening drink it was, for Mas- ter Caleb had become as corpulent as one of his owu butts, and as red in the face as the cheerful lire which in winter always filled the grate in the parlour of the tavern. " 1 tell thee what it is, Caleb," said Mabel, ( whose only lault was that which the generality of her sex pos- sess, namely, curiosity,) " I tell thee what it is; that is the only point upon which thou and I always disagree." " And it strikes me, my dear Mabel," replied her husband calmly, and smiling kindly in her face, " it strikes me very forcibly, that we always shall. My poor father, of blessed memory, and my late mother, af- forded me a sufficient proof that unless a man and • woman keep their proper places, there can be uo happi- ness in the matrimonial state." " Caleb," returned Mabel, " a man should have no secrets from his wife." " If a man does not wish to let all the world know his business, he will never make a confidant of his wife, Mabel," retorted her husband. " Now, now, do not be cross ; thou art the best little woman in all Chris- tendom, with the exception of one fault which thou pos- sessest." " And what is that, pray ?" " Why, thou art so confoundedly inquisitive." " Well, I must admit, that in respect to that failing, ilit be one, Caleb, 1 am a true woman every inch of me ; but 1 think thou wilt not do me the injustice to suppose that I cannot keep a secret." " What! a true woman, and keep a secret ?— Be- sbrew me, wife, an' 1 could make thee nrove thy asser- tions, thou wouldst make my fortune, for thou wouldst be accounted one of the wondei s of the world 1" " Well, well," laughed Mabel, good- humouredly, " there may be some truth in thine observations; but trust me, if the happiness and interest of any person de- pended on my secresy, not a syllable should fall from my lips ; no, 1 would die first. But it's no use your talking; I will tease your life out of you, until you tell me all about this mysterious Dark Lady of the Hall, as she is called ; for I am certain you are acquainted with her history, aud who she is. Why, when you failed in business, who was it lent you money to purchase this house, and started you in the world again ?" " The Dark Lady ofthe Hall," was Caleb's laconic reply. " And who is it that has befriended us ever since ':'"• demanded Mabel. " The I " ark Lady of the Hall." " Who is it that, benevolently relieves fhe wants of the; poor in the neighbourhood^ anil i as re • srkable for her Christian charitv, as she is lor her mysterious man- ners ?" " The Hark Lady of th-.- Hall." " True, tli? i rark Lady of the Hall; and now. nrav VIK> is th , J lark Lady of the Hall?" F iial" said her husband, archly, and winking his right eye, " that is theveiy question, and one that I must decline answering." 5' What a provoking man thou art, Caleb;" returned Mabel, angrily. " Here am I absolutely dying to be- come acquainted with every particular, and thou wilt not gratify me, although I faithfully promise thee that not a sentence shall ever again pass my lips. Here is a mysterious lady, whom nobody knows, comes from no one knows where, and with her son, that handsome boy, takes Up her residence in the old Hall, which had been deserted for so many years before. She always dresses . ii black, sees no company, and leads the lile of a re- cluse; at the same time the many munificent acts of benevolence she performs plainly shows that she must be immensely rich, or she never could do it. I am on thorns to be made acquainted with her history ; all the world is on thorns to be made acquainted with her his- tory, thou knowest all about it, aud yet thou art so in- exorable as to refuse to make thy affectionate, kind, indulge**; wife, and all ihe world acquainted with it." " That's where it is, Mabel," returned Caleb, " I do decline letting my affectionate, kind, indulgent wife know anything about it, because I am fearful she would make all the world acquainted with it." " Caleb, on the word of a woman, on my honour;— on my veracity ;—( what else shall I say ?)— I solemnly pro. mise that I will do no such thing." " Thou wilt keep it a profound seeret, locked within thy own breast ?" " Oh, yes. that I will," replied Mabel, vehemently. " Thou wilt never let drop a sentence ?" " Never 1" " Not a syllable ?" • Not a syllable 1" replied Mabel, eagerly. " Thou wilt promise me not even to whisper a word to anv persou, without my permission," " Willingly," said Mabel, impatiently. " Thou wilt keep thy word ?" " Faithfully." " Then— then,— why— I'll take a week or so to con- sider whether it would he prudent for me to trust thee or not." " What a tantalizing, provoking creature, to be sure," said Mabel, in accents of vexation and disap- pointment; " how canst thou be so cruel, Caleb? — Now now,— my dear, good- uatured Caleb, I ain cer- tain thou canst not be serious ; thou wilt not refuse me, wilt thou, dear?" " Mabel, Mabel," said Caleb, lauahine, and kissing her affectionately, " thou art, forsooth, one of the most coaxing jades in the universe; and as I really do not believe that thou wouldst be worse than thy word, 1 have a very cootl mind to trust, thee." " Oh, now thou art, indeed, my own good- natured Caleb," ejaculated Mabel, joylullv, and her bright black eyes sparkling cheerfully and eagerly upon her husband; " there, now then, begin." " Very well, then, to begin," said Caleb, drawing his chair closer to his wife; " to begin, who dost thou think the mysterious Hark Lady of the Hall is ?" What a silly question to put to me ; that's the very thing I want to know. Don't be so stupid, Caleb." " Well then, not to keep thee any longer in sus- pense, Mabel; thou hast heard me speak of the Mar- quess D'Chamoift ?" ". Yes." " And of bis daughter, Laurette, who married against his will; and how thev afterwards fell into such dread- ful poverty; and how Monsieur de Floriville, in despair, went but into the Black Forest with the determination to commit a robbery, and murdered his own brother in a mistake ; and how he was afterwards taken up, tried, and condemned for it; and how I was gaoler at the time ; aud how 1 effected his escape ; and bow lie —" " Yes, yes," interrupted Mabel, impatiently, " thou hast Villi me all that, fifty times over." " Well then, in tbe Dark Lady of the Hall, thou'be- holde^ t the very Liturgtte of whom I have been speaking," " Bless my soul! is it possible?— Poor lady; and is « he really the widow of that bad man, w" ho was shot in the forest; and whom I have heard thee say, was car- ried away by a spectre?" " She is. Ah, poor dear soul, it arouses all nay na- teral feelings, when I think upon what she has under- gone. 1 made my escape to my native country, as thou knowest; but she, poor lady, was tried for plotting her husband's escape, and accused of being a partici- pator in the minder of the unfortunate Monsieur Fran- ijoise de Floriville ; and although she was acquitted of the latter charge, she was fouud guilty of the other, and sentenced' to a long term of imprisonment. She remained in confinement for more than a year, when a rich relative interceded in her behalf, and succeeded m obtaining her pardon. She was liberated, and came to England, where she had not been long, when the rela- tion 1 have just alluded to, died, and left her the whole of bis fortune. She took up her residence in the old hall, which she purchased, and has there remained ever since. Thou knowest how we met, and the conse- quences of the same. So now, Mabel, thou knowest the secret for which thou hast been so long teazing me, and 1 hope thou wilt not lorget thy promise ; although 1 do not think I have any occasion to caution thee, after what I have told thee." " Oh, no, indeed thou hast not, Caleb," returned Mabel, " 1 wouldn't drop a word, which might be the means of injuring the poor dear lady, if I were to be made Queen of England. Well, 1 declare, if I haven't often thought that this mysterious lady and Madame de Floriville, were one and the same person, although I never hinted my suspicions to thee. But, aye, who is that knocking? some fresh customer to " The Traveller": Rest," and a very impa: i: nt one, forsooth." " What, ho !— host— host! House— house ! Art thou all deaf, or dead ?" exclaimed a loud and disagreeable voice from the next room. " Neither one nor the other," answered Caleb, drily, " and thou seemest determined to givn me pretty good nroof that thoti art not dumb, i'faith. Now, master, what is thy pleasure?" " As few words from thee as possible; and those se lectcd with prudence," was the answer. " Hnmph !" retorted Caleb, " thou art a queer cus- tomer, methinks." " Think what thou likest, but don't give utterance to thy thoughts," observed the man ; " I want refresh-, nient" " Well." " And a bed." " Thou canst have it." " And then " " What, then?" " Why, take thyself off as soon as possible." Caleb Swinton eyed the mysterious stranger more nar- rowly, and he was not much prepossessed in bis favour by the scrutiny. He was a tall man, with very dark hair, eyes, and complexion, who looked about fifty years of age, but probably was not so old. He had a huge pair of whiskers and moustachios, and a large slouch hat was pulled far down over his forehead. His apparel was very much worn, and covered with dust, as though he had been travelling a long way, and he looked fatigued and weary. " I wish this fellow had been at the devil, or some- where else, instead of coming here," muttered Caleb, to himself, as he left the room; " 1 don't like his appear- ance at all; and yet it strikes me that I have seen him somewhere before. He is a foreigner.— I shouldu't at all wonder if he is not one of the gaol- birds I have bad in my charge when I was over in France. I wish 1 had told him that all my beds were full." In no very agreeable temper, Caleb procured the sup- per which the stranger had ordered, and returning to the room, placed it on ihe table before him. " What dost thou look so hard at me for ?" demanded the man, in a surly tone. " Because thou hast excited my curiosity," answered Caleb. " And therefore thou givest a license to thine imperti- nence, sirrah," retorted the man. " Sirrah, in thy teeth," exclaimed Caleb, indignantly, " the greatest knave is generally the first to cry out; aud I'll let thee know that Caleb Swinton——" " Caleb Swinton!" repeated the stranger, starting,— " Ah ' fool that 1 must be, not to notice it before." And who art thou : " demanded Caleb, with sur- •" . . o now me." •-. nov-,- t!< i> e," said th. man, with some confusion,— " nn—. no— I know nothing of thee; how should 1?— I am a stranger in this place, and— but excuse me, if I have spoken more abruptly than did beseem me; I have tra- velled along way to- day, and am very tired, which has P » t ine not in one of the best of humours. Do not ques- tion me any farther, hut let me partake of my meal, and then 1 will retire to bed. Caleb made no reply to this; but once more fixing a searching glance upon the stranger, aud endeavouring to recal to his memory where he had seen him before, but in vain, he quitted the room. Ill a very short time the mysterious man despatched his meal, and ringing the bill, requested to be shewn lo the chamber in which lie was to sleep. Caleb ordered his servant to conduct him to it, and with a secret injunction to keep a watchful eye upon him— for he was not at all satisfied with his appearance and manners. He sat up for some time after the stranger had retired to rest, and tacked his brain to endeavour to recollect where, and under what circumstances he had met him before; bu'- after various conjectures, equally futile, he gave up the attempt, and came to the conclusion he had at first formed, namely, that the stranger had been a prisoner iu France at the time he filled the capacity of gaoler. ( To be continued in our next.) tlpnj. It may be alleged, that tiiey owe thla moderation to the impossibility of greatly multiplying their enjoyments; but if it be acknowledged, that the virtues of the bulk of mankind are only to be ascribed to the necessity of circumstances, the Arabs, perhaps, are not for this less worthy our esteem. Tbey are fortunate, at least, that this necessity- should have established among them a state of thing., which has appeared to the wisest legislators as the perfection of human policy, I mean a kind of equality, in the par tlclpatlon of property and the varie ty ot conditions. Drpilved ot a multitude ot comforts and enjoyments, which nature lias lavished on other countries, they are less exposed to temptation, which might corrupt and debase tliem, Eaeh individual, capable of supplying all his wants, Is better able to preserve his character and independence ; private property, therefore, becomes at once the foundation and bulwark of publk liberty. This liberty extends even to matters of religion. We observe a remarkable difference between the Arabs of tbe towns and those of the desert; since, while the formex crouch under the double yoke of political and religious despotism, the latler live In a perfect state of freed m from both; It Is true, on the frontiers of the Turks, the Bedouins from policy, preserve the appearance of Mahometanism; but so relaxed is their observance of its cere monies, and so little fervour has their devotion, that they are general^ considered as Infidels who have neither law nor prophets. They even make uo difficulty iu saying, that the religion of Ma- homet was not fflade for them; " for," added they, " how shall we make ablutions who have no water ? How can we bestow alms who are not rich? Why should we fast In Iiamadan, since the whole year with us Is one continual fast? and whit necessity is there for us to make the pilgrimage to Mecca, if God be present every where ?" In short, every man acts and thinks as he pleases, and the most peifect toleration is established among them. about the tavern, aud extremely dissipated. The inevitable con- sequences . soon folk wed i he get In debt, and hia creditors soon stripped 1,1m of all hebad, H is poor wife used all the arts of per- suasion to let'lalm him, and she could not think of using him harshly, for the loved Kim even in his degradation. Many an earn- est petition did she proffer to heaven for his reformation, and often did she endeavour to work upon his parental feelings. He often promised to reform, and was at last induced to stay from the tavern three ds^ s together, and his solicitous companion began to cherish hopes of returning happiness. But he could endure it no longer. " Betsey," said he, as he rose from his work, " give me the decanter." These word* pierced her heart, and seemed to sound tile knell of all her cherished hopes ; but she could not diso- bey him. He went to the taveiu, and after some persua. lon in- duced the landlord to fill the decanter; be returned, and placed it lo the window immediately before hlrrt; " for," said he, " I can face my enemy." With a resolution filed upon overcoming his pernicious habits, he w- nt earnestly to work— always having the decanter before him, but never touehedit. Again he began to thrive— and in a few years he became once more the owner of his former delightful residence. His children grew up, and are now respectable members of society. Old age came upon Tom, but he always kept the de- canter at the window, where he first put It; aud often when his head was silvered over with age, he would refer to his decanter and laugh at its singular effect ; and he never permitted it to be re- moved from that window while he lived, nor was It until he had been consigned to his narrow house. TO CORRESPONDENTS. K„ The following shall be promptly attended to : J L. M., J. R., ( Strand,) and W. S. W. B. T, ( Hyde, Cheshire.)" We will attend to pour hint. J. L.— We cannot say. " AN ADMIRER."—" THE DEATH GRASP," is an en- tirely original romance, written expressly for this jour- nal, by the author of " ELA, THE OUTCAST," AN GELINA," & c. We are much obliged to our corres- pondent for the many flattering compliments he has be- stowed upon us. • C.— The letter has been forwarded to our corres- G pendent. In a number or two it is our intention to present our nu- merous readers with chapters one and two of another new romance of deep and powerful interest, written ex- pressly for " THE I'EMNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE." All the back numbers ofthe celebrated romance of" ELA, THE OUTCAST; OR, THE GIPSY OF ROSEMARY DELL," may be had at the office of this paper, and of all respectable booksellers in town and country. " Moco," H. B. K., T. C., R. K. F,., H. M. MAY, and M. T. SPRATT, ( Dublin,) are accepted. Acccepted: " PERSEVERANCE," " SKETCH OF A GAME- STER'S LIFE," " THE YOUNG SOLDIER," H, H., ( Andover,) B. RIXTON, " CORFU AND AGNES," " AN AFTERNOON'S PLEASURE," " THE EMI- GRANT'S SIGH," " I LOVE THEE STILL," M. A. MASSON ; W. STANLEY. J. M. C., ( Dublin,) " SUP- PRESSED LOVE;" and W. S. J. W. WAINWRIGHT'S request shall be attended to in our next number. J. II.— We cannot answer your question, but we advise any person wishing to borrow money, to read a very useful publication by STRANGE, of Paternoster row, price 2s. 6d., entitled " THE GUIDE TO ONE HUN- DRED LOAN SOCIETIES,'' with their addresses, office- hours, forms for filling up, and a whole volume ofthe most valuable information. Many hundreds of pounds have been saved by the perusal of it. Shall we ever hear again from MR. J. DILLON ? * « * All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THB PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High- street, Shoreditch. THE P. J5NNY PEOPLE'S POLICE- GAZETTE. A& P THE BEDOUIN ARABS. The Bedouin Arabs are a race of people Inhabiting the desert to the east of Egypt. They have but little industry, as tlieir wants are few, these being limited merely to the common necessities of life, their knowledge of the arts extending only to the weaving their clumsy tents and mats, and the making of butter, whilst their commerce is limited to the exchanging of camels, kids, stal- lions. and milk, for arms, clothing, rice, and corn, and money, which they bury. The Bedouin Arabs have not the slightest knowledge of any of the sciences, and have not even any notion of astronomy, geometry, or medicine. They have not a single book ; and nothing is so uncommon among the shaiks, or chiefs, as not to know how to read. All tlieir literature consists In reciting tales and histories in the manner of the Arabian Nights Entertainment. Tbey have a peculiar passion for such stories, so much so, that they eniploy all their leisure in them, of which they have a great deal. In the evening they seat th. mseb es on the ground, at the threshold of their teats, or under cover, if it be at all cold there, ran ed in a circle round a fire of dung, their pipes in their mouths, and their legs crossed, they sit awhile in noiseless meditation, till, on a sudden, one of them breaks forth with,—'' Once upon a Time," and continues to recite the adventures of some young slialk and female Redouln ; he relates In what mannar the youth first got a secret glimpse of his mistress, and how he became des- perately enamoured of her. He minutely describes the lovely fair ; boasts of her blue eyes, as large and soft us those of the Gazellej her language, her languid and impassioned looks, hw arched eye- brows, resembling two bows of ebony | her waist straight, and supple as a lance. He forgets not her steps, light as those of the young filly, nor ber eye lashes, blackened with kolh, nor her Hps, painted blue, nor her nails, tinged with the golden- coloured henna, nor her breasts, resembling two pomegranates, nor h r words, sweet as honey. He recounts the sufferings ol the youthful lover, so wasted wlWi desire and passion, that his body no longer yields any shadow. At length, after detailing his numerous and various attempts to see bis doting mistress, the obstacles of the parents, the invasions of the enemy, the captivity ot the two lovers, & c., he terminates, to the satisfaction of the assembly, by restoring them, united and happy, to the paternal tent, and by receiving, in the ma cha allah, he has merited. The Bedouins have, likewise, tlieir love songs, which liave more sentiment and nature In them than those of the Turks, and in- habitants of the towns, doubtless, because the former, whose man ners are chaste, know what love is; while the latter, abandoned to debauchery and vice, are acquainted only with the gratlfioatlon of their sensual appetites. The Arabs have often been reproached with the spirit of rapine; but, without wishing to defend It, we may observe, that one cir- cumstance lias not been sufficiently attended to ; which is, that it only takes place among reputed enemies, and Is, consequently, founded on the acknowledged laws of almost all nations. Among themselves they are remarkable for a good faith, a disinterested - ness, which would do honour to the most civilized people. What is there more noble than that right ct asylum so respected among all the tribe ?— a stranger, nay, even an e. emy, touches the teut of a Bedouin, and from that moment his person Is Inviolable. It would be reckoned a disgraceful meanness, an indelible shame, to satisfy even a just vengeance at the expe- nce of hospitality. Has the Bedouin consented to cat, bread and salt with his guest, nothing in the world can induce him to betray him. 1' he power ol tbe sultan himself woold not be able to force a refuge from the protection of a tribe but by its total extermination. The Bedouin, so rapacious without his camp, has no sooner set his foot within it, than he becomes liberal and generous. What little he pos- sesses he is ever ready to share; he has even the delicacy not to wait till be is asked. When he takes his repast., he affects to seat himself at the door of his tent, in order to invite the passers- by. His generosity is so cordial, that he does not look upon it as a merit, but merely as a duty, and he therefore readily takes the same liberty wilh others. To oiiserve the manner In which the Arabs conduct themselves towards each other, one would imagine that they possessed all their goods In common. Nevertheless, they are no foreigners to property; but It has none of that selfishness which the increase of the imaginary wants of luxury has given It among polirhed na- JUNli. This month was under the protection of Mercury. Its name is said by some to have been given to it in honour of the youth of Rome, in honorem juniorum. Others derive it fiom Juno, a Junonc, and this is the opinion of Ovid. There were four festivals on the first of June. One to Mars, which was hel l out of the city, because on this day a temp'e, ou the outside ofthe city, was dedicated to him by F. Quintius. The second festival was conse- crated to Carna, whose office it was to keep healthy the interior of the body, and to drive troublesome spirits from the cradles of children. The third was to Juno, surnamed Monet i, to accomplish a vow which Camillus had made of building her a temple. The fourth was to the Tempests; for among the heathens every thing was an ohject of worship. A temple was raised to them during the second Punic war, in consequence of a Roman fleet having been nearly lost iu a storm. The 3rd of June was dedicated to Bellona; the 4th to Her- cules ; and on the 5th, sacrifices were offered to the Deity Fulius. The Piscatorian games took place on the 7th. They were celebrated on the other side of the Tiber by the fishermen. On the 8th was the festival of the goddess Mens, or understanding, to whom sacrifices were solemnly offered in the capitol; and on the 9th, the Vestal virgins paid honours to Vesta. The festival of the goddess Matuta was celebrated on the 10th. Among the ceremonies employed on this occasion, oue was the bringing ol a slave " into the temple, by the Roman women, who gave him several blows, and then drove him out. The uext day was dedicated to Con- cord. On the 12th was the lestival of Jupiter the In- vincible; to whom Augustus dedicated a temple, in memory of the victories which he had gained. The fes- tival of Minerva, called quinquatrus minores, was also held on this day. Ou the 15th, the filth and dirt of the Templa of Vesta were conveyed to the Tiber; and this also was the subject of a festival. On the 18th was ce- lebrated the dedication of the Temple of Pallas, on theAventine hill. The festival of Summauus was held on the 20th, in memory of the dedication of a temple to him, during the war with Pyrrhus. Two black sheep, adorned with black fillets, were sacrificed lo him. Summauus is believed MrtfSr? been another name for Pluto. The 22nd was accounted an unlucky day, be- cause on that day Flaminius was defeat < 1 by the Car•- thagei ians. The 24th was devoted to Fortuua fortis, on which day the artisans and slaves, crowned with flowers, regaled and diverted themselves upon the Tiber. Syphax was defeated by Masinissa on this day. The 26th was consecrated to Jupiter Stator; the 28th was the festival of the Lares; tbe 29th was devoted to Quirinus, or Romulus ; and the 30th to Hercules and the muses. The sun is iu the signs Gemini anil Caucer during this mouth. AN INSTRUCTIVE TALE. We hav; seldom heard a tale of human life more Instructive than that which we are about to relate. We heard the substance of It related by a friend, and have taken the liberty of throwing It into its present shape, and lay it before our readers It is a fine Illus- tration of what Franklin so much insisted ou, that industry aud temperance are almost certain to lead to iudependence and com- fort. Thomas P was at tbe age of 18, by the death of his master, turned loose upon the world to gain a livelihood as a shoemaker. He shouldered hia kit and went from house to house, making the farmers'leather, or mending their childrens'shoes.— At length, a irood man, pleased with Tom'* Industry and steady habits, offered him a smalt building as a . hop. Here To; n applied hi. nselt to work with persevsring industry and untiring labour. Earlier than the SUH he w. s whistling'over his work, and the hammer song was often heard till the " noon of night." He thus gained a good repu- tation, and some of this world's goods. He soon married a vir- tuous female— one whose kind disposit on added new joys to his existence, and whose busy neatness rendered pleasant and com- fortable their little dwelling. Tbe time passed smbothly on— they were blessed with three smiling pledges of their affection, and in a few years Tom was the possessor of a neat little cottage and a piece of land. This they handsomely improved, and it was evi- dently the abode of plenty and felicity. But now Tom began to relax from his strict habits, and would occaBionly walk down to a tavern in the neighbourhood. This soon beGame a habit, and the habit imperceptibly grew upc; himj ha became a constant lounger ERNNESTINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. BY TUB AUTttOR OP " nl. A, THIS OUTCAST," ETC. ( Continued from our last.) Left to herself, Lady Miruuerite gave herself up en- tirely to the most painful reflection, which her critical situation fully justified, and paced the chamber with hur ried and uneven footsteps. Now her thoughts wandered to St. Aswolph, and the bitter agony and suspense her mother and Lord Raymond would be in at her mysterious disappearance, and the uncertainty as lo her fate; then she would reflect with the most unbounded astonishment upon the mysterious observation which Osmond had made use of, and in vain endeaVouied to elucidate them. By what means her brother had ever offended the robber- C- iiief, So as to excite his revenge to such ati implaCabl » degree, sh* was at a loss to imagine; and by what strange circumstance he had become connected with him, was equally mysterious to her. She was one moment disposed to place no confidence in it, and to believe it to he merely a fabrication of Osmond's ; hut then the total absence of any motive for such an invention occurred to her, and again caused her mind to waver. She had always looked upon Lord Raymond as a being of a superior order, and one totally Incapable of harming by word, thought, or deed, his fellow- creatures; consequently, in what manner he conld by any possibility have given Osmond cause for the deadly hatred he confessed towards him. she was at a loss to conceive. Then, the melancholy which had beset the mind of her brother for so long a time, and, in fact, although not now so powerful as it was, had become settled npon him, darted upon her recollection, and filled her bosom with straugi doubts, ideas, and apprehensions, The impenetrable mystery which her brot' er had ever maintained upon that subject, and the anguish and im- patience which he ever evinced when questioned con- cerning it, all came vividly to ber recollection, and in- volved her still turther in fruitless and conflicting con- jectures, and she feared that the business would not terminate without considerable trouble to them all. Bat, how intense was her agony, how powerful her fears, when she thought upon the situation she was placed in ; the piisoner of Osmond the Avenger, the des- perate robber- chief, whose very name inspired terror in the bosoms of those who heard i'; surrounded by wretches to whom every species of crime was familiar, and insulted by tbe loathsome passion of Osmond, who bad so boldly and openly avowed his sentiments towards her, and pro- claimed his intentions,— intentions which she knew full well he would not fail to carry into effect, unless some- thing should occur to rescue her from his power, for of what avail would be any resistance she might offer to his villany? Her destruction seemed to be inevitable ; and yet there was something so noble and generous in the demeanour of Osmond at times, which led her, in spite of his threats, to hope that he would relent, and perhaps abandon his evil designs altogether, and, yielding to her tears and entreaties, restore her to her friends. She was interrupted iu these reflections by the sweet and plaintive voice of a female singing a song, in tones of the most bewitching melody, and which completely riveted her attention, and excited her warmest admira- tion. The voice seemed to proceed from an apartment immediately contiguous to the one she occupied, and she listened with intense interest to tbe words of ihe ballad, which were simple, but possessing all the charms of poetry. " Thank Heaven 1" ejaculated Marguerite, when the female had ceased,—" thank Heaven, there is another of mv own sen near tne. Oh, if she. is as gentle in her nature as the delicacy of her tones would augur her to be, what consolation would it afford me, if she were per- mitted to be my companion. Should she possess a heart, of sympathy, my situation would be lightened of half its tenors." She had scarcely given utterance to these words, when she was startled by hearing a noise at the wainscot oti one side of the room, and directing her eyes that way, she was thunderstruck at beholding the arras slowly raised, a pannel in the wainscot had been slid back, and in an instant the graceful form of a young woman, of a gentle and beauteous countenance, stepped lightly iuto the apartment, and advanced towards her. " Fair ladv," said the young woman, in accents ot sweetness, " be not surprised at seeing me; I have come to ask you whether you feel disoosed to take your morn- ing's repast now, and I am deputed to be your com- panion, while you remain here, if you think me worthy of that honour." " A female here !" remarked Marguerite, continuing to gaze with the most unfeigned astonishment upon the speaker, " so fair, and, apparently, so amiable too. Surely, thou art some poor unfortunate, like myself, detained here against thy will?" " Alas ! lady," replied the female, with a sigh, " it Is not so; I am a willing inmate of these walls ; my hus- band is oue of the gang." " Impossible !" exclaimed Marguerite ; " one like thou art can never have so degraded herself as to become the voluntary associate of robbers— of lawless men, whose crimes have rendered them a terror to their country." " Thou wrongest Osmond and his gang, lady," re- turned the other, " thsy are not half so fierce, so cruel as they are by many represented to be. Ask their cha- racters of the humble and the distressed, and tbey will 1 ell thee, that— bur, no matter; we will drop this sub- ject for Ihe present. Say, lady, shall I bring thee re- freshment, or is there anything particular that you de- sire?" Marguerite answered in the negative; but, feeline faint, she assented to partake slightly of some refreshment. The female then lelt her by the same means she had entered, closing the secret pannel after her. Marguerite was so surprised at what had taken place, that for a minute or two she was transfixed to the spot, and could scarcely believe that what had recently taken place was real; but at length recovering herself, she hastened to the secret pannel, and endeavoured to find out the way to open it, but without succeeding; the spring was on the other side, by touching or pressing upon which alone it. could be opened. She left it with disap- pointment, and awaited the return ot the female with some impatience. She was not kept in this manner long, for presently the secret pannel was again slid back, and the object of her thoughts reappeared, bringing in refreshments with her, which she spread upon the table, and then invited Marguerite to partake. The viands were of the most delicate description, and Marguerite did slightly taste of them, while the female took a seat at the turther end of tbe table, and seemed to view her with looks of warm admiration and com- passion. " Fair ladv," at leneth she said, " thou didst not answer me before ; — say, wilt thou accept of my humble services as a compauioti, while thou ait an inmate of this old castle ?" " Oh ! gladly," replied Lady Marguerite ; " but, Heaven send that my stay here may be short. Alas'. the anguish my friends must endure at mv mysterious disappearance, racks mybraiu to distraction." " I atn sorry for thee, lady," answered the female, " and fain would assist thee, were it in my power ; but, rest assured, that however strong may be thine appre- hensions, iliou wilt be treated with the most profouud respect while thou art here. Death would be certain to be the portion of any one who should dare to offer thee the slightest insult." " Strange inconsistencies 1" ejaculated Marguerite, " but alas! how little cause have 1 to hope that it will be as thou sayest, after the open avowal which the robber- chief hath made to me. But say, who art thou, and what is thy name ?" " I have already informed thee," lady, said the young woman, " that 1 am a robber's bride; lam the wife of Ulric, and my name is Blanche." " And what could ever have induced thee to link thy fate to one of these lawless and desperate men ?" " Ah ! lady," replied Blanche, and a deep sigh escaped her bosom ; " I united my fate to that ol Ulric, because I loved him ; and, at the time that 1 did so, virtue and integrity stamped his character." " Tuon interestest me," said Marguerite, who, for awhile, forgot her own sorrows, and painful situation, in the excitement occasioned by the words of the robber's bride; ' what conld have driven him to this hazardous and degrading course of life ?" " Tyranny and oppression; misfortunes under which some persons would have sunk altogether," answered Blanche. " Indeed ! and tlion didst, accompauy him to this placet and resolved to share with him in his misfortunes ?" " Lady," replied Blanche, with a look of surprise^ " wouldst thou that 1 should have deserted my husbaud, be whom at the altar I had voiced to love, and who had been so kind and attentive to me ; wouldst thou, I re- peat, have had me desert him in his adversity ?— Oh, no, no, we have shared each ether's happiness ; each other's affections ; and whatever mar be the consequences, I will he the partaker of his misfortunes." " Noble, heroic, devoted woman !" cried Lady Mar- guerite, with admiration ; " the sentiments thou has ex- pressed, fill my breast with the warmest esteem towards thee; and adds to the deep regret I feel that either thou or thine husband should he placed in a situation which daily exposes ye to the retributive hands of the law. 1 am convinced thou ait of no plebeian race; both thy lan- guage and manners show that thou hast formerly moved in no mean rank of society." Blanche again sighed, and a tear glistened in her eye. " Thou judgest rightly, lady," she replied, " I once moved among the gayest of the children of rank and splendour; had every luxury aud enjoyirisnt that wealth conld purchase, and bnt it is past now;— it is like a dream to me;— and let me endeavnur to bury < he re- membrance of it for ever in oblivion." " Pardon me, Blanche,'' observed Marguerite, affec- tionately taking her hand, and looking in her counten- ance with an expression of the deepest sympathy ;—" I would not appear impertinently inquisitive, neither would I wish to revive the sorrows that have apparently so deeply afflicted thee ; but I cannot conquer the interest thy words hath excited, and if thou thinkest me worthy of being entrusted with thine history, believe me thou shalt receive from me all the commissftration and conso- lation it may be in my power to impart." Blanche paused, and looked earnestly in the countenance of Lady Marguerite, and after wiping away the tears that the reminiscences of her sorrows had excited, she said :— " Thou dost possess a gentle heart, lady, and I am certain of the motive by which thou art stimulated;-*-! — I— will confide 5n thee." Lady Marguerite drew her chair closer to Blanche, and after a short time had elapsed, during which she was en- deavouring to compose her fecliiijs for the task, the latter commenced as follows :— ( To be continued.) SCATTERED CLEANINCS FROM DR. JOHNSON'S WRITINGS. BY A. J. P. Throughout the whole circle, both of natural and moral life, necessaries are as iron, and superfluities as gold. It has been commonly remarked, that eminent men are least eminent at hoine— that bright characters lose much of their splendour at a nearer view; and many who fill the world with their fame, excite very little reverence among those that surround them in their domestic privacies. As Providence has made the human soul an active beingi, a[ WHy9 impatient for novelty, and struggling for something yet unenjoyed, with unwearied progression, the world seems to have been eminently adapted to this disposition of the mind : it is formed to raise expecta- tions hy constant vicissitudes, and to obviate satiety by perpetual change* That to please the Lord and Father of the universe, is the supreme interest of created and dependent beings, as it is easily proved, has been universally confessed ; and, since all ratiopal agents are conscious of having neglected or violated the duties prescribed to thein, the fear of being rejected or punii. hed by God, has always burdened the human mind. The fxpiation of crimes, and renovation of the forfeited hopes or ( Hvi » e favour, therefore, constitute a large part of every religion- No complaint has been more frequently repeatej i" all ages than that of the neglect of merit, associated with poverty, and the difficulty with which valuable or pleasing qualities force themselves into view, when they are obscured by indigence. Few moments are more pleasing than those in which the mind is concerting measures for a new undertaking. The miseries of life may. perhaps, afford some proof of a future state, compared as well with the mercy as the justice ol God- Piety practised in solitude, like the flower that blooms in the desert, may give its fragrance to the winds of Heaven, and delight those unbodied spirits that survey the works of God and the actions of men ; but it bestows no assistance upon earthly beings; and however free from taints of impurity, yet wants the sacred splendour of beneficence. Pride is, undoubtedly, the original of anger: but pride, like every other passion, if it once breaks loose from reason, counteracts its own purposes. A passionate man upon the review of his day, will have a very few gratifications to offer to his pride, when he has consi- dered how his outrages were caused— why they were borne— and in what they are likely to end at last. Nothing is more d< spicable or more miserable than the old age of a passionate man. The men who can be charged with fewest failings, either with re « pect to abilities or virtue, are generally most ready to allow them. Nothing is more unpleasing than to find that offence has been received where none was intended, and that pain lias been given to those who were not guilty of any provocation. Friendship is seldom lasting, but between equals, or where the superiority on one side is reduced by some equivalent advantage ou the other. The great end of prudence is to give cheerfulness to those hours which splendour cannut gild, and acclama- tion cannot exhilarate : those soft intervals of unbended amusement, in which a man shrinks to his natural di- mensions, and throws aside the ornaments or disguises, which he feels to be useless incumbrances, and to lose all effect when they become familiar. To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambition— the end to which every enterprise and labour tends - and of which every desire prompts the prosecution. NEW AMERICAN DICTIONARY. CAT — Au animal that old maids love, because it gives out sparks when it is rubbed. TRF. ADMILL.— A retired place for the accommodation of those addicted to appropriation. BONNET.— A kind of inverted coal- hood, in which ladies' heads are carried. MISERY.— The lite of an unpaid printer. NOTHING.— The conscience of a thorough politician. UMBRELLAS.— Common property. INDEPENDENCE.— A strong determination to place your- self where you are not wanted. TEMPEST.— Something that comes to married people after the honey- moon. MONEY.— A fish peculiarly difficult to catch, and when caught, very apt to slip through your fingers. THE GRAVE,— An ugly hole iu the ground, which lovers and poets wish they were in, but take uncommon pains to keep out of. MODESTY.— A beautiful flower that Quly flourishes in secret places. SENSIBILITY.— A quality by which a professor, in at- tempting to promote the happiness of other people, loses his own. A YOUNG MAN OF TALENT— An impertinent scoun- drel, who thrusts himself forward ; a writer of execrable poetry; a person without modesty ; a noisy fellow; a speech maker. LAWYER.— A learned gentleman who rescues your estate from your euemy, and keeps it himself. MY DEAR.— An expression used by man and wife at the commencement of a quarrel. WATCHMAN.— A nan employed by the parish to sleep in the open air. THIN SHOE.— An article worn In winter by high- spi- rited young ladies, who would rather die than conceal the beauty of their feet. JOHN HODGINS. THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE S POLICE GAZETTE.^ BLIGHTED LOVE. A TALE.— I1Y HENRY WOOD. The sun hid sunk in tiie horizon ; the evening wind was sighing gently o'er the face of Nature, and evening, with its shadows, vvas burying in obscurity the lovely village of L— -, situated 011 the sea coast ol Britain. Whilst Nature was thus hastening to repose, a young man was observed pacing too and fro" on the beach, but heedless of all the beauties of the evening which were around him. Charles Darnly, the hero of our tale, was the only son of an industrious family, staunch friends j> f the house of Hanover. His father was one of the 5ron warriors of George the First; brought up in the • camp, a still life was irksome to him, and he deter- mined to place his son in the road which led, as he thought, to honour and to glory. A regiment destined Tor foreign service, lie had decided on, aud which our ' hero was to join on the ensuing morrow. His father knew not the tie that b lund him to the village of L ; he knew not ' hat his son w is unalterably attached to the fair « nd lovely Louisa Grenville- but it was so; and $ t would have been well for their future happiness if love, to their hearts, had been a stranger. But to return to our hero, who walked restlessly, as if ill expectation of meeting some one. His expecta- tions were realized— for he heard a light footstep— his name was gently whispered- and the next moment he clasped in his arms the fond object of his love. " Dear— dear James," were the only words that fell from her lips : her young heart was too full for utter- ance. The look of affection which she gave, carried greater force than her broken sobs could ; for, " The eye hag language, and the a Ml can ipeak " They remained clasped in each other's arms fotj Spine time, when, at length, James said— " Luteal we must part'.- and ttyrtl to. m0rfow> » while his Irame shook with emotion, ti father " he continued, " will brook no deliv. bw p'romise ' U) be ever true to me, and I will loye you in return for ever?" 1 promise most sole- mlv. ,( ut why wil, leave me ?- My father „ iU provide for , f anJ- for m lotTyouas I d""' tbe f°" a &' lrl claimed, " he wifl ,.," J' must ' oe. dearest, that we part for a time ; but, Vl . u " Vlng, 1 will return, and take you to this heart Sb :< lU fer the- only." ? ic hid her face in his bosotn, overwhelmed with Jrm; she breathed forth angel prayers for his return, fcnd murmured promises of true constancy. They parted, and time will shew when they were united. The morning after this meeting, James Darnly, at- tended by his father, I. ft ( perhaps, for ever,) Louisa, and the place of his birth, where he had spent days of happiness, " ' Ere grief, with htfavy wing, had shaded The hopes too bright to last." Year after year rolled away, and in their flight many " changes had taken place— friends had been separated • by the unsparing hand of death ; buds of promises had teen nipped as they were just opening, and the faith of many hearts had also been broken. But the heart of James, with his Louisa's, wt- re still bound in attection: but, alas! there is 110 pleasure unalloyed; few there are 1> ut what have felt the corroding influence of grief;— and few are those who cannot sympathize with the late lamented Lady Flora Hastings, when she says— " I will not tell how time has blighted The promise of those sunny yearsj I will not tell how hope lighted Her beacon, to be quenched by tears." For three years they heard continually from one another — but two more had yet to roll, and in that time, a dark cloud overshadowed them. For two years he heard not from her, though he continually sent; and his conjec- tures pr ved ultimately correct. His time was expire !; he hourly expected orders for his return; they came, and we will leave him hastening to his birth- place in disguise, while we turn to the village of L , his destination. Poor Louisa had, for two years, began to entertain doubts of his constancy: she had not during that time heard from him— it was unaccountable. " Does he yet love me ?" she would often say. Her heart, with hope, would whisper, " yes." . " Louisa!" said Walbrook, a young man of great fortune, and who, during the absence of Darnly, had preferred his suit, " Darn'y loves you not; his heart is mother's— he hates you, you well know,- for this two years, you acknowledge, he has never noticed you." In his persuasions he was assisted by the lather of, Louisa, who was indignant at Daruly for having, as lie thought, slighted his daughter. The evening was just drawing to a close when a young Bian alighted from his horse, at the door of the little village inn. His hat drooped over his brow, and wrapt in his military cloak, he escaped, what he seemed to wish, discovery. Having partaken of a slight refresh- ment, he walked through the village. Several villagers suspected that thi- soldier might be ttie son of tbe " Old Warrior," as Darnly's father was familiarly called Others knew him not, nor conjectured ; but all admired his lofty figure as, though dusk, he walked through the village. His attention was shortly arrested by tbe following interesting conversation:— " Leave me, sir !— leave me!" said a voice, which he immediately recognized as that of Louisa's ; " 1 will never, of mine own will, wed thee, Walbrook." " Say not so, lady!— say not never!— My heart— my all, is at your feet for acceptance." " 1 refuse them," said she, rising disdainfully; " your persuasions, nor the threat of my father, shall ever make ine wed a mail like thyself" " Auger me not, rash girl!" replied Walbrook, seiz- ing her hands; " you are in my power, and drive me not mad towards you." " Oil'" said she, while the tears bedewed her lovely cheeks, " would to Heaven that he was here!" and her lovel y lips murmured the name of " James Daruly." •' Where is this Darnly ?" cried Walbrook, fiercely, V Tell me where I can find him, to remove him as a stone out of my path?" " Here !" sai. l a deep voice, that made Walbrook start, as if an adder had stung him ; " Here!" and the commanding figure of Darnly stood confronting him. Walbrook was not deficient in courage, and, raising his arm, he struck his confronter violently on the bieast. " Wretch !" exclaimed Darnly, boiling with indigna lion, " dost thou not know me? Iain James Darnly, the betrothed of Louisa Grenville. Draw thy sword,— for, by Heaven ! thy blood shall dye this ground: thou hast intercepted our letters; thou woulust rob me of the jewel I value more than my life." Walbrook hesitated; the looks of Darnly terrified him— his sword slept in its scabbard— and muttering vows of vengeance, he cowardly withdrew. It required all the power of which the fair Louisa was mistress of, to prevent her lover killing Wallirook on the spot. An explanation took place, locked in each other's arms : the world with 11 all its woes and cares," was forgotten. The lovers parted,— and the few moments of delight they had enjoyed together, were to be, alas 1 succeeded by a storm of pitiless sorrow, and the sun of their life was to be ou earth for ever shrouded. Determined to be revenged on Darnly, Walbrook hurried to his home, and summoned to his room a well- tried friend, in the shape of an old domestic, whose grey hairs ought to have shielded him from the work which his master had determined he should do. " Rufus " said he " thou hast been an old, tried ser- vant of my father's, and thou art true to me also, methiuks. " For fifty years have I served in this family, and have I once given you cause to doubt my fidelity ?" " And tliou wouldst de me a favour, then, I know," said Walbrook. " You well know my answer," said the old man, with emotion. " Well, then," said Walbrook, " James Daruly, the baulk of all my prospects, meets Louisa Grenville, at the ruin on the cliff, aud from thence hurl him down into the sea " " Good God!" said the old man, shuddering, and pressing his wrinkled forehead, " murder!— murder!" and the words almost choaked him. " Do^ t thou refuse ?— If so, I'll do it myself,— for he shall die, come what will!" " Let the sin be 011 mine own head, dear master ; for thv father's sake I'll do it, to spare his son that crime." " Ann thyself well— be ready to attend me: 1 will watch if thou art firm, and dost it surely." We will now return to the two youthful lovers, who had met, as agreed between them, 011 a cliff of im- mense height, which looked down into the mighty deep that rolled below. " Dear Darnly," said Louisa, as she hung fondly on his neck, " my mind misgives me; 1 have a stropg presentiment that we shall nsver be united," " Say not so !" he fondly exclaimed ; " and, yet, last night, as I lay dreamine, methought I was struggling on his very cliff for life; and 1 thought my father tried to save me, but could not." He had scarcely finished this sentence, when he heard a slight sound, and the next moment a man rushed forward anil struck him with a dagger; wounding him severely. Springing up, Darrtly closed with him, and recognised in his antagonist, the senant of Wtl- brook. The strength of the old man ( although Darnly was wounded,) was weak, iu the arms of the young er the man, who, after a slight struggle, hurled him over awful precipice. Weak from loss of blood, he sought the form of Louisa, who lay as if dead ; and turning his eyes, he saw his father coining, as if to him ; he called as loud as his strength would permit him, and he fancied his father heard him. But, at this moment, Walbrook himself rushed forward; strong as he was, he struggled hard before he tsould move Darnly froin the side of poor Louisa; but, after a few minutes of awful struggling, he dragged the bleeding form of the unfortunate Darnly to the brink— the scene was truly awful. " Forbear! forbear!" was shouted by the father of Darnly, who was rushing over the ruins to take part in the struggle. " Holdout! James, yet, a little longer;" but it was too late ; he saw the hand of Walbrook grasping t|) e throat of his son— he saw his pale, expir- ing gaze— he heard his long shriek as he rolled over the brink, carrying, in his course down; Urge masses of detached earth ; and he groaned, for he was too late to save him. Walbrook gazed down the awful brink : it was nearly dark ; his kuees tremb'ed— his whole frame shook at the deed he had done. But the hour of severe retribu- tion was at hand. " You see before you," said the old warrior, " the father of him you have just murdered, and I am he who will fearfully avenge him." The fire and vigour of youth seemed to have returned to him. For, in a moment, he threw off his coat, and he held, in a death grasp, the murderer of his son.— They groaned and rolled on the ground ; the old man thought that both would die together ; they were within a yard of the yawning brink— the eyes of Wal'irook were staring from their sockets— his tongue protruded from his frothy mouth - he was deprived of respiration by the grasp which the old warrior had on his throat. There was a pause— the work was done; the old man rose, besmeared with blood, from the ground. Wal- brook, with his assistant, and their victim, were buried in the dark wave, which rolled iu awful fury over them. It was now dark— the moon was obscured by au impe- netrable cloud; yet the avenger of his sons death sought the body of Louisat which, having found, he brought her to his own house, aud from that awful night, a common misfortune uuited both families. The father of Darnly had been made acquainted of all which Was to occur, but too late to render any effectual assist- ance. The body of the brave and ill- fated Darnly was arter- wards recovered, and placed in a lone spot io the village churchyard of L ; and many a tear was shed over the grave, of " bligh'ed love," by poor Louisa. She lived many years after him. At times, her reason seemed to have fled— but her affectiou vvas, to her dying day, firm and lasting. Their hours of bliss \ Vere, indeed, few ; and Ihey could well adapt the beautiful lines of a celebrated author, who thus writes,— " Earth's bliss Is but a summer flower; Earth's woe a surfly ebbing tide." Life was but to them as a flower that bloomed in the morning and died at noon. Jf we have been like them, involved in trouble, and the loss of friendship, may we, like them, look forward for union and enjoyment in those realms where a bar to happiness is unknown. May 3, 1841. • t « E ANATOMIST! OR, CROPPS VERSUS MOPPS. BY J. LAMBE. Christopher Cropps, the hero of our narrative, had just attained his majority, and rejoiced In his emancipation from the trammels of servitude, and he determined in future to be master In rftbparA PERSONS, which, by an economising principle duflng his proba- tion, and a trifling patrimonial assistance, he was enabled to ac- c impl'Bh so far as to ensconce himself In. the section of a shop of dashing exterlot-~ lhe other portion being occupied by another ambitious youth, in the cigar- dispensing line. Thus, on, one side was emblazoned In gigantic characters, " cigar depot," and on the other, In blue and go d, " Chr& tophev Cropp's Perfumery Es- tablishment*" f'Or be it known our gentle pacific ^ outh was one of the bftrber- ous professions and, although not pugnacious, did pull noses with the greatest & ONCHALANCIS, and wield his polished steel with a dexterity truly terrific; and his dealings in wash- balls and powder, was equal to any bombadler In her Majesty's service: indeed, Cropps soon obtained a tolerabto nhare of public patronage, particularly among the fair sex— for Cropps not only curtailed the superfluous exciescenses of male perecranlums and chins, but adonlzed the female face divine witti paint, patches, and pomatum ; manufactured curls, ringlets, a » id ladias' fronts, on the shortest notice. All this, in addition to his politeness, profitable prospects, and matrimonial pursuits, made him a marketable com- modity, and engrossed the attention of all servant maids in his locality. Thus environed by a galaxy of charms., Cropps was puzzled, like the pious parson fixed between a tithe pig and a favoured lair one, boihered which to choose. At length, his outstretched affections, concentrated to a focus, like a elosed umbrella In its ring, or a flat- tering moth rouad a rushlight, he rushed into the flame, commu- nicating a Congreve combus'iom to the buxom besom of fair Molly Mopps, the maid ot all work, to an antediluvian bachelor of four score, who, in his profession of an anatomist, had cut so many throats, as to be apprehensive of a retribut ve slice at his uwn; consequently he allowed no edge instrument, In other hands to come In such dangerous proximity with his jugular; but as such instruments require occasional repairs to this trifling inci- dent occurred one of those important affairs « f man's life, generally ascribed to the inscrutable decrees of destiny— marriage; beim?, as the old crones say, ma le in heaven— although many of such matches are odd enough to excite our wonderment, how such in congruifcies can ever aiaalgama'e together; not that we opine such were the extremes of Cr « pps and Mopps. On the contrary, bott< were PETITE— nor were they in mind much AUX COMTRAIRE ; per- haps It was their peculiar congeniality iu all that conceived the knot matrimonial, that determined Cropps In his choice of Mopps, — for his previous triumphs among the CALABRE of his class, had heated, as he would say, tha thermometer ot his life- pump, and sent his mercury up to Z « ro; that he had ambitiously cast his up to " lace" love, instead of cotton comforts; but love, " the diatnrberof high and low," threw down th « golden Idol, and like another Anthony, he gave up the world ofhis ho;> esfor the seduc- tive smiles of Molly Mopps. 44 But, as the course of true love never did run smooth," our enamoured pair could not be exempted ; for although there were no hard- hearted parents, there was an old frigid anatomist, Molly's master, who, through caution, fear, or ill- nature, " allowed no followers and Molly had sufficient prudence not to risk her place of all work, for the dlsumt prospect of one of ao work, b^ sidea the loss of a little legacy In perspective from her aged master. Thus were the interviews of » ur lovers Ilka " angel visits, few, and far between." But who could allay the vokanlc fury of a bursting Etna?— Who could bar a do<;> r with a boiled carrot?— The sublime— the ridiculous, are equaliy vain, futile, and impossible. So are the barriers to human passions: they glide away, " fine by degrews, and beautifully less," Ilka the upper and understandings of an Inebriated dustman. Thus premising, we may judge Cropps and Mopps contrived to keep the adhesive position, • » y occasional collision, despite old Hunks, whose errands were not over numerous. Often did the dapper little man perambulate before the Ill- omened, darkened, dingy, dirty mins- ion of Doctor Slashem, the anatomist * buc all was vanity and vexation, for not a single ray of Molly's bright eyes could shine on him, from win- dows the sun Itself could not penetrat*; and many were the ' throbbing* of Molly's heart when she heard kis serenading whis- tle— for she had not even poor Juliet's privilege ef sighit g from a balcony, " Oh, Cropps— Cropps! wherefore art thou, Cropps?" We might blame Cropps for his want of energy, stability, or de- cision ; but the fact was, Molly— sweet Molly Mopps, had revealed to him her legacy expectation, and It was deenv rl advisable to " wait for dead men's shoes,"— as wealth and wedlock was far more preferable than possession and poverty ; but long enough they might have waited, bt£ for an accident which brought mat- ters to an issue. Doctor Slashem was supposed to be wealthy, not from his out- ward display, for ostentation termed no part of his distinction ; ana yet that parsimony encouraged the inference of hoarded pro- perty, and various were the schemes of ingenious rogues to ab- stract it from him; but although defenceless in force, VIVE ET ARMIS, he was well secured by Oars, bolts, and bells, and he nightly resigned hlmsdt to the influence of Morpheas, without apprehension. The pilnclpal visitants to the doctor were the reiurrectfouists and they transacted business freely, and no questions asked, If it was a " stiff 5uu," but if a " burker," or not, it was immaterial: this w. 4S the weak point for a nefarious tiasacton. One dark, cold, dreary evening, in foggy November, two ill- looking fellows, with their bagged commodity, gave the well- praetised signal at tflasftem's door, who immediately attended the summons, not al- lowing even his maid to witness his " deadiy" transactions. Having entered, all four jogged together to the study ; three returned, the minus being hostage for ten pounds, and by their mutual grins, nods, and winks, it was pretty evident the parties were particu- larly satisfied, and perfectly understood each other. During this little affair at Slashem's, the BONA FIDE body of Christopher Cropps was not, most decidedly, in the doctor's ETUDE, yet his most material self, or rather Immaterial spirit, or soul, was closely sitting, face to face, with Molly Mopps, in the doctor's kitchen; at least, any one would so judge by gazing on Chris- topher, seated in the " Maidenhead" public parlour, In his imme- diate neighbourhood, before a cloud- capp'd pipe, and behind him a pint of purl; his countenance possessed as much expression as the lion- headed knocker of his unique establishment: in fact, he was absent, which must account for his increasing potations, and hi* fast ascending the scale of Inebrlty, contrary to his usual practice, beitter Considered a moderate Plan, but now approaching to BACCiti pLENi, or rather BACCiii PLElsfus. Being full of drink, he deeirted it advisable to return to hi » solitary home, and stag- ff- r^ d forth for that purpose, but iri Consequente of his body yearning for Its ethefeal essence, hiS legtf wat propelled. In oppo- sition to his confused cranium, a contrary direction; arid 1. stead of finding himself comfortably sta ioned at his own door, lie found himself under the porch of Dr. Slashem ; when his under- standings, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, hav- ing performed th » ir utmost, down he went smash in a heap, like a hod of mortar, In a happy state Of inseusib lity. At this parti- cu'ar, peculiar, and precise moment, the doctor's door opened, and forth issued the resurrectionists; the door dosed, and & U was the extreme of ' oggy darkness; another step, and with the swift- ness and shock of electricity, over poor Cropps they went, to their utter amazement and trepidation. P- ecovenng their equilibrium and confidence, they rtfconnoifcered the porehway, and quickly dis- covered the cause of their somerset. " My eyes, Bill," said ont of the fellows, " vy if ere arn't a dead un!" 44 Dead drunk, yer warirtint,'' replied the ottiei\ 44 Veil, vot's the odds < cup, old feller, vy doesn't yer git hoilie, and not l? y sprawling here like any oudeeent hanimal.' " V'hy Bill, yer see, | ie carnt help it," saying which, he chuckled in high glee at a conceit which loomed in his cunning cranium. " Veil, Dick, vot ar' yer grlnnln' at, yer fool ?" *' Vy, I'll tell yer; I vos thlnkin' vot a go it vould be to sell him to old Slicem.'' 44 Yer Neddy, ' apose he vos to rekive*, shouldn't ve be bloow'd ?" 41 Oh, no fear on that; he's done brown; I knows by myself, ven I gits '. iu- ihyj besides, our pal could spiflicate him in a miunit.— Vot say yef— ten poun ls or nothing—* aye ?" 44 Veil, jUt as yer like; yer see the bag Is op^ n," and so it was, and in it they bundled the unresisting, insensible Christopher Cropps. The old signal was repeated, and again appeared, with glim- mering rushlight, like another Monsieur Morbleu, the shaking Dr. Slashem, who was apprehensive of some mistake, and trembling, inquired, what was the mutter? 44 O, nuthing partikler— only another artikle for yer." 44 But I do not require any mofe at present/' " So ve know'd, but on* p » Is are la hick; ve c& n spare this cheap— v.; have plenty of ' em ; thisfis only a little von; ve shant comt? for von vhile agin, and if ve stands haggling here, we shall be diskivcied, perhaps." This had weight with the dollar, for he certainly desired the absen. e of such suspicious- looking villains ; so the bargain was made, and the poor unsuspecting Christopher Croppi was most unceremoniously hoisted up neck and heels, and safely deposited in the store of Dr. Slashem, but not before the rogues had de- spoiled him of every article he possessed, tnit his llti^ n j Which they were enabled t5 accomplish, by the old doctor remaining be- low, door in h^ nd, to ejeet the more readily his unpleasant visitors. Having achieved this to his satisfaction, he secured the do'or, par- took of supper, a id retired to repose, being particular in his idea of an old adhge, " early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise;" be this as it may, the doctor never « werved from his regular habit: but t-. ot so Satisfied was hismaidj for bei'. g in the secret of 44 penny knowledge, occupied many hours With advantage and amusement; while those of neither soul or mind, ware sluggishly swaddled in wboUert and Coleraine ; besides, on the present occasion, She HAD a PET.^ TK library of lite- rature, penned by her own dear little Chris,, which eVe. r and anon she would re- peruse with more gratification than the most elabo- rate article ever issued from the j enny press. On the present occasion she had resolved on her lover's devotion, and, conse- quently, was prepared for a night's recreation one way or another. A doath- like stillness prevailed in the house; the moon occa- sionally appeared, struggling amid a mass of mu- ky clouds, which at times yielded their streaming torrents; the wind Whirled on iti cold driving gusts, shaking every atom of the crazy mansion of the old anatomist. To. this we must ascribe the partial recovery of Cropps, who. nipped with cold, sundry shakes, shrugs, and twists, to no purpose; he Could not claw any bed- clothes, or hustle together the feathers, and consequently believed he had rolled out of bed; planting forth his hand beyond the table> he discovered tha vacHUm, and fancied himself fixed on a shelf, or else on his counter; he rubbed his organs of vision, which may be supposed to have effected a renovation of his faculties— for reason began to resume its empire; he remembered the a e- house-— his progressing to serenade his mistress— aud no more. Then, what could have happened ?— Where was he?— In the station- house?— No; it was too tranquil. At this period the moon gleamed athwart the place, and lo! he gazel on a human skull, eyeless, noiseless, mouthless j yet , pOor t'hrta. believed they posfles « Jd all, and were animated: the fact was, he could not « ee verf ' cleat, fedt fright completely sobered hini. He gated- with hotror at the apparently grinning object before hitli; until his attention was arrested by a lank, shrivelled arm sdspended against the wall; a* oni2sd al- most to suffocation, he rolled his terror- stHckeil eyeft over the room, discov& rlng at every glanee a hideous portion of frail, withered mortality, ending his survey on a huge entire skeleton, which he looked on as the harbinger of his eternal doom; he at- tempted to shriek alond, but fright had rendered him speechless; his limbs were paralyzed— a cold perspiration oozed out at every pore of his frame Where could he be ?- Certainly, in the parish bone- h ® use; conveyed there while intoxicated, by persons dis- posed to be merry with his Infirmity. At this moment something moved, with which he was in close contact; peeping from the cor- ner of his eye, he beheld a long figure, stretched at full length, beside him : he felt his bursting soul stealing out of his little car- cass, and Off, I verily beiieve/ lt woujd have whisked, but for the application of i cold clammy hand, which produced a re- action of his nervous syfttem, ahd efferversed a groan, low, yet deep, and we may add, easing to his surcharged interior; the sound acted U « e galvanism on tliie figure^ and gazed tearfully on Cropps, who returned his scrutiny " with t « n- fold interest. The time, sltuatl n, and particular po » itlon, made horrors more terrific — ugliness more hideous— and poor Cropps could scarcely believe ft was really aught but a frightful dream. The uglv object before him upraised his arm, and clenched iuJhl » hand was a large knife, which gleamed In the flitting moonlight, and Cropps beheld on it gores of blood; he thought the finale was arriving, and terror yielding to exasperation, he arrested the intended blow, exclaim- ing, 41 Murder!" 44 Hush 1" calmly whispered the fellow; " be quiet, yer fool, or ve shall be blow'd, and then scraggins or laggings, yer know." 44 Scraggins! laggings! — what do you mean ?" said Cropps, who had gathered courage, from hearing the sound of a voice certainly human, although rather harsh for ears polite. " Vot do I mean ?— Oh, yer artful dodger; vy, haven't yer come to prig as veil as I ?" " Prig I— what is that?" inquired Cropps. " Now, vot nonsense; vosent yer brought in a bag ?" 14 Brought in a bag ! * ejaculated GrOpps. 44 Yes, on purpose to chisel the old feller." 44 Chisel the old feller!— Do you take me for a murderer?" 44 Vy that Is as It may be; but come, as ve are both here on the same job, vy ve must go halves, that's all.'* 44 Halves In what?"' 44 Vy, vot ve can get-" 44 What! do you think I am a thief?" demanded Cropps, much alarmed. " Vy, It looks much like it; ysu're in Slashem's house." 44 Eh— what!— Slashem— Dr. Slashem. the anatomist!" 44 Now vot's the use of purtendinp sich lilgnorance. Come, now ve noes one another, ve'll rob the house." " I'll raise the house," loudly exclaimed Cropp*. 44 You may raise the devil it yer like, but I'm off lirst." Thus saying, he rushed to the window, and by means of a rope, descended into the streets. Cropps moved mechanically towards the window, and would have followed the fellow, but the cold piercing wind quickly informed blra of his want of clothing, to his utter dismay, making confusion worse, confounded, and inflicted on himself sundry pinches and divers thumps, to ascertain the fact of non- somnambulism; but the answering pain ot his collapsing flesh was proof presumptive, and he trembled with apprehension as well as cold; he closed the window, and now closeted alone with the mortal remains of those wh ® once 44 lived, moved, and had being;" he grinned with horror; but a noise in tbe house now at- tracted his attention, though not much to his relief— for he dis- tinctly heard the cough of the old doctor; it was evidently ap- proaching the room he occupied. Here would be a rencontre.— What excuse could he make ?— besides, what a state to appear in. He had little time for reflection, for a key was applied to the lock — a light was perceptible through crevices of the door-- It « pened, and now stood fate to fa^ e Cornelius Cropps and Molly Mopps.— Molly screamed at the apparition; Cropps adva icei— the candle- stick was at his head— the light was extinguish- d— and Molly was about to flee, when the piteous tones of Cornelius falling on her ear, arrested her progress, and excited her risibility. 44 What, Mr. Cropps, who would have thought it ?— Why, liow came you here ?" inquired the damsel. " In a bag, my de- ir Molly," he replied. 44 In a bag!— Oh. I perceive— a p'an to visit me unknown to my master; but, oh ! if he had entered instead of me— Hark! he is coming; ah! he has got the bluiuMrbuss; hearing a bustle, he be- lle v( s there are robbers in the house." 4' Oh, Molly, what shall I do ?" " Why, he has purchased a body which is lying on the dissecting board, remove it, and place yourself there instead." 4' Oh, dear ! why he will cut of a leg before I-—" 4' Well, well, you must chance that. Mr. Cropps, or else discover yourself at once. Hcuk ! he speakM" aud to the mortal terror of Cornelius, Slashem called out,— 44 Hold him tas% Molly!— I will settle him with half a dozen slugs, and then carve him up like mince meat.'' " Oh, my poor little carcass," responded Cropps. " I have no one to hold, master I am all alone in the dark; — what has alarmed you ?" replied Molly. 44 Alarmed me, Molly ! I'll swear there has been as much noise as though the house was swarmed with rats." 44 And so itis, master; I can't sleep a wink for them: it's aU owing to your cutting ro- oro." 44 Very likely, Molly; and talking of that, now I am so close, I will just p'p in and see if all Is right; you go to bed— I wonder what you want trooping about the house, when you ought to be in your chamber fast asl « ep." 44 Lor', sir, one can't be asleep ahviys,*' said Molly, pettishly.— 441 don't want to tell you every time I leave my room." 41 Ah! Molly you are niuch altered ; I think you have something on your consci nee. Go, go, to your room, and I shall spend an hour in my study." Durlug this converse, the terrified Christopher had spread him- self on the table, and had scarce settled his shaking body, befor Dr. Siashem entered, with spectacles on nose, peering around the room, to ascertain the safety of his person ; elevating the light, he advanced to the table, and exclaimed,— 44 The scoundrels, they have bamboozled, cheated, robbed, and swindled me; I paid for two bodies, and here is but one. Oh ! I will anatomize every joint of this little carcass." Christopher felt an excruciating thrill from the hair of his head to the soles of his feet. Siashem passed the lit lit to and fro', and said— 4* Why, as 1 am alive, this is not a . ead body, at any rate— not a natural dead subject— not an exhumed corpse. Why, it is hardly cold;" and he passed his hand over Cropps, who, stupified with terror, was as inanimate as death itself. 44 Well, the fellows ought to haDg; they have burked him; he is warm. Eh !— a slight pulsation; this is the first subject I ever had, so nsw I will have a touch directly," So saying, he began selecting his instruments, and in a few moments the old fellow was flourishing a large knife over the un- happy Cfopps, whose agony was insupportauie; the reflection of the light on the shining blade was more terrific than lightning.— The eventful moment had arrived; he watched anxiously where the knife w » uld descend, and determined, en discovery, to ampu- tation. The doctor, in the height of surgical joy, seized on Cropps' leg, and in a minute it would have been off, but he rolled off the table on to the old man* and yelled aloud to Molly, who rushed in screaming, which, added to Slaahem's cries of murder, created such a medley of melody as could not be equalled in Bedlam itself.— Having exhausted their lungs, they glared on each other fearfully. Slashem for his life, Cropps for his ears, and Molly for her place. At length, speech was restored, and a long, loud, cheerful laugh followed the elucidation of the apparent mystery > and, in order to prevent a repetition of such midnight adventures, the doctor gave approval to vlsltings at more seasonable hours, and his favoured consent to Mopps becoming Cropps, when tlw » y mutually desired such a consummation. THE TALE OF A TRIFLER. My first love! This delightful Subiect must, of course, form the commencement of my reminiscences ; lor who, from the dowager of sixty, down to the Ujtle maiden of a foreign ( id. est. cheap) perisionnctire, woula endure any tale, or memoir, or life, or novel, Of correspond- ence, without a touch of this master- spring- to set the music of the human heart in motion ? Mr. Somebody Doddridge Humphreys, miyht just as well have lighted a candle with the correspondence of his venerable great- grandfather, as attempted to make it interesting u> the world, had he not published that worthy Docior's flirta- tioris, with half the nonconforming semptresses of the last century. My first love! I have no story of ladders, masks, stilettos, watchmen, Gretna- gteen, bridal dresses, tour- neys, murders, intercepted letteis, or duels to tell; but a plain old soldier's account. Two pretty girls divided my attentions at seventeen. Of course, one was fair- headed, a daughter of the SactoU / of course, the locks of the other were raven, as the lady was descended from an ancient and honourable house, which counted its generations to the field of Hastings, and owned Normctn descent. The fortune of the former consisted of a farm, let to a mau " well to do i' th' world," which produced a cl'^ ar three hundred pounds rental a- year. To this, must be added, " all that messuage and elegant furniture," as George Robins would say, of Courthope Lodge, let— on rather a long lease to be s< re— for one hundred and twenty pounds. Then, little Emmeline Spencer was positively to be the heiress of old Spencer, the ca'tle- dealer. If you do not know him, go to Horncastle Market, or the " Races," and ask who Joel Spencer was. Alas ! he is now spoken of as something gone You would be less laughed at fotf enquiring, " Who, sir, is William the Fourth ?" But, what will " black- eyed" Mary Grey possess as her dowry ? That was a question rather difficult to an- swer. Old Castle Grey must surely be hers— who else could there be to inherit it ?— surrounded with its fine domain, and full of old timber. Pull down the old castle ; build a new farm- house ; sell the timber ; and who more respectable in all Leicestershire ? One evening, 1 drew a rough calculation of the com- parative wealth of each maiden % f > r I loved rhem both equally. To my discredit, be it spoken, 1 had obtained the affections of each; and what was I to do for the satisfaction of future qualms of conscience ? Here is the precious document:— Emmeline—- Farm ^ 300 Lodge 120 Old Bags might " I bequeath per > annum I 300 J ^• 720 Mary- -( not so pretty ft") name)— Castle ^ 400 materials, say j Timber, ( after 1 new house tvas > 400 paid for) .... ) Land, worth a year 600 ^ 800 In hand.— jtffiOO a- year. One hundred and twenty pounds diflerence was a thing dot to be sneezed at ; v tne name was much pret- tier ; arid I bent my steps to the residence of the fair- haired maiden. I made my offer; I protested my per- fect indifference as to pecuniary arrrangemeuts ; Kmme- line blushed consent; and my fate seemed verily rolling on velvet. " Then, perhaps, as you are in no want ef money, Mr. Johnson, you will have no objection to an arrange- ment which Emmeline has loni> pressed me to in, ike: I mean to transfer her propeity at Courthope to a poor cousin, who is in want of a dotVef." " Admirable and adoralVe generosity!" 1 retorted, while 1 bit my lips with indignation ; for this arrange- ment reduced her anuual income to that of ber rival; and the latter would possess £' 800 in ready money. At that moment 1 Was seized with a vast admiration of black eyes ; and really, the name Mary, did not seem so very much worse than Emmeline. Besides, as the poet says. " what's in a name ?" While thus ruminating, I found that my Emmeline had left me alone. I wandered forth, displeased at my precipitation in offering m irriaue, and began to eoncoct a plan for escape. My mind naturally reverted to the rough calculation, and I felt for it in every pocket— but it was gone 1 Had I dropped it ? had any one picked it up ? were my next inward inquiries. I had shaved that morning, and probably wiped my razor on it. If so, my covetousness was safe from deiection, and I walki d on with somewhat a lighter step. Hope ! mischievous Hope 1 A syren voice, singing a lively Scotch air,( somewhat an anomalous circumstance), awakened me from my reverie. 1 turned round, and lively Mary Grey bounded to meet the chosen of her heart. She never looked so beau'iful before. Her black hair, and black ; but why should I attempt to describe her ? She was my abstract idea of beauty. She was the ov that haunted my imagination ; the standard, by approxima- tion to which 1 appreciated lesser phnets of form and figure. My whole soul — divince particula aura:— wa< lost in contemplating her ethereal loveliness. Besides — though what wa< that?- the eight hundred pounds ready money ! " James," said she, looking archly in my face, " I have something to tell you, which you may like or not, just as you please. My father wishes to see IOU about our " She held down her head, blushed, and bit ber finger. " Because, James, my rich cousin has comef> om India, ( he was my old flame, you know), and he wishes to be present at the . He will, no doubt, make a hand- some pres—." She blushed still more deeply, bit her finger with in- creased vehemence, and finally ran away, without deigning me another look. Was ever man iu such a condition as myself at that moment ? A rich cousin from India, who had probably earned, with his wtaith, an incipient liver complaint, and would certainly leave Mary Spencer a nabob's for- tune 1 1 cursed the rough calculation, ami inwardly pro- mised the world an essay on that very sage apophthegm of Sophocles, fiiiSsv' 6X/ 3i$ uv, trpiv av Tippa, & c.; and went to my home, mortified at my own iufamous conduct, and out of humour with all " the world. The " rough calciilaiion" was not the piece of paper on which my razor had been wiped. Monday morning.— I feigned illness all yesterday; employing the sacred hours of the sabbath iu searching for mv stray sibyllin leaf. No traces of it, however, were visi' le; ami, with startling vividness, the thought glanced over my unwilling spirit— Shall 1 fall into the pit of my own digging? Something unusual, and savouring of mortified pride in Mary's manner, now suireested itself to my mind. Had she found the paper ? I hastily drauk off tumbler alter tumid- r of wine, and ( lung the past, present, and future, with all their cares and troubles, to . Ladies, as 1 write for you, I must stop in time. A letter, which reached me on Tuesday morning, sympathised with my illness; it was from Emuieline. dated, " Castle Grey." What was to be done ? 1 went to the Castle. There, in the coach- yard, stood— it could not be; yes, it was— Mr. Spencer's four- wheeled chaise'. I rubbed my eyes. I tried to fancy my intellects dis- ordered ; but all attempts were useless. " There it stood ; the four green wheels — the initial S. — the quaint motto, " Tyme tryeth troth." I could have addressed it as Macbeth did the mystic dagger; but old Roger Hard- castle, the troom, exclaimed, " Pretty bit of carriage building that, Mr, Johnson; looks well when its cleaned ; Mr. Spencer drives two as neat greys as any one in the county." " Curse the greys," was my an- swer. I had wiled many a delightful hour on one of tie " neat" animals; while gentle Emmeline — Die Vernon like, so I fancied— then rode by my side on the other. I rushed oil to my fate. I tried to prepare some scheme of procrastination, but all in vain. My powers of invention were hermetically sealed ; and I entered the drawing- room, Not a soul was there} and, to my listening ears, th- sounds of lauchter, apparently from a distant room, came with startling distinctness.- " Ha 1 Ha ! Ha 1 He 1 He 1 He 1" That could not be the laugh of any one but Mary Grey. " Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! He! He!" I could have sworn that to be the giagle of Emme- line. Mechanically, I advanced to the neatly- i olished rosewood table which occupied the centre of the room. What lay there ? Not lovely maidens, a host of albums, and pictures, and " Views in Cumberland," and fancy card baskets, and specimens of granite from the foun- dation of the New London Bridge; not shells, and sea- weed, and annuals, aud miniatures, and bronze ink- stands, arranged with careless care— but the identical rough calculation ! Good heavens ! how came it there ? The laughte' wa* redoubled. Athousand Emmeiines and Maries were jeering me! I rushed towards ihe door, wheu the sunbeams seemed to flash on something bright. There were eyes — all peeping at me as though iu a show, through sun- dry round hole-, not ill- concealed in the ornainen's of the wainscot. They looked, and the proprietors • f them laughed, and I felt what I will not attempt to decribe. I ran? for my horse. The footman immediately ap- n^ red, and said that it had been ready half an ' hour. That was precisely the time I had remained in the hri"' « e • the , fl'low " as epigrammatic ! I escaped out of . u" i ' ^ ute, rode for my life, and never once the house m am, . . p; l m that ancient and celebrated stopped, till safely km*,. Ch. ckens, at Birmingham, posting inn, the Hert aM » ,„ nil tl) e a ° rs were While breakfasting next m„. ., tiema„; fvho coin- handed ove- " to the strange ge>. \; s face-" That plained so much of people starms in )) e strange gentleman cursed the hour in w>. • para. h arried his letters, on perusing the followii.^ graphs:— ' , " Yesterday morning, as will be seen in another pan. of our paper, the beautiful and accomplished heiress ot Castle Grey, was united to > ir Edward Rossvilt'e, Ba't.., late <> f Madras, in the East Indies. This marriage was rendered additionally interesting by the union , at the same time, of Miss Emmeline Spencer ( so long known as the favourite toast at Meltonian dinners), to William Clarence Grty, Esq., of Rawdon- hall, and neph ew to the munificent owner of the above- mentioned ancient domain. After partaking of a particularly splendid col- lation, ( prepared by Messrs. Birch, Gauter, and Verey, of this town,) the nappy couple s'arted < n a joint lour- to the Continent. The scion of a respectable family, w- 11 known on the turf in this neighbourhood, was spoken of as the intended husbaud of both these ladies. Itis confidently reported that his " flirtation" with each was carried to a shameful extent. A mere accident ( of which we promise a full account next week), led to the discovery of his ungenerous conduct." Another paper, less procrastinating, describe this " accident" from beginning to end James Jehnson, ( fir 1 do not like to identify myself with that gentleman any longer), had to listen to the var'ous coffee- room ver- ions of his ' flirtation," and its deserved punishment. He had, moreover, t" eiidure other mortifications: his Wends universally discarded him ; he was the suhjeet of satire aud lampoon ; finaiiv, he could not walk a hundred yard* in Leicesti r, or M, Itoh! Mowbray, without being asked to buy the " full ami particular account" of his own " flirtation."— Ladies Mag. THE DEATH WATCH EXPLAINED, AND SUPER- STITION DEFEATED. AN ORIGINAL TALE, BY J, TUNKS. Some few years ago, business called me to the North of England ; in journeying thither I had to cross a barren moor; it was a beautiful winter's evening, the whole expanse above was studded with countless thousands of brilliant luminaries, and bright Cynthia shone with si'very light on all around ; my affairs being urgent and the night propitious, I was induced lo continue my journey ; but I had scarcely reached the centre of this dreary waste, when, suddenly, the moon became obscured as if by magic, the stars, which a minute before were so refulgent, ceased to shed a single ray; an impenetrable darkness gathered round, and old Boreas, as if just awakened trom a torpid slumber, with inflated cheeks, whistled across the heath, prognosticating a forthcoming storm. I looked around io hopes of discovering some place of shelter, shwuld the storm overtake me e'er I had cross'd the moor, but the darkness was so intense, 1 could not see a yard in advance; so I buttoned my great coat closer to my throat, and quoting my favorite motto " Nihil Despe- randam," put on extra speed, determined to brave the worst. I was fortunate enough to cross the heath in safety ; and, after a tedious search, had just discovered a small but neat cottage, and had barely time lo apply my oaken staff ( which I always made an invariable rule to be my travelling companion) to the door, when the snow began to descend so rapidly and in such thick flakes, I was soon completely covered, giving a supernatural appearanca to my form, for I looked like one enveloped in the habiliments of the grave ; and the female, who ( after various thumpings with my cudgel opened the casement to ascertain who the intruder was) when she saw me uttered a scream of terror; and I was sometime e'er I could make the inmates believe I was flesh and blood like themselves. At length I gained an entrance, and shaking the snow from my garments, received a hearty welcome from those poor, but honest parents. The cloth was laid for supper, and a cheerful wood fire was blazing and crackling on the hearth. The family consisted of an old man, a young one, and two females; one of whom 1 afterwards found was the young man's wife, the other was his sister, and the old man Ins father. Being invited to parlake of their humble fare, and my appetite being much keener for my walk, I fell too with right good will, and after washing down the whole with a mug of home brewed, I entered into conversation. It appeared about six months previous to my arrival, the poor old man lost his partner in this world, after a long and protracted illness ; and since then, they had frequently heard at a certain hour of the night, a dull monotonous sound of tick ! tick! tick ! denominated by the superstitious the " Death Watch;" and this family being afflicted with the mania, likewise of weak nerves, one and all declared it to be < i sure sigo of another visit from the King of Terrors, and that shortly, and if either of them had the slightest ailment, thought themselves singled out as the victim. During our coaverse, the awful, and to them the soul harrowing sound commenced of the usual tick 1 tick ! tick ! each of the females shook like an aspen leaf, and the old man sat wilh dilated eyes gazing on t": e *;> ot * Vrtm whence ihe noise proceeded ; at length I broke the silent speil by saving, I would explain totheta the nature andctiuse ofthe" Death Watch," and thereby disp., 1 all their fears for the future. 1 took a candle fron- the ubte, and approaching an old ... id-;.-; ', windi " CCupied a corner of the room and taking from one of the holes a small insect ( which writtrs of Natural History call the circulio or weavel,) I placed it in llie palm of my hand, and pulling a powerful microscope from my pocket, desired them to look through it; nothing could exceed their astonishment wlien they found such a diminutive insect magnified to the size of a sheep, with a proboscis or trunk of the form, and, apparently, as large as an elephant's. I then explained ihe causa of those unusual sounds which had » o terrified them. I told them Nature in Ihe formation of this little creature, left out the eye, as doubtless that organ would have impeded the process of perforating ; and the mysterious tick, tick, which had caused so much alarm, was emitted from the proboscis or trunk ( of this petit perforater ofthe hardest wood) during the opera- tion ; likewise the Allwise Creator of every creeping thing on the face of the earth, having made them ill pairs, and not being possessed of sight for each mate to find its fellow, they were enabled by the constant tapping on the surface of the wood, to create a sound, hy which notice is conveyed to the helpmate where to come and assist in the laborious task of piercing those small holes, so frequently seen in old furniture, & c. After shewing thein many other microscopical woeders, 1 took my leave, telling them whenever tkey h. ard ihe solemn tick ! lick! again, to recollect it vtas only the little woodpecker at work ; they were highly pleased with my explanation, determined not to be so foolish any more, and I think I was the cause of freeing them from that very prevalent superstition— the " Death Watch." THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETfE. 4Fragiimit0 for tfjt fifurion*. THE OLD MAN'S TALE. A BALLAD — BY ANDREW JAMES M'DOUALL, I Jove to sit by a glowing fire, When the night 5s stealing on; And list to the tales its rays inspire, Of the merry days bygone. The minstrel may sing of present bliss, And the lov'd one's heart assail; But I prize no other joy than this, To list to the old man's tale. I love when the sage's eye beams bright, To smile at bis tales of yore, Of the games he had by pale moonlight, Alone on the pebbly shore. ' Tis joy to hear him speak of the flow'rs He cull'd in his native vale, When be rambled thro' its nanny bow'rs, And laugh at the old man's tale. Yes, I love to watch the veteran's face, When he speaks of childhood's years; The hours that his mem'ry loves to trace, And hallow with smiles and tears. ' Tis sad tho' when he speaks of ihe tomb, Where his first love lieth pale,— For my spirit shares his passing gloom, And weeps at the old man' ® talc. April 2Cnd, 3841. PRIZE- MONEY.— When Mr. Whitfield on'* at a chapel in New- England, where s* preached be made after the sermon, a ^ - collection was to strolled into the meeting, o* British seaman, who plates, and place thems*' ^ served some persons take he laid hold of oiip ~ ives at the door 5 uPon whi<: h, considerable and taking his station, received a parted, w''" from the congregation as they de- of his J he very deliberately put into the pocket . carry trousers. This Jjeing told to Whitfield he . ^ plied to the sailor for the moBey, sayiug it was col- lected for charitable uses, and must be given to him. 44 Avap, t tliere," said Jack, " It was given to me, and I Shall kerjp it." " You will be d— d," said the parsou, " If you don't return it." " I'll be d— d if 1 do," re- plied J ack, and sheered off with his prize. sn& catm. " Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." SHAKSPERE. In consequence of an unfortunate accident occurring just as our paper was going to the machine, we are un- avoidably compelled to omit this week our usual critique upon the performances at the different theatres. This we very much regret, as we had prepared lengthy notices and details of the plots of the various Whitsun- tide novelties, which are of a peculiarly interesting description; in fact, the managers of everyplace of amusement in the metropolis ha ve exerted Ihtf'^ g] yog to the utmost, and Ihe holiday folks ha « ~ e ], a(| „ uanium suf. of entertainment for their - loneJ> particularly at Covent Garden, the Haymar'^, Strand pavii( 0I1) Victona, the Albert . « ; aloon & c. In our nJext m, mbe; we purpose am*' mak- f , omission in the present, ' J ° 1 OLD A LEGEND OF SAINT PAUL'S. BY M. H. AINSFORTH. { Concluded from our last.) EDA'S FATE, A PATHETIC TALE.—- WRITTEN » Y A. KVNE. Hark ! Maiden, hark! sad shrieks yon owl, The death- watch beats, and winds its chain. Loud to the moon the ban- dogs howl, That scent yon gore empurpled plain. Where, ranged in battle's dire array, _ And fraught with gay hilarity, - Thousands that wait the coming day The star of eve shall never nee. Thousands that were like them elate- As reckless ofthe flight of time, Whose ardour fear could ne'er abate, There lie— cut off in manly prime. Wake ! Maiden, wake! and wake to tftoU'ii, Thou ne'er canst be thy soldier's bride; For war his manly form has torn— Has slain thy hopes, thy bosom's pride. Yet, though a broken tool of war, His soul's bland love death could not rreeze ; His eye adores thee through yon star— . His breath still greets thee in the breeze.'' An- elfin thus to Eda said, While wrapt in slumber's dreamy spell, When vagrant fancy lends her aid, To paint what day- dreams rarely tell. Then mortals have prophetic souls, And if their bodings they would note. They'd learn what fate has on her scrolls— The good and ill of time remote. Rous'd by her dream, as broke the light, She fsped where trumpets bray'd afar, And ' midst the tumult of the fight, Sought for her broken tool of war. From spot to spot she wildly flew, While death- fraught engines roar'd aloud, ' Midst curling sraoke, half hid from view, She seem'd an angel ' midst a cloud. ' Midst heroes fall'n, with walling hoarse, While life was ebbing from the heart, She found her lover's livid corse, And rnark'd his wounds with frantic start. " Then as she vlew'd him in despair, And to her lips his cold hand prest, A random shot fate guided there, Which ruthless pierced her tender breast. " I thank thee, Fate,'' she, falling, cried, " If not in life, he's mine in death.' 1 Then like a fragile flow'ret died, Low stricken by the whirlwind's breath. Poor Eda's fate, though many saw, And griev'd that one so fair had bled ; Yet then her corse none could withdraw From the chaf'd war- steed's iron tread. But truce when bugles sweet had sung, From out the ravage of the fray, With eager steps and silent tongue, They sped, and bore the pair away. Where' er tbfe war- fiend drive, his car, What! Waste !— what desolation reigns I 8\ vord, feud, and rapine, drive afar, ffrom burning hamlets ruln'd swains. The bleating ( lock, tlie lowing herd. Affrighted fly the poison'd breeze ; The fea'her'd race are shrieking heard, While winging from their blighted trees, As flew tbe stockdove from her nest, Scar'd by the trumpet and the gun, One matron sage, with throbbing breast, Had from her threaten'd homestead run. But when the brunt of battle o'er. And to her unscath'd cot return'd, What pangs her feeling bosom tore, To learn for whom the soldiers mourn'd, 8moothly eaih feature she compos'd, Waslul with her tears each fatal wound ; Perennial flow'ra o'er them disposed, And round their brows green laurels bound, But for the fate of that sweet maid, The youth, though all that worth reveres, Had on the field unheeded laid, Or swell'd a mound with his compeers. But there were those who knew them both, And knew by them love's fianui was fed ; Who to divide them now were loth, Though from their hearts the flame had fled. The fairest spot was sought for them, Where roves the rill ' midst shrub and tree ; Where sweetest flow'rs— tbe greensward gem, Their last cold bed was flx'd to be. Sad task for him who broke the sward— For us he smote tbe tender flow'rs : Oft would he pause with mute regard, And think of Eda's blighted hours. And mourn that men should league with strife, To further their ambitious views; Quench the warm sparks of human life, And think therefrom true fame accrues. Thus, though inur'd to scenes of woe, The soldier's not to feeling dead ; For other, weal bis heart can glow— For others grief his tear, can shed. The grave prepar'd, bis marshal'd corps. With solemn tread, and soul- felt gloom, To that lone grave the lovers bore. With plaintive fife and muffled drum. The tbund'ring dirge that o'er them roar'd, Consign'd them not to lethe's spell. E'en now for them sad sighs are pour'd, As memory haunts their distant dell. N THB ELIXIR VITVF,.— The study of alchemy was a favourite pursuit of many of the old chemists and philosophers, but ; all their theories and abstruse speculations over their fires, re- torts, receivers aud alembics, have all proved fruitless and vision- ary; the recent discovery, however, of PARR'S LIFE TILLS, compounded from a receipt In an old document of the cele- brated Thomas Parr, who lived 152 years, seems the nearest approach to the Elixir Vide, so ardently sought for by the otd nhe losophers: there IB, however, thU difference— the Elixir was fool- ishly supposed to be. capable of bestowing eternal youth on Its reci- pient, whereas Parr's Life Pills merely aim to secure an uninter- rupted enjoyment of good health, and consequently an advanced and happy old a^ e. MY OWN MOTHER DEAR. Ob, well I remember those days that have fled. Those scenes I no longc r discern 5 The days of 111 y childhood long, long since have fled, O, never again to return. But, still there are moments as happy as they, My mind they do comfort and cheer, When 1 think all the p'easures enjoyed each day, 1 owed to m> own mother dear. Oh, well 1 remember, if absent from home, The smile tlmt would greet my return ; The kiss of affection so sweetly would come With a blessing each one In Its turn. How can 1 repay, then, that ponderous debt Of gratitude ?— Greatly I fear I can never enough ;— yet, I'll never forget AU I owed to my own n"> ther dear. H. L. FBEEMAN. A SCRAP. The sun In glorious majesty on high, Unsullied suines, his piercing glances lie O uracant plains where once prouU cities stood, O Tflild the front of asme deep tangledwood, Whose rugged sod Ir is once a smllin gplain, And Mas'd th « teet of many a jocund train. JOHN Qarofit. A NIGHT'S REST IN THE WEST INDIES. The wine circulated freely, and by and by Fyall in- dulged in some remarkable stories of his youth, for he was the only speaker, which 1 found some difficulty in swallowing, until at length, on one thumper being tabled, involving an impossibility, nnd utterly indiges- tible, voluntarily exclaimed, " By Jupiter!" " You want any ting, massa," promptly chimed in the black servant at my elbow, a diminutive kiln- dried old negro. " No," said I, rather caught. " Oh, me tink you call for Jupiter." I looked in the baboon's face—" Why, if I did what then ?'' " Only me Jupiter, at massn sarvice, dat all." " Yon are, eh, no great shakes ofa Thunderer; . and who is that tall square man standing behind your mas- ter's chair." " Daddy Cupid, massa." " And the old woman who is carrying away the dishes in the Piazza?" " Mamma Weenus." " Daddy Cupid and Mamma Weeiius — Shade of Homer P" Jupiter, to my surprise, shrunk from my side as if he bad received a blow, and in Ihe next moment I could hear him communing with Venus in the Piazza. " For true, dat leelle man of war, Bucra, must be Obeah man ; how de debil him come to sabe dat it was stable boy, Homer, who broke de candle shade on massa right hand, dat one wid de piece broken out of de edge;" and here he pointed towards it with his thin— a negro always points w ith his chin. 1 had never slept on shore before ; the night season in Ihe country iii dear old linglund, We all know is usually one ofthe deepest stillness — here it His anything but still; as the evening closed in, there arose a loud hum- ming noise, a compound of the buzzing, and chirping, and whistling, and croaking of numberless reptiles and insects, on the earth, in the air, and in the vi ater. 1 was awakened out of my first sleep by it. Not that lhe sound Was disagreeable, but it was unusual ; and every llow and ( hen a beetle the size of your thumb would bang In through the open window, cruise down Ihe room with a noise like a humming- top, nnd then dance a quadrille with half a dozen bats; while the fire- Hies glanced like sparks, spangling the folds of the muslin curtains of Ihe bed. The croak of the tree- toad, too, a genteel reptile, with nil ihe usual loveable properties of his species, about the size of the crown of your hat, sounded from the neighbouring swamp, like some one snoring in the Piazza, blending harmoniously with the nasal concert got up bv Jupiter and some other heathen deities, who were sleeping there almost naked, except- ing the bead, which every negro swathes during the night with as much tlannel and as many handkerchiefs as lie can command. By the way, they all slept on th. ir faces. 1 wonder if this will account for their fiat noses. Next night I was awakened out of my first sleep by a peculiar sort of tap, tap, on the floor, as if a cat with walnut shells had been moving aboHt the room, Tbe feline race, in all its varieties, is i » y detestation, BO I slipped out of bed to expel the intruder, but the instant my toe touched the ground, it was seized as if by smiths' forceps. I drew it into bed, but the annoyance fol- lowed it; and in an agony of alarm and pain, 1 thrust my hand down, when my thumb was instantly manacled to the other suffering member. 1 now lost my wits alto- gether, and roared murder, which brought a servant in with a light, and there I was, thumb and toe, in the clinch ofa laud crab.— Blackwood's Mag. It is unnecessary to dwell much more upon the me- lancholy subject Of Marianne's last illness; the reader has, 110 doubt, anticipated that the worst would follow, and we will) therefore, merely observe that every day served Hiore and more to convince her friends that her predictions were about to be realized, and, at length, ivheu the truth could no longer be concealed, her mother was cautioned to prepare herself for an event that must very shortly occur. To describe the agonized feelings of the disconsolate mother; would be impossible— lor though she had long watched her daughter with the ut- most anxiety, yet she could hot brijig net- self to believe that her case was so bad as it rfeally was, atid \ Vhen, at last, the harrowing intelligence w as conveyed to her, she gave way to a paroxysm of grief that for some time threatened to overthrow her reason for ever. But the prayers and entreaties of her husband, at length pre- vailed, and summoning tip all her fortitude, sbe even- tually so far recovered htr firmness as to retuHi to the sick chamber of her daughter t hiirsitul; her \ Vith - all a mother's care) and sdothlng the last few hours of the patieht with that gentle care that a parent's love only can bestow. It was about a month after the events had occurred, that wtere narrated in the last chapter, that it became evident the final scene was fast drawing to a close.— Marianne Had, for, some days, been fully aware of the change that was about to tak* placfe, and, at last, ex- pressing a wish to have dbotit lifer all those whom she loVCd, stie Wis quickly sUrrOiltldcd t) y thb Sdfrtlwiflg friends from whom she was about to part. " This," she exclaimedio a faint vo'ce, " is a happi- ness that serves to smooth my departure from life, for I feel that my end is now approaching, and if anything were wanting to render me truly happy, it has been sup- plied by thosfe who now stand weeping round me." " My dear, deat Marianne," exclaithed her father,— " is tbei- e aily wish that you have to express t « Us ere you are suatthfed away froth uS for evef ? " There are a few things that I Wish to say," she Im- plied, " atid from the kindness that has ever been ma- nifested towards me, I have every reason to believe I shall be indulged on the present occasion. And first I would entreat your pardon for Eustace St. Clair, who I know you blame as being the cause of my death." " I do," exclaimed Mr. Lester, with agitation. " Then do so 110 longer," she replied, " for I was more to blame than himself. I disobeyed your com- mands when d< sired to see him no more, aud it was my own fault that he eontitlued a pursuit which has termi- nated thus disastrously." " The villain," exclaimed Martin Palliser, " shall yet be severely punished for the death his heartless cruelty has caused." " Nay, your words grieve me, Martin," cried the dying gii- i; " remember, F am now making a few last re- quests, and yout- denial of them will serve to embitter the last few remaining moments I have to live. Sav, then, will all here forgive the errors of Eustace St. Clair, who, 1 believe, will regret as much as any of you the fate of Marianne ?" " We do," answered all present. " In that case my heart is relieved of half its cares," replied tbe dying girl ; " I felt alarmed lest any vio- lence should be committed on him, but you have pro- mised him your forgiveness, and 1 will rest satisfied." " I will never seek hiin," exclaimed Martin, " and all I hope is that be will not auaiu insult me by coining into my pre- ence ; the pa » t injury shall be forgiven, since it is your request, but never can I forget that she whom 1 loved owed her death to his villany." " Nay, let my name be forgotten, if possible," cried Marianne ; " there is one standing hy your side more worthy of your love than ever I was, and I now eutreat that you will give her that place in your heart which was so long unworthily occupied by myself." " Do not— do not urge me 011 this subject at present, dear Maiianne," exclaimed the youth, in a tone of the deepest emotion injunctions were not forg. tten, and it was arranged that their marriage should take place at the expiration of a year from the period of Marianne's death. In the mean timet the plague, which had raged with fearful violence, began to subside, and when it was considered safe to do so, old David Logan and his daughter Stella, quitted their retreat in Old St. Pauls, and took up their resi- dence in a quarter of the town where Martin Palliser could readily visit them, and devote all his time to her whose faithful and unquenchable love had inspired his heart with a passion equally intense as her own. As may be aHticipatcd, therefore, the expiration of the time named was ansiouMy looked forward to, and when the twelvemonth had passed away Stella became the bride of Martin Palliser, who, a few weeks hefore, had been installed io Ills master s business, as a reward for his faithful services during the period of his apprenticeship. Indeed, Arnold Lester had nerer been able ta attend to his affairs since his daughter's death, and it was to escape the recollection of that sad event, that he re- tired into the country, to pass away the remainder of his life in that affluence which his frugality and industry had setured. To do EustacS St. Clair justice, it must be obserted, that he severely felt the blow when he heard ofthe death of Maflauhe. He then regretted the base con- duct he had pursued tawatds hef, and retflCmbering the ardour with which she had loved hllii* lie efidufed the deepest remorse for that conduct which had sent dfle so young to an untimely grave. But months elapsed, and as the recollection of her faded away, he began to think with more favour of Edith Bellendcn, and, having abandoned his former libertine habits, they were Shoftly afterwards married. As for Maud Denton; she had long ago paid the penalty of her many crimes on the gallows at Tyburn. The tfiany muffleta she had beeri gitilty of Committing upon plague pati& rits, who she afferttafds fobbed, wefe^ clearly brought home to her, and never was tho execra- tion of the public more loudly called forth thati when her career of crime was clearly laid open. She died as hardened as she had lived, and her last moments were rendered still more appalling by the shouts of the im- mense multitude which had assembled to wilness her ei. clitidit. It now only remains fo say fhat Sir f/ ionel Preston was slain in a duel with his former ffiertd Colonel I. cetwich. They had quarrelled, it seems, about a girl to whom they both professed lo be attached, and the consequence was ns above slated; the knight perished 011 the field of combat, and Colonel Leetwich was com- pelled to flee to the continent, in order lo avoid the punishment which he knew would otherwise await him. LLOYD'S LIST OF POPULAR WORKS. SIXTY- FIVE HUMOUROUS ENGRAVINGS BY AN" EMINENT ARTIST, AND TEN NEW COMIC SONGS ( BY PREST) FOR ONE PENNY ! I! " THE PENNY~ SUNDAY TIMES GALLERY OF COMICALITIES," CONTAINS THB FOLLOWING ORIGINAL COMIC SONGS, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THE WORK I— The Contented Man. My Sarah and Me. Domestic Economy. Brandy and Salt. Population; or, It's all owing to tbe Family Ointment. SIXTY YEARS AGO. SMITHFIEI. O ALIVE; OR, BARTHOLOMEW FAIR IOR EVER.— The bustle began at this place on Tuesday afternoon : many hands were at woik, clearing away window frames, and erecting stands: and the noise of the hammer did not cease lill yesterday al noon, when, about twenty minutes past one, the Lord Mayor made his appearance before Newgate, and Mr. Akermun, 11s is customary, produced his goblet of nectar, which was handed about. His Lordship next proceeded to Smith- field, and proclaimed the fair. Thousands of merry souls, well primed for laugh and fun, shouted applause when they saw the state- coach enter the field. The proclamation being over, all was fair above and below; the parti- coloured gentlemen appeared in an instant, and the air resounded with the noise of invitation. There was the most wonderful of all wonderful things the world ever wondered at, to be seen at one corner, and at another, men and women, eating fire, swallow- ing knives, and broiling a steak on their tongues. There were tragedies for grown people to laugh at, and Punch and his merry family to divert the children i there were carts with wild beasts for country lads to stare at, and round- abouts and up and- downs for those who wish to try the thickness of their skulls. Coaches, landaus, gigs, buggys, sedan- chairs, Scotch- hobbies, Blackheath Arabians, and machines drawn by the bow- wow race, kept continually going round the Fair from morning till night. One sedan- chair had four sweeps within, and another on the lop. Old Wigs, alias Sir Jeffery Dunstan, was mounted in a gig. and sold Iiis picture and speeches as he passed through the crowd. The cows baby- houses were turned into parlours, and filled with ladies of the savory- pan and mustard- pot. No smoking was allowed during dinner, nor was any gentleman suffered to lay bis warm quid by the side of his plate, as has been usual. One tabie was remarked for ugly nobs, and brought to memory the club of ugly faces, where they drank to each ether in the following manner:— Mr. Nose, my service to you;— thank you, Mr. Chin;— your servant, Mr. Squint;— my love to you, neighbour Gin:-. le ;— thank you, friend Allmouth ; — here's to you, biotlier chin Jams ; — with all my heart, Old Hatchet Face. The rain falling was very unfortu nate ; it cleared the open parlours, anil washed Ihe brown from otfthe sausages; but this made the better for the public. houses, which were filled in an instant, and some, full of tobacco smoke, with here and there a fiery head popping through like the carnation- gills of a turkey- cock. The old house for roast pigs and pork had a good run ; there seemed likewise a great demand for shell- fish of all sorts. When it was visible the even- ing was set in for wet, the fiddle and feet went to work at all the mug- shops ; nnd thumbs up and handkerchiefs down was all the go among the ( lash blades of Barkleme. Before nine at night many of the dancing tribe had laid their hearts in souk, and fiddlers were snoring incomers, wilh their squeakers under their arms. There w ere hand- bills to give notice of a ball in the evening at the Prancer's Nob iu Tumblegut- lane ; but ( lie magistrate of the night took possession of the ball- room, and put a stop to the shake- tail assembly. The sharks were successful at many houses, and gulled many Nickninnies and Rigmtnogs out of their money. The fol- lowing bill was stuck up in several parts of the fair : " LOST, conveying to this fair, a large handsome wild Cat, with an. extraordinary large tail, supposed to have got loose in the Old Bailey. If found and brought to the owner during the fair, at Savage- walk, Smithlield, a guinea reward will be given." " 1 must have your promise now or never," she re- plied; " you see me on the point of death, Martin, and a br'n f space of time will remove me from a world in which 1 have so lately experienced so much sorrow.— Promise me, therefore, tlfat Stella shall be your wife, and my heart will be relieved of the only care that uow oppresses it." " In that case," answered Ma'tin Palliser, '* 1 yield to your earnest solicitation ; Stella I see also yields, aud I will wed her in compliance with your request." " Now, then, I am happy," cried Marianne, with a faint smile of satisfaction, and clasping their hands, she joined them together, whilst pouring forth an earnest prayer for their happiness. This done, sbe turned to- wards her mother, who stood weeping by her side, and said,— " You grieve me, dear mother, and yet you know not how joyfully 1 look forward towards the moment that will release me from a life of which 1 have grown weary. I have been weak and fooli- h ill placing my reliance upon one who 1 believed loved me ; but I have seen that my confidence was misplaced, and with a broken heart I have now laid myself down to die." " Nay, my child, I do not despair," answered Mrs. Le ter; " I yet hope to see you recover from this long and painful illness." " Believe me, mother, you do but deceive yourself, cried Marianne. " I am fast sinking, for my strength has entirely deserted me, and a few nrnutes more will serve to conclude my brief span of life." " Marianne," excla'med her father, " my heart, at this awful moment, reproaches me for the severity of my conduct, when I saw you resolved to bestow your love upou one who I know to be unworthy the object of his pursuit. I regret the harshness I exhibited on the occasion, and most earnestly implore your forgiveness." " Nay," answered Marianne, " it is 1, rather, who have to ask forgiveness of you. I was wrong iu dis- obeying your injunctions, when you commanded me to reject a lover of whose intentions you had an unfavour- able opinion. Yet I believed his vows of unalterable love till circumstances proved that his affections were given to another, and then, sinking under the blow that bad been thus inflicted, 1 cheerfully looked forward to death, which could alone bring balm to my broken heart. That long- looked for moment has at length ar- CHARADES. 1, I am a word of thirteen letters.^- Jfy 7, 12, 4, 7, ( 1, 3, 8— Is what Brltlffh soldiers detest; my 8. 8, 1,5, 9, 7, 8— ts not brave; my 7, 3, 5, 13— Is a great nuisance in a bouse; my 13 5, 12, 3, 8— is very useful with m bed ; my 3, 8, 8. 12, 7— is a reptile ; my ll, I), 7, 12 — isgaire; myl, 12 4, 4, 12,1— is a piece of furniture 1 myll, 3, 1, 11— Is a dish; my 13, 2, 9, 5, 4, 12. 7, 8- is what get In the wet | my 9, 1, 1 i— Is a tree; my 3, 10, 11, 6, 13— is what we must all come to; ray 10, 2, 7, 9. 4— 1 « a fish; my 5, 9, 4, 5. 12, 7, 1— l! not splendour; my 8, 6, 4, 12, 7— is to prevent,— My whole were found very useful articles In the late inclement weather. Portsea. Cr. L. II. I am a word of eleven letters.— My 7, S. 9, 5.4 8, 9. 10. II - Is a bird; my 8, 9, 10, 11— Is often very diitrnctiv- ; my 3, 2, 4— Is an animal; my 3, 9, 4, 9. 7— is a native nf the African shore ; my I, 2, 6, 10— is to miss; ray 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 15, 7, 8— 1. a coin.— My whole put together embraces tight. D. S, III. BIy 3, 4, Is a preposition. To which I add tn. proposition, That you should put your best 1, 3, 4, on, And accept 4, 1,2, Invitation, For which I make preparation Of your coming to 2, 3, 4. with m « , A* well s. take some of my 4 2, 3. A personal pronoun 1, 2, will be, Th. whole of four letters, as you'll see, In Winter we seek, but In Summer we flee, Kxmouth. ( R. ALPHINOTON. IV. I « m a word of fiff*.. letters.— My 1, 14, 5, 12, 9, S, 10— Is fin illotment; my 4, fi, 5, 5, 3,8, and 1, 3, 8, < 1. 12, 14— are vegeta- bles ; my 8, 3, I— Is a boy's plaything ; my 4, 11. 8, and 5. 15, 12 - ure animals; my 1, 3, 8, and I. 6, 15— are cooking atenstis; my 4, 11, 5— is a chariot; my 7, 4, 11, 5— is a wound; my 4. 6. 15. 10, 3, 15 — is destruction in a battle; my 4, 6, 5, 1— is a tish 1 my 7, 3, 5. 8— is a particular kind ; my 7, 4, 3, 14, 1— Is a ladle; niy 1, 5, 3, 1— Is a supporter j and my whole is dangerous. Birmingham. G. W. C. V. I am a word of fifteen letters.— My 2. 4 13. 15, ? 0, 11- 5, 1.3 15- 10, 2, 13, 6, 10— 7, 14, 13, 4- 1, 13, 14. 1, 9 11,11, 13. 2— 1,8. 13, 10, 9— are names of places ; and iny 7, 12, 2, 4 15, 11 — 14, 8 13 10,15- 1, 9, 4— 7, 14, 15, 10, 7— are names of livers.— M) , vhoie Is situated In Wales. VI. My 3, 2, 4— is generally used with my 4. S. I, 5 ; my 4, 5. K. 8 or 3, 6, 4— are useful to 3, 6, 8; and my 4, 6, 7, 8— w< f are all sub- ject to.— My whole Is what we are apt to do. A Private Still. Happy Land— a Sad Lot. Poor Jack— Please Re- Member Jack. John Delf— In his Cups. Hard- Up; or, Shocking Ex- tremities. AN 1* ALSO THK FOLLOWING GRAPHIC SAETCFFKS: The Maid of the Mill.— A General Rising — T'hysleal Force.— Bringing blm tao | Two).— A Black Fast.— Ladles of the Cofirt, — His Mind Is on the Rack.— Settling a[ c] Count; Double Sntry.—• Friar Bacon.— Giving Himself ( H) airs.— Contracting an Acquaint- ance.— A Heavy Swell.— A Good Bite.— Hodge's Beit.— Sedan- fefy Occupation,— Currant Jam ; a Friendly Squeeze.— A Neat Turn- out.— A Votary of the Nine. — Taking the Pledge. — Warlik. Guise ( Guys).— Food for Reflection.— Celling Whacks; a B. I- 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 Tost; General Delivery.— Come of Age.— Cutting Him to the Quick.— Breaking Cover,— Sauce ( Source) of the Nigger ( NIgerl.— 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 Sqnails.— Hebrew Melodies.— A Funny Pair.— A Good Catling.— A Shocking StK- k.— The Pot- boy.— Summut Short.— Detachment ot" Cavalry.— Deprived of the Use of their Organs.— Neat as Im- „ orte- t.— A Free- Bootor.— Fancy Fair.— At a Stand Still.— An Un- happy Augment.— Coming It Slap. * * THR wa" HELLISHMENTS HAVE BEEN ENGRAVED AT* THg ENOKk'OU8 EXPENSE OF 1,000 GUINEAS II! In Weekly Numbers at lu - » nd Monthly Part, at 4d„ the N. w and Highly In '' resting Romance of KATHLEEN I OR, THE ^ ECRET MARRIAGE. V The First Number, containing j^' sht closely- prlned Pages, Two Splendid Engravings on separate pa,""' » nd » m" » l Magnifi- cent Wrapper, presented GRA' 119 with Nd. 54 "" THS PKNNT SONOAT TIM* S, AttV PsOrr. K's POLtCE GAZETTIT- Shortly will be Published In Weekly NambePS « t Id., ai.'< 3 Month Parts at 4d., EMILY F1TZORMOND t OR, THE DESERTED C VE. With No. 1, will be presented, GRATIS, Two Magnificent Plated and a Wrapper. Shortly will be Published, in Numbers at One Penny, and f'oftf penny Monthly Parts, EftNNfcSTrNE DE LACY! OR, THE ROBBERS' FOUNDLING. With No. 1, will be presented GRATIS, Two Splendid Engraving' on separate fffipef, and a Wrapper. Complete In 104 Numbers at One ? enny each, or Elegantly Bound at Nine Shillings and Sixpence, ELA, THE OUTCAST I OR, THE GIPSY GIRL Of ROSEtVIARY DELL. A TALK OF THK MOST THRILUNO INTEREST. Complete in 54 Numbers at One Penny each, or Elegantly Boua at Five Shillings. FATHERLESS FANNY! OR, THE MYSTERIOUS ORPHAN. A TALK OF DEEP INTEREST. Complete in 24 Numbers at Sixpence each, BLACK- EYED SUSAN! OR, THE SAILOR'S BRIDE. A NAUTICAL KOMANCE. Iu Numbers at One Penny each, © r Fonrpenny Monthly Parts, Stitched in a neat Wrappnr, THE HEBREW MAIDEN I OR, THE LOST DIAMOND. A ROMANCE OR THB DAYS OF CHIVALRY. To be completed In 12 NumT> er* * t Id. each, Illustrated with 13 Engravings, BARNABY BUDGE. A TALE BY " BOS." Handsomely Printed in Crown Quarto. Complete in 20 Numbers at Sixpence each, VICTORIA! OR, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER* BY A POPULAR AUTHOR. To be completed in 18 Numbers at One Penny each, or Neatly Bound, price Two Shillings. GALLANT TOM I OR, THE PERILS OF A SAILOR ASHORE AND AFLOAT. INTERSPERSED WITH ANECDOTES, TOL/ OH YARNS, ETC. ^ In Penny Weekly Numbers and Fourpenny Monthly Part*, ANGELINA! OR, THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY. A TALE OF DEEP INTEREST. rived, and uow I can joyfully quit life, forgiving all who have ever iujured me, and conscious that I have the pardon of those whom 1 have thoughtlessly offended." " Would that I could have laid down my own life for the preservation of your*," cried Stella, in a paroxysm of grief. " 1 would not change places with you even if it were in my power to do so," answered Maritime. •• I am content to die, and no'hing in the world could have afforded me more happii* eA& dinn the c1 eering certainty that your faithful love for Martin Palliser is about to meet its just reward. It has been the subject of my anxious thoughts for many a day past, and now that my wishes are about to be realized, 1 can lay myself down to die in peace." " Alas', my child, can you give us no hope ?" cried her mother, in accents ot despair. " None; life is ebbing fast, and ere long all will be over." " This" exclaimed the goldsmith, " is, indeed, a moment of extreme bitterness and ^ rief. i gaze upon thee now, ray child, for the last time, and memory brings back to me the period when I watched you from infancy to womanhood, with all the pride and gratifica tion ot an over- fond parent. In the joy of my heart thought not of such a parting as this, and now when I see thee lym* at thy last gasp, I feel a load of anguish such as I never before experienced." It was evident that the last struggle between life and death was going on ; Marianne could no longer speak, but the expression of her countenance tolii them but too plainly that all would soon be over. A solemn silt'nee now ensued, broken only by Ihe sobs ot* Stella and the heart- broken mother ; then a slight convulsion was observed to pass through the frame of the sufferer, and in another moment the once fair and beauteous Marianne Lester had pa Bed from life into eternity. But we will no longer dwell upou this painful theme, but will imagine a few months to have elapsed since the occurrence vf the above- mentioned melancholy event, when time had in some degree softened the pangs which had been occasioned by the separation that had taken place. During this interval Martin Palliser and Stella frequently met; and though their memories still dwelt with fond regret upon their lost friend j yet her last RIDDLE. Hall to that hoary seer, or studious youth, Whose thirst for knowledge or whose zeal for truth First taught them to expapd th" historic page, And cull ihe flowers of each preceding age j Theme showing by judicious mixture, how To twine the wreath around the classic brow. Tis theirs to tell you, and they'll tefi you true, When the great leader of th' oppressed crew That groaned in Egypt under Phamah's rod, Brought forth his people with the hand of God, Me, helpless me, in Egypt left behind. Ages roll'd on, and saw me yet confined, For ' tW4S my lot, tho* 1 th^ ir bondage shared, Joln'd in their songs, and in their darings dared, When laden with the spoils they sought the coast, And fled before the death devoted host, That never in the desert I should mourn. Nor in the Land of Promise should sojourn. But when in future times the Dardan Boy Brought back Achaia's pride, the scourge of Troy, Disdaining slothful ease and languid peace, I stood the foremost in the ranks of Greece. But s^ ch thy f* te, Peledes and my own, Never to enter Troy's ill- fated town i But when Troy fell, and war's alarms were o'er, And great En* as sought the Punic shore, Me, when Love's ardent fl- imes began to glow, He saw in Curtilage, end forgot the foe; But when to Latium he had steer'd hi* flight, And Rome arose to his prophetic sight, His eye far piercing, and his judgment clear, Saw I should nererfind a station there. Such was my lot, but when great Ccesar shone, And bade Rome call the conquered world her own, I in the Gaulish legions took iny stand. Nor fear'd the haughty tyrant's stern command. I own in council he unequalled sat, And I ne'er boar> ted talents in debate; But Cteiar, nor the world's united might. Could ever drive me from the midst of fight. Me, when Timos thunder'd as a god, And Persia trembled as the tyrant trod, The heaven- wrapt Bramin on the sacred shore Of Ganges saw me twice, but saw no more. In later times, should curious eyes pervade, And wish to draw me from the silent shade, 1 still stand forth ob'ru » iveto the view, By others challenged, a » I challenge you. Go then— but se » > k me not in modern Fra> ce, Nor with the beaux- esprit, nor in the dance, Nor in the strains of Italy to join, Nor in the rites of Venus, nor the vine. But would you place me all my cares begulli' g. And view me, whitre you'll ever see me smiling, Seek me where Gejrge and England nhine to view, And where they flourish— there I flourish t^ o. ROBERT HVISH. CHILDRENS' PENNY BOOKS, ETC.— THE LIFE OF DICK TURPIN, including his Ride to York ( 12 En- g- avirg*).—' 1 HE HISTORY OF GEORGE BARNWELL ( Engravings). — LLOYD'S TRUE FORTUNE TELLER, by which any person may tell heir Fortunes, by Cards. Lines of the Hands, & c. See, ( Coloured Engraving* 1.— IRISH BULLS, by TEDDT O'FLANNTGAN) Engrav- ings).— LLOYD'S ROYAL DREAM BOOK: a Correct Interpretation of Dreams, & c . ( Coloured Engraving).— MAVOR'S SPELLING BOOK AND FIRST STEP TO LEARNINO, containing Words from One to Five Syllables, with a great number of Useful Lessons In Reading and Spelling; also, some very entertaining Lessons in Natural History, & c.— MOTHER HUBBARD AND HKR Doo ( 13 Engravings). — VALKNTINE AND ORSON ( 7 Engravings).— CINDKRKLLA AND TUB GLASS SLIPPER ( 13 Engravings).— ri HE LIFK OF JACKSHEP- PARD, THE HOUSEBREAKER ( 13 Engravings).— LLOYD'S NURSERY HHTMKS J two sorts ( 13 Engravings each).— WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT ( 7 Engravings).— THE HISTORY OF PAUL JONES, THK PIRATE ( 13 Engravings).— THE LIFE AND ADVENTURKB OF ROBIXSON CRUSOE ( 6 Ergravings)— VYSE'S KJW LONDON SPI LL- RAO HOOK, containing A great number of LT.* L', UL Lessons in Spelling, with appropriate Fable*, Scripture Plcce « . & c,} together with numerous other Penny Books. LLOYD'S MAGIC, SHADOWS ; OR, CANDLE- LIGHT A^ USE MENT ( Twenty sorts, including all the most Popular Subject One Penny each. MONEY LENT WITHOUT INTEREST, In any sums from to i6' 100, and from three months t< ten years. Read Tbe GuiUe to One Hundred Loan Societies: containing their Addresses, Office- Hours, Printed Forms Fllling- up, and nil necessary Information highly important to bor- rowers in England, Ireland, and Scotland, never before published Price Half a- crown, by which you may save one hundred times a* much. Fourth Edition, One Shilling, Post free. One- and- fourpence, with Portrait, PUtes, and Battle Plans, COMMODORE NAPIER'S LIFE AND EX PLOITS. Admiral Napier's Engagement off Cape St. Vincent. " Barradas, the Captain of the ship, came across me,' wounded li> the face, and fighting like a tiger! He was a brave man. 1 saved his life. The second captain came next, and made so goo? natured a cut at me, I had not heart to hurt him. He was also spared. The quarter deck was now gained, but the slaughter stil continued, ootwlth standing the endeavour ofthe officers to subdue it; the main and lower decks were jet unsubdued, and as the Don Pedro raaged up on the opposite aide to board, both ships fired." ( 8ee page 20.) London;— Strange, Pstcrnoitsf rowj mi all Country Book- sellers, I, PUBLIC ACKNOWLEDGMENT. THE undersigned JOHN CUJ3LEY, late of Derby, but now of the town of Nottingham, heretofore t% schoolmaster, but now out of employment, do hereby acfenowledgeo that I have lately got compounded some Pills, which I have sold to different persons as " OLD PARRS LIFE PILLS," by repre- senting that L had purchased the Recipe lor that celebrated Medi- cine; such representation was, however, entirely false, and the Proprietors of the GENUINE " Old Parr's Life Pills" have com- menced legal proceedings against me for the above fraud. Bud I liavlng expressed sorrow and contrition, and given up to them tbe names and addresses ot each person to whom I have sold any of such Pills, a* well as of tbe Druggists who compounded the same ; and agreed to make this public apology, and pay all the expense*, including this advertisement, the Proprietors have kindly con- sented to forego such legal proceedings. I do, thereJore, deelarw my shame and sorrow for having committed such an imposition on the public, and such a fraud on the Proprietors of " Old Parr's Life Pills," and further express my acknowledgments for their lenity. JOHN CUBMSY. Dated this 28th day of January, 1841. Witness— H. B. CAMFBKLL, Solicitor, Nottingham. In order, therefore, to protect the public from such Imitations^ the Hon. Commissioners of Stamps have ordered " PARR'S LIFE PILLS ' to he engraved on the Government Stamp attached to each box, without which none are genuine. LETTER From Mr. J. DRURY, of Lincoln, shewing the high estimatfewi these invaluable Medicines are held in that City :— " To the Proprietors of Parr's Life Pills. " GENTLKMBN,— " When you first appointed me agent to sell Old Parr's Life Pills, which was August 14th, 1840, I was doubtful of muling much sale, there being so many different pills for the public to please themselves with. There must, however, be m » re length of LIFE in Parr s Pills than in others, for I find on enquiry, that much benrfit is obtained from them, and that they RKALLY DO GOOD to hundreds and thousands of people : I may sny thousands, for if all your agents sell at the aam » ; rate I do, and I have sold a few, up to the present time, viz :— 642 box* s! large and small sizes. I am now wanting a fresh supply, which please to send instanter, or else you will have much to answer for by not making haste to OLVE NKW LKNGTH OF LIFE to them wanting It; and you may depend upon It for truth, that many or, o people who were going down fast In life, are now Invigorated with JVEW LIVE, NKW FEELIHOS.,— SPRIGHTLY, and FULL OF ACTIVITY, and who say THEY ARK FAR BETTER IN HEALTH since they have taken OLD PARKS LIFE PILLS, than they we e some twenty years back ! Surely there i* magic in the pills to do so iruch good to the human frame, not only to the aged, but to the young as well, and particularly young females. I am, your obedient Servant. JAMES DRURY. 224, Stone Bow, Lincoln. Feb. 8th, 1841. Price Is. lid., 2s. 9d., and family boxes lis. each; the boxes at 2s. 9d. contain equal to three small, and those at lis. equal to five at 2s. 9d. Full directions are given with each box. This Medicine is sold wholesale, by appointment, by EDWARD'S, St. Paul's Church Yard, London. i Loudon :— Printed ana Published hy K. LLOYD, 231, High Street, Shorediteh / and at 44. Hotxrrell bt- Stroud,