PEOPLE'S LONDON:— SUNDAY, AUGUST 22, 1841 Uoltcc, him the place of shop- boy with an eminent haberdasher in London. In this situation young Snubbs neglected no opportunity of culti- vating the graces; and as he at the same time had tolerable parts, a modest assurance, and a ready tongue, he rose so rapidly in hi* master's favour, that he Was appointed to travel for the house to the north of England, and to Scotland. This appointment had long been the aim of our hero's exertions, and the object of hi ® ambitious wishes; and Alexander of Macedon felt not greater pride, when he had first tamed the fierceness of Bucephalus, than did Snubbs, when he found himself master of a stout hackney, trotting on the highway to happiness and Carlisle. It was here that ha met, for the first time, the accomplished Miss Geraldlnfe Snooks, the daughter and heiress of a rich attorney. He had the honour of dancing with her at a charity ball: he afterwards met her at a tea party, aad took the liberty of offering to accompany her next morning to a concert. His attentions now became more particular; he visited her at her father's house- stole her fan- wrote verses upon her French poodle— and, in short, had mad& s, strong impression upon her affections, when he Was discovered* one morning, kissing his mistress's hand, and trying to prevaiL With her to accompany him upon his northern excursion, as far as Gretna Green, by old Snooks, who kicked him down stairs, and forbade him his house for ever. This was a severe blow to his hopes; and Snubbs, in the height of his indignation, meditated claiming satisfaction from the attorney, either by the duello or ah. action for assault. Upon farther reflection however, he adopted the more prudent and Christian resolution of overlooking tftte affront, in consideration of his love for the fair Geraldine. He immediately quitted Carlisle, where he had lost his heartland, we are sorry to add, his book of patterns the latter loss, however, was not scarcely felt before it was relieved, by the restoration of the article, with a hastily written and indifferently spelt note frortt Miss Sriooks, expressing sympathy for his sufferings, and swearing unalterable attachment to his person and fortunes. The truth is, the patterns had slipped from the pocket of Mark Anthony's inex- pressibles, during his somewhat precipitous retreat, before tbe> enraged Octavius Snooks. The constancy of his mistress greatly consoled our hero under the indignity he had just experienced, and he comforted himself with the thought, that " the course of true love never did run smooth"— a truth which was farther confirmed in his own experience, by his horse stumbling on a piece of new- laid road, and depositing the unhappy lover in a dry ditch. Snubbs did not allow this accident to ruffle his lately recovered, equanimity; on the contrary, as he discoveied that his nag had lost a shoe, he led him, with much tenderness, to a neighbouring smithy; and while the grim master of the forge was performing his office, our lover availed himself of the unavoidable delay, to pen a few stanzas to his mistress, in Imitation of Shenstone's " Pastoral Ballad." In this piece he paints the pangs of absence, threatens to break his pipe and crook, and pathetically recommends his sheep and his goats to the care of his brother swains, as he is entirely occupied with his passion for the divine Snooks. After despatching this effusion by a ragged little cyclops, whom he bribed with a sixpence and a glass of purl, he resumed his journey, and arrived safe in Glasgow, where he, for a time, forgot his love, in transacting the business of his employers. But a short ex- cursion which he had occasion to take into the Highlands effec- tually recalled his attention to love and the museB. During his passage by steam, from Balloeh to the head of Loch Lomond, he composed a long elegy, of which the following stanzas are a fragment:— While hapless exile, on a distant shore, I wander far from joy and Geraldine; Still ' mid the torrent's rush, the tempest's roar,, Angelic Snooks! my heart is ever thine. Condemn'd amid these ' orrld scenes to stray, What dangers has thy Snubbs already passed— Where savage Celts their hairy thighs display, In naked freedom, to the northern blast. DREADFUL MURDER OF MR. BENNETT AT EXETEl g/ Wtni^ f Ah! should my bark, when winds too rudely blow, Be doom'd to perish in this boundless sea, Wilt though, my Snooks— I know thou wilt— bestow A tear for him who died for love of thee ? It does not clearly appsar that Mr. Snubbs was entitled 40 con- sider himself as dying for Miss Snooks, even in the event of the catastrophe which he here contemplates, seeing that the exclusive* object of his excursion on Loch Lomond— which, by the way, he! somewhat absurdly mistakes for a boundless sea— was to make a descent on Glenfalloch, and thence pass to Inverary, for the pur- pose of collecting certain setts of tartan. But poetical licence must be allowed to a bagman and a lover. On his return from this highland excursion, Mark Anthony had a short, but satisfactory, interview with his mistress, who gave him a lock of her hair, which we may here mention was of that shade of red which is commonly called sandy- colour. In rett2? fli » Mr. Snubbs presented her with an elegant tweezer- case; vows ot the most lasting attachment were mutually pledged between the lovers, and a day fixed for their elopement. In the meanwhile Mr. Snubbs considered himself bound, in honour, to return with- out delay to London, and give his employers an account of his northern journey. This account was found to be highly satis- factory? and the manager ofthe commercial house to which he was attached was so pleased with his diligence and success, that he promoted him, from a trotting galloway, and ninety pounds per annum, to a higher salary, and the luxury of a gig. Greatly elated with his promotion, our traveller lost no time in writing to his inamorato an account of his brightened prospects; nor was he long in receiving an answer, as warm as lie could have wished, and earnestly pressing him to return immediately to Carlisle, where higi anxious Geraldlne was expecting him with open arms. But the gifts of fortune are not only fallacious in their own nature— they are also very apt to exert a mischievous Influence on the character and feelings of Individual?. We cannot say that Mr. Snubbs's, love was now less warm than when he was less favoured by the capricious goddess; but finding himself more flush of ready money than usual, he resolved to make the most of his bachelor liberty, by mixing freely In the galtles of the metropolis. He spent much of his time at Astley's, the Haymarket, the Cockpit, and even ve~ tured once or twice to the Opera. Such a life of pleasure co not be expected to last; and Mark Anthony's superfluous were soon exhausted. But, In proportion as his finances be be impaired, his love revived, and he was seriously medlt* northern excursion, with the intention of acquiring a hu~ claim over the person and fortune of his love- sick Geraldine, fortunately, his employers resolved to send him thither on mercial business. Hitherto we have contemplated Snubbs enfant gate of fortune; but the mutability of human affai tends to bagmen as well as to kings and heroes; and Mark thony Snubbs, iike his great namesake, the triumvir, was destined to be made the sport of a woman. Though naturally sanguine, and free from superstition, he felt oppressed with a presentiment of evil as he approached the ancient city of Caerlon. It was night before he arrived at his inn; yet the anxiety which he felt would not permit him to call, as usual, for his slippers and nightcap; he therefore hurriedly discussed a pound and a half of minced collops, with a cut of salmon, for his supper, and having swal- lowed half a quart of distilled waters, by way of security against the night air, he sallied forth to reconnoitre Mr. Snooks's pre- mises, and obtain, If possible, an interview with his mistress. The wealthy attorney's house, with the retiring modesty which is sup- posed to characterize its owner's profession, stood a little back from the line of the street, and was surrounded with a small, but neat orchard. An iron gate, which was secured only by a latch, afforded ready access to this second paradise, and Mr. Snubbs succeeded in stealing round to his mistress's window unobserved. Here, however, he tapped and whispered In vain; he even ven- tured to hum, In a disconsolate tone, the words of a Scotch song,— This ae night, this ae night, O rise and let me in. Still no Miss Snooks echoed back the cadence of his song. In a fit of desperation, the love- sick bagman now approached a window, through which streamed a flood of light. The shutter was only half closed, so that our traveller could easily perceive what was doing within j but what pen can describe the horror of the unfor- tunate bagman, when he saw, In Mr. Snooks's best parlour, which was splendidly lighted up for the occasion, with wax tapers and argand lamp, Miss Geraldine Snooks in her bridal dress, and smiling from ear to ear, leading down a dance with an elderly gen- tleman In tightB, with huge gold buckles, and a George tha Fourth wig, and whom he readily recognised as old Oroonoko, the rich tobacconist, for whom the fickle Miss Snooks had often ex- pressed a particular aversion. At this unexpected sight Snubbs could not suppress an audible groan, which instantly interrupted the festivities within. The attorney, snatching a horse- pistol from the mantel- piece, rushed to the door, followed more leisurely by the bridegroom, armed with the fire shovel. Our hero now endea- voured to effect his retreat, but unsuccessfully, as one leg was caught iu a man- trap, which Snooks had placed near a favourite apple tree, and the other was held fast by a large house dog, who had rushed forth upon the first alarm. The bagman's cries guided the company to the scene of action. Lights were procured, and poor Snubbs was at last rescued from his perilous situation. He had fortunately received little bodily harm, but his fright was ex- cessive, and his clothes were torn. He was speedily recognised, and his sufferings excited rather merriment than sympathy; but what affected him most was, that his mistress, instead of shewing any signs of remorse or pity, joined very heartily in the mirth which his deplorable plight had provoked. Oid Snooks, indeed, threatened a prosecution for trespass; but the good- natured tobacconist ieterfeied, and even Mrs. Oroonoko joined in inter- ceding for her unfortunate lover. The Jilted Bagman Is now a respectable mercer In his native town of Leeds, and, in the arms of an affectionate wife, has for- gotten the disdain of Miss Geraldine Snooks.— Edinburgh Spec- tator. TRUE CAME. — RATHER DIE THAN RUN, SETTING IT OFF TO ADVANTAGE, Off to advantage !— yes, poor steed, With sorrow I reveal it; And doubtless you, poor luckless horse. Do very sorely feel it!— You need not to be so sharp set} If your tormentor know did ; And it must touch you to the quick, To be so sharply goaded. No coward moke— is this, indeed, Hisgwwteto doubt, there's none For it is very clear to all, He'd rather die than run ! Firm as a rock, in courage he, Of principles most sound ; Horses and mokes may run away, But he will stand his ground. the Seven Years' War. At that period, it may be recollected that a very rich Spanish register- ship was taken by the Hermoine, and carried into Plymouth. The treasure with which she was laden was paraded through the streets of London on its way to the Bank, on the day that George the Fourth was born. The sailors of the frigate, on that occasion, shared each five hundred pounds, which they were allowed to get rid of at their discretion. Two of the messes set out in different vehicles for Totness, with the exception of one man, who was so busy in cheating a Jew, In the purchase of a gold- headed cane, that he could not start with his comrades. Having, as he thought, " done" Moses, he went to a hatter's, bought a captain's cocked- hat— a regular Iron- bound scraper— and having secured his purchases, he ordered two chaises; to one of these he inducted his hat and cane, sending it on in front, he him- self following In the second. On arriving he found his comrades In the kltehen of the Inn frying silver watches o. n spinach, and the whole party passed the evening In like- rational amusements. Two of the ship's company had taken their departure from Plymouth at the same time, but on different routes. They were several days away, and when they met again neither of them was very sober; In truth, they had been either in total or semi- drunkenness from the time they started; no wonder, then, that one hardly knew the other, who was disguised In a large red wig. " Hllloa! Bob, my boy, is that you ? Have you been In trouble, that it has turned your hair?'' " No, not a bit— it came nat'ral, bathing in tho Red Sea. And where have you been cruising, Bill?" " I have been In the moon." " How the d— 1 did you get there?" " Why, we was caught in a typoen In the China seas, that hoisted the ship clean out of the water, and kept lifting her till she struck her topgal- lant- mast in the moon." " My eyes! but that was a rum go." " How did you get down again ?" " I greased my trousers, and slid down by a rainbow." THE JILTED BAGMAN. A TALE OF THE AFFECTIONS. Beware how you loiter in vain Among nymphs of an higher degree. SHENSTONE. Mark Anthony Snubbs was the youngest son of a respectable butcher In Leeds. Even in childhood, young Snubbs was remark- able for ah ambition which soared beyond the narrow sphere to which his birth threatened to confine him. He disdained to asso- ciate with the young butchers of the neighbourhood, and attached himself te the genteeler society of attorneys' clerks and mercers' apprentices— a circumstance which excited the indignation of his father, who threatened to disinherit him, on pretence of his being too fine a gentleman to do credit to an honourable calling. But, fortunately, the young man's maternal uncle, a silk weaver in the place, viewed his character in a more favourable light; he admired his nephew's spirit, and, resolving to encourage it, obtained for r UNION HALL* THE POETICAL POLICEMAN. — John Stokes was brought to this office in custody of another policeman, charged with being: drunk while on duty, and causing a mob to assemble in the public streets. It appeared from the evidence lhat this blue devil, when in his " cups," was in the habit of creating; a disturbance in the public streets, in consequence of his love of poetry. The inspector and several other members of this force, were brought forward on this occasion, who all proved to the satisfaction of the magistrate, that this aforesaid blue devil ought not to remain in the establishment any longer. MAGISTRATE.-— Policeman, I am extremely sorry to hear such complaints made against you, but still I am willing to hear what you have to" say to the charge pieferred against you. PRIS ONSR.— Sir, this day quite so> ry am I to see No friend stand » > re t0 speak for me, ?, n T 0vVn ma" y har « v That I Very fond of beer; And,' ivhen that I receive my tin, 1 Often take a drop of gin. MAGISTRATE ( stopping his dialogue).— It is not convenient for me to sit here all day to hear your non- sense. No doubt you think yourself a very poetical individual, hut \ assure you, sir, you are a disgrace to the force. I shall fine you five shillings for being drunk and disorderly, and I shall likewise write to the commissioners on the subject, and 1 trust lhat you will be dismissed, from the force. QUEEN'S SQUARE. Sarah Jenkins was brought up in custody of eight policemen, charged by n respectable licensed vic- tualler of the Broadway, Westminster* with creating a disturbance, and demolishing thirty five panes of glass at his house, the damage ( in consequence of several of them oeing stained glass) amounted to about £ b. 8s. 3J. A GIST RATE.— Sarah Jenkins, what have you to say to this most abominable charge prefered against you ? PRISONER.— I'll soon tell you, old flick, what I've got to say; — I'll tell vou just the same as what J told Mr. Publican lastnighf,— you may be d— d. I've been in the habit of spending all my " ocre ' V at his house, antl last night I axed him to trust me a 44 Peter*' of gin. Well, he refused me. Sail Mogget, a werry per- ticular friend of mine, went to raise the wind at our werry worthy uncle's, at Strutton Ground. I can speak plain if you listen; sbe went to pawn her shift; but uncle was either gone to bed or got drunk, ( not that I am in the habit of getting drunk, as you can see,) so I merely axed this old rascal to trust me till the morning, which he refused, and then I milled the glaze, and that Is all I have got to say.. The magistrate imn- Miately consigned her into the hands of the gaoler, and on the same evening she took up her abode in the Tothill Fields Prison, not being able to pay the amount of damages done. ALICE. •• Why, Alice, child, what alleth thee? Art bewitched ?— ever aad anon jumping from thy chair, peeping through the casement, and starting as each traveller's foot scrapes on the rough gravel." — Alice was silent—" Ah 1 I warrant I can give thee a broad and a good guess on the matter."— Mother •"—" Ay, ay, look as though you were seared— yes— I know It all."—'" And, mother, I fear to fts. k, do you blame your Alice ?"—" Blame thee, child j In good truth, nay; for though my old heart has ceased to flutter at the approach of the young and the brave, still, Alice, I can think of the days long gone by, and grudge thee not that thou canst gaze and love, and be beloved, though I must e'en forget the world and those who dwell upon Its » ervice, and cast my thoughts far, far away from all the fleeting, sublunary things of this fast- fading earth."—" Mother, it joys my heart to hear thee speak thus. This mom I met my Walter; he proffered me his love, offered me his hand in Uwful, honourable bridal, and bade me promise to be his. The word had well nigh passed my Hp j but I thought on home, on thee, my mother; and though the cold weight of self- denial pressed hjavy on my bosom, I bade him wait. Mother, he comes to ask consent; receive him kindly for my sake: Indeed he is as fond a youth as £ Qy In the world; and were It not for the mysterious con- cealment he makes of his birth and pursuits."—" Mystery!— nay, then, if he has that on his conscience which he durst not divulge to thee, Alice, he is no man for thee— he loves thee not— be sure on't he play thee false."—" Nay, dearest mother.*—" Alice, the roof of old Margaret shall never shelter mystery or deceit; go to him, tell him that old Margaret and her daughter Alice will seek him at the ruined barn, where the four roads meet, and that then he shall know all her mind. Alice, thou art the child of my early love; thy infant years I nourished; I cherished and protected you lu your youth; the fairest of the fair girls of thy companions call thee the fairest; but I speak to thee, Alice, from my heart,— It has felt many a heavy tug of sorrow, and even now It throbs— I charge thee, my child, If that he Is still so stubbornly reserved, banish him from thy breast for ever. Bftter, better far, that thou shouldst weep tears of anguish for his loss, than that he should, perhaps, make thee shed tears of blood." Alice departed in sorrow; a small Interval elapsed ere her re- turn. She entered the cottage with fear; she sat her down and gazed on the oak floor; tears streamed from her swollen eyes; deep sighs escaped her. Margaret spake not, for her words would have enhanced not softened sorrow. They both preserved an un- broken silence. The hour arrived; Margaret and Alice arose to depart; for a moment the eyes ot Alice were bright, and on her lip hovered the soft smile of hope. She pressed her hand upon her bosom, and checked the eager throbbing of her heart. Walter awaited their approach at the appointed place. When h; first saw them, he ran, and, with extended arms, was about to clasp his Allcc to hli breast. The mother of the maiden warned him tack with her hand;— he retired, blushing and confused.— " Walter, thou wouldst wed my Alice— say dost love her?''—" I do, I do!"—" Truly ?' —" To madness."-" Then, Walter, there should be between you nor mystery, nor concealment, nor dread, nor fear. If that thou so truly lovest her, thy heart will beat to disclose thine lumcst soul."—" By Heaven 1 I would part with life to purchase it for her— love her!— I love her to distraction."— •• Then why withhold the secret of thy birth, thy Intentions, and thy pursuit? He stood Irresolute. " Walter," continued Mar garet, " thy appearance bids fair; tell me who thou art, or Alice never can be thine "—" Never ! oh, dearest woman! do not, I bf- seech thee, oblige me. I am unfortunate— Heavens !— that it should be so. Oh, Alice, judge me not too harshly; for thy sake I will divulge that, which— But Is there no way?— none?"—" None.' —" Then thus it is, my father was a — a The hour of six ch'med on their ears. Walter started, became confused, stam mered in his speech, and prayed to b « excused recital. " Nay, then," he at length exclaimed, " if I stay longer, I shall be— fare- well !— may all good apgels guard over thee— the day may come when— but not now— but not now." He rushed from their sight, and Margaret and Alice went, home in silence. ****** For some days Alice spoke not of Walter; she would often turn her mother, as if willing to relieve her heart of Its load, but her li, would quiver, and the tea's would start to her eyes, and deep throbs would agitate her bosom. She durst not speak. Margaret knew her feelings ; she sympathized ; ' twas nil she could, but she knew she could not comfort, she could not minister to a mind diseased. Alice remembered the place where Walter used to meet her. Her footsteps Involuntarily turned towards the spot. She feared, yet hoped, that she might see him; she looked around, no form was visible; the deep shades of evening began to envelope her; a deep melancholy came over her; she pressed her hand to her forehead, heaved a heart sigh, and was about to retire, when she espied two men suddenly turn an angle In the road; In one of the men she recogn: zed Walter s she retired behind a tree, and no- t - ed their movements. Walter was clad as usual; she thought h; looked pale, and that he sometimes glanced at the place where s ie stood. They stopped, and the appearance of his companion a tonished her. He was habited as Walter was, save that his c > at, If co. it it might be called, was studded with pieces of steel aid Iron; he wasbelted round his middle with a broad leathern girdle and buckle; on ills head rested a large beaver hat, from w': ii<? h a black feather flapped on his hideous face, where all the dimons seemed to have set their seals, and market! him as their own. " The murder was badly managed," said the ruffian.— •• Think ye so?"—" Why, indeed, If It had not been for you we should have been obliged to have left it alone; and, by Heaven, sooner than that should have been the case, I would have sacri- ficed my share in the benefit."—" Oh, there was no particular [) ralse due to me. I conceived I was performing my duty."—" Ha! tia 1 never shall I forget how stupid Wilton looked, when you thrust him on one side, seized his rapier, and vowed he was not lit to kill even an old woman."—" Well, well," said Walter, " have done with; time wears— have you provided the pistols for to- night?'—" I have," was the answer.—" Then," said Walter, " ail I have to request is, that you daub my face with more red, or I shall be discovered, and the consequences to me would be fatal." They moved forward as he spoke this, and retired front the aching view of the terror stricken Alice. She trembled, and stepped, un- certain with fear. Then It was allover; It was too certain that her Walter had joined some desperate crew. What was to be done? She hesitated for a moment. To convince him of his errors, to restore him to tranquillity, she deemed Impossible. Tbe cause of mystery was developed ; a mind so lost to feeling, a heart so dead to fear, she thought she would never heed the raving of a simple maiden. She followed, however, the way that they had gone, and soon perceived them enter a small door in a wooden building of narrow dimensions. She reconnoitered the place; a larger door presented itself on the opposite side of the building,— through it persons were constantly entering; but, from the dark- ness which had now shrouded the earth, she was unable to dis- tinguish their countenances or appearance: confused noises now broke upon her ear, and she espied a light from the interior, shining through a warped board in the building. She hastily made towards it, and through it she saw, to her utter amazement, Wal- ter, her own— once dearly loved Walter, for desplt; his now uncouth savage appearance, and the hideous colour smeared over his countenance, she still remembered him. Her terror was in- creased when she saw him load two pistols, fix them In his belt, and place a large sabre at his side. She groaned inwardly : it was for the wretched victim of his wickedness. He now di* appeare t for an instant, a shrill whistle was heard, a shout followed, and again she saw him, fiercely dragging forward a young maiden, whose distracted looks would have pleaded with feelings less dead and hearts less cold than tbe relentless Walter. He vehemently vowed endless and eternal love, and demanded an Immediate com- pliance with his licentious wishes. " Never!" cried the suffering female, with energetic fottltude.—" Then thou hast not an hour to live," cried he, and from Its sheath he drew his sword, and to its hilt buried it In her bosom. • Alice saw no more; her senses failed her; she sank In stupor; she remained swooning, and it was long before she roused. When she did at length recover, she was seated in a chair, in her mother's cottage. Old Margaret had swooned with fright, and Walter, attired as himeelf, was supporting her. A ice looked upon him with a shudder; the horrid murder of helpless Innocence stood before her, circling her waist, and gazing with anxiety on her face. She forced herself from him ; she recoiled as from an adder.— " Avaunt!" she cried, " I know thee, Walter, I know thee."— " Ah! dearest girl! do not doubt my truth— my love. Adverse fate has driven me to what you have just observed." Alice sprang , to the assistance of the recovering Margaret.—" Mother! without j| a tear, without a sigh, I give him up, I part with him forever. You were right \ he is false; your words were true."— Walter ap- proached,—" Alice, why this sudden change ?"—" And canst thou ask?"—" Alice! that without it I should starve." — " Starve! starve, better starve, die, rot piecemeal,"—" Ob, Alice; I feared my life's dark page would hardly suit with your gentle mind;— but every adversity has been heaped upon me; this was my last, my only resource? Alice, ( or this I feared to tell the history of my life— for this I fe » red."—" Feared 1 and well you might— and well you might— hence— fly; let me not be the Innocent cause of your death. Fly, while yet a moment is your own; haste ere the officers of offended iustice '—" The officers!" "' Tis true — tremble, tremble, Walter, as I do at your Impending doom."—" My doom? —" His doom?" cried Margaret. — " What doom?" they both anxiously Inquired.—" The murderer's." — Margaret shuddered: Alice pointed to the astonished Walter. —" Murderer! Alice. I am no murderer."—" And dost thou deny?—" I do."—" Heavens! and but now I saw your victim at your feet— your hand raised— your weapon glared horridly— it was sheathed— Mother, It was sheathed In the bosom of a maiden fairer than the April morn!"— • Alice, you mistake; I am not the wretch you take me for."— " How?"'—" I am " " What? what?" cried Margaret and Alice, and bent forward with inward horror.—" What ?"—" I am— a strolling player." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ THE ISLAND OF HONG KONG. In this country, so obstinately repulsive to the stranger, he finds every thing hostile, even to the animals. It Is not unusual for a buffalo— quite inoffensive towards the Chinese— to discover an European, even in the dress o' the country, and attack him furiously. Having passed a small rivulet by a bridge formed of the trunk of a tree, I entered a narrow path, which led amongst some old forest trees and magnificent clumps of bamboos, covered to their summits with creeping plants; this brought me to what might be called the village green or square, from whence ran three . streets in parallel lines; they were not above a yard in width, each of them containing about twenty houses, all constructed on the same model; at the other end of these streets was a larger one, parallel with the square, and wider than the others, and terminated iu a house larger, handsomer, and more Ornamented than the rest. It was, no doubt, the residence of the mandarin or headman, into which, unfortunately, I could not gain admittance. During ray walk through the streets I was followed by a crowd of Idlers, that Increased every moment; all those who were busy within doors came running out to look at the stranger ( PanquI, corruption of Ferlngi, by which Europeans are designated all over Asia), they all pressed forward, and some were troublesome: they touched my cane, my clothes, my pencils and portfolio; but If there was In all the countenances a keen expression of curiosity, there was no ap- pearance of anything hostile. On the eontrary, they all wished mo to enter their houses. I went into one, and drank some small cups of tea without sugar, and smoked some excellent tobacco from a long pipe, which my host— a venerable Chinese, with a white beard, presented to me with very evident signs of pleasure. Returning to the village square already noticed, I observed at one of its extremities a Chinese altar, on which were several flowers and vase* ; in these were burning small red candles. At this altar the Inhabitants of the village offered up their prayers, consulted their destiny, and made their offerings. It was screened by a number of beautiful old trees, covered with magnificent red flowers. As I had never seen any trees of this description, I made a sign to have some Of the flowers, which was promptly complied with by some children, who climbed up and procured them. On returning to my boat I ascended a narrow path, which led me to a hill of some elevation, from whence I could see the remaining part of the valley. At my feet were some well- watered and verdant rice- fields; on the left, some pretty small houses, half hidden in clumps of trees and a small wood, planted apparently with regu- larity ; on the right were precipitous rocks; and, in the distance, in front" the bay and the picturesque mountains of Cow- Loon, This branch of the valley has only a narrow opening to the beach, th<* gorge being shut up by an enormous mass of detached rock, which the Chinese have put : to good account. They have hol- lowed the summit into a tank or reservoir, and have conducted the water from the adjoining promontory into it, by means of large hollow bamboos, and from thence agalu, by means of others of these gigantic canes, distributed the water in the lower part of the valley, wh'Ch, without that aid, would have been sterile and desolate. This valley is certainly the most populous, picturesque, and best- wooded portion of the island. No doubU; in a few years, by the side of the blue roofs, turned up at their extremities, and covered with dolphins and drag ins, will be seen to rise the com., fortabie villaB of the English. It Is not here, however, that their first establishments will be formed, because It Is too far removed from the principal bay, which is situated on the west » ide of the island, unquestionably the most sterile, naked, and dull looking portion of the island; but the bay itself is one of the largest and most magnificent in China. It can contain an Infinite number of ships, with eX. cell? nt anchorage and shelter from the north- east wind and the violent typhoons that, during the south- west monsoon, do such mischief along these shores. During my stay at Hong Kong, there was one of these, which was scarcely felt." The wrl'er does not explain how, with the anchorage open to the south- west, these typhoons are scarcely felt; it is probably from the shelter afforded by the surrounding islands, that break the force of the wind and sea. It would be worth while, however, to < ascertain that point clearly before we get up any expensive es- .1 tablishments there. Apropos of typhoons, I may be excused giv- ing an anecdote; it Is very old, and has often been repeated, but it may still have some attraction for the rising generation, as showing how a " lark " was conducted eighty years ago; and that the theory of Colonel Reid, as to a hurricane or typhoon, being a gigantic whirlwind, was anticipated by a jolly tar at the close of THE PENNY, SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. ' 1 " 1 ' m THE DEATH GRASP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE! » y in AWTH. R * r " KLA, THR • UTCAST," ETC. ( Ctntinued from our last.) about to retire to their chamber, when there was a loud knocking at the door of the tavern, and Caleb patting his head out of the casement, in no very agreeable tem- per at being disturbed at that hourj demanded who was there, r*' ' Little more than a week after, the departure of Madame Laurette, Henri and his amiable tutor, Mr. Wakefield, had left England, behold them settled in a handsome villa, in a retired, but romantic spot, no great distance from Fontainbleau, and where our hero- ine, by the advice of Mr. Wakefield, assumed the name of Madame L'Clair. Soon, as she became more con- fident of her being secure from the persecution of Adolphe, she began to feel more composed, and in the society of Mr. Wakefield, and ia watching the rapid progress of her son, she began to feel tolerably com- posed. But in spite of all her efforts she found it im- possible to prevent her thoughts from frequently wan- dering to the eveuts of the past, aud to the conduct of her guilty husband; and constantly did she pray to Heaven to bring hitn to repentance aud remorse, but that there was any hope of anything short of death staying him in his wild and wicked career, she thought it was useless to expect. From all that Mr. Wakefield could ascertain, the dreadful occurrences that had taken place at Abbeville, were either unknown or forgotten by the inhabitants here ; aud, therefore, after Madame Laurette had re- sided there for a few weeks, she acquired confidence, aud frequently walked out, Buding that the life of se- clusion she had hitherto led, was likely to make sad in- roads upon her constitution. She was usually accom- panied by Mr. Wakefield, who passed for a i elation, and the delightful scenery in the locality of her residence, afforded h « r much pleasure, and was exceedingly bene- ficial to her health. Mr. Wakefield had an only sister, of whom he had frequently spoken in the highest terms to Madame de Floriville. She had been for some years residing at Lucerne, but soon after her brother and our heroine had settled at their present place of abode, tha former received a letter from her, announcing the death of her husband, who had left her without any family, and in very comfortable circumstances. She was, however, tired of Lucerne, where she had no friends or acquaint- ances, and had a great wish to take up her future re- sidence somewhere near her brother, so that she might have the pleasure of his society. Mr. Wakefield pre- sented this letter to our heroine, who, having perused it, remained for a few moments in a thoughtful mood. She had often listened to Mr. Wakefield's glowing de- scription of his sister's amiable qualities, with a feeling of pleasure and admiration, and judging from the cha- racter of the former, that he would give only a faithful portraiture of her, she was already disposed to view her with the utmost regard and esteem. Circumstanced as she was, the society of an amiable female— one in whom she could confide alt her thoughts and secrets— was to her a great desideratum. The description of Mrs. St. Atbyn just realized her idea of such a female companion; and she, therefore, expressed to Mr. Wakefield a wish that he would write to his sister, and invite her to tbe villa, where, in all probability, n atters might be ar- ranged to the satisfaction of all parties. Mr. Wakefield gladly availed himself of such a pro- position ; nothing could be more consonant with his wishes, aud he was certain that his sister and Madame de Floriville would be delighted with each other. He, therefore, immediately despatched a letterto that effect, also inclosing a very kind one from our heroine to Mrs. St. Albyn, who, in a few days, returned an answer, ex- pressive of her sense of the kindness of Madame Lau- rette, and gladly accepting the invitation, promising to make her departure for France as speedily as she could make the necessary arrangements. A fortnight only elapsed after this before the arrival of Mrs. St. Albyn at the villa. The meeting between her and her brother, whom she had not seen for some time before, was of the most affectionate description, and our heroine immediately became prepossessed in Mrs. St. Albyn' » favour— a feeling which that lady evi- dently reciprocaied. Mrs. St. Albyn was several years younger than Mr. Wakefield, and was a remarkably handsome woman. Her countenance was fully expressive of those intrinsic virtues which her brother had so warmly eulogized ; whilst her manners were most urbane and highly polish- ed, evincing a taste of the first order, and a mind ex- pansive and cultivated. Her's was the heart that could deeply sympathize with the sufferings and misfortunes of her fellow- creatures, and which was ever leady to sacrifice its own peace to alleviate the distresses of others. The day of licr arrival at the villa was one of the hap- piest that Madame de Floriville bail passed for many years ; and before they separated for the night, h was finally settled that Mrs. St. Albyn should take up her residence iu the villa, and mutual vows of the most ardent friendship were exchanged between them. Had they been the acquaintance of many years, instead only of that of a day, they could not have evinced a warmer feeling towards one another ; and Mr. Wakefield, who augured from it the best possible results to Madame de Floriville, saw the arrangement with the most un- bounded satisfaction. The next morning the new friends met at an early hour, and after they had pat taken of their repast, they retiied to ilie well- cultivat » d garden, which was at- tached to the villa, and having seated themselves iu a pleasantly- constructed alcove, Madame dc Floriville pioceeded to relate the melancholy and unprecedented eveuts of her life, to which Mrs. St. Albyn listened wilh feelings of horror, pity, aud astonishment. Such un- common adversities undergone by one individual she had never before heard of, and, accustomed, as she wa , to view all human nature with the must merciful eye, had the account come from any other persons than • heroine and Mr. Wakefield, she could not have be- etl there was such a monster in existence as De iville. A thousand times did she thank the lucky which had introduced her to one who had so iee< i of the advice and consolation of a sympa- tiiend. She expressed her entire approbation of n which Madame de Floriville had adopted, and cred she was perfectly sale from tbe annoyance husband while she remained in France. She ^ reatly surprised at tbe uncommon fortitude and . elf devotion which our heroine had evinced, aiid couid not but admire as well as wonder at the courage which could have supported her through so many and dreadful trials— trials, the bare recital of which was enough to make the human mind shudder. The deep sympathy which Mrs. St. Albyn evinced and the affectionate manner iu which she expressed herself, went deep to the heart of Madame Laurelte; and already she began to feel tbe same sentiment of re- tard towards the former as if she had been her sister, IMo one shared more largely in the pleasure which the acquaintance formed between his sister and our hero- ine, than did Mr. Wakelield ; aud he began to form the most sanguine hopes that, in time, by the assiduity of the former, Madame de Floriville would be restored to comparative happiness. Nothing, too, could exceed Henri's delight when he perceived tbe change which bad taken place iu bis mother, aud which he attributed to the right cause— the beneficial effects of the counsel anil sympathy of Mrs. St. Albyn— towards whom he felt the most unbounded esteem, and blessed the fortunaie circumstance which had breught Tliern together. Not- withstanding the injunctions of his mother, however, and the crimes of which he knew him to be guilty, there were tunes when he could not help his thoughts wandering towards his lather, and feeling an anxiety to know whether he was still alive, or what had been his late, and willingly would he have made any sacrifice could he, by so doing, have washed out the guilt with which his conscience was loaded, or seen him brought to a sense of compunction ; but that, alas 1 he telt was hopeless. Caleb Swintou kept his word faithfully, in regard to corresponding with Madame de Fioriville, but he had beard nothing more whatever of ber husband, and could not form this least conjecture as to where he was, or whether he >* as, iu fact, still in existence. He was highly delighted wheu be heard of the alteration theie was in the spirits of our heroine, aud trusted that she would yet live to be entirely i esjtored to peace. In this manner a year passed away, and nothing oc- cuired to disturb the tranquillity of Madame de l'lori- ville aud her friends; but we will leave them and re- turn to England. It was on tbe anniversary of bis daughter's birth- day, that Caleb Swinioti gave what be was pleased to call " a bit of a jollification," ai'the " Traveller's Rest," and it was very late before the guests, who had been . pecially invited on that auspicious occasion, thought of eparating. They had, however, gradually departed; lie house was closed, and Caleb and h's wife were just " An old friend," was the reply, in a voice, which struck Swinton he had heard before. An old friend— humph I' replied Caleb; " then melhiuks an old friend might have called to see me at au earlier hour." " Early'." repeated the man ;—" I don't know what you may call it, Master Swinton, but 1 should say you cinuot have it much earlier than one o'clock in the morning." " Who are you?" demanded Caleb—" what's your name?— where do you come ftoni, and what do you want here ?" " These are rather too many questions to answer standing here ; the whole of it is, I want to seek your hospitality; as regards the other interrogations" you have put to me, why, e'en come down stairs and sa- tisfy yourself. I am no drunken night roisterer or thief." " I have only your bare word for that, and it would not be wise at all times to judge a man by his own flattery. However, I will trust you, so wait there a minute and I will come down to you." With these words Caleb drevV his head in again, and taking up the lamp, and a pistol which he always had hanging loaded in his chamber for safely, he descend- ed the stairs, and opened the street door, which he had no sooner done, than the man walked unceremoniously into the parlour; but the instant that the light fell upon his countenance, the honest inn- keeper started back with an exclamation of amazement and terror, while the stranger ( as he at first appeared to be) buret forth into a loud peal of laughter. " 1 told you, Master Swiutou," said be, " that you and I were old friends. How are you ?" " Monsierde Floriville," ejaculated Swinton, looking with a trembling sensation upon that guilty man, who was elegantly attired, but whose countenance was swoln aud disfigured with the effects of dissipation, " is it possible; and have you come hei* e again ?" " What! do you think it's my fetch, then?" asked De Flo, iville. " Give me your hand, and you will then find I am sound flesh and blood." " For what put pose have you come hiiher ?" inquired Caleb. " Oil, 1 am too tired to answer those questions to- night," returned Adolphe; " so just be so good as to light me to a chamber, and you aud I will have a little conversation in the morning. I see you would rather be without my company ; however, I can't help that— I sha'n't trouble you long, probably." " 1 hope to Heaven not," muttered Caleb Swinton to himself, as he took up the lamp, and led the way to a vacant room, where Monsieur de Floriville hastily bade him good night, and seemed impatient for him to begone. Caleb complied with his wishes, and in a state of much anxiety and uneasiness he returned to his own chamber, where he informed his wile who it was that had thus unfortunately thought proper to visit them again. Mrs. Swinton was as much alarmed as her hus- band, for the verv idea of having such a guilty wretch as she knew De Floriville to be, sleeping beneath the same roof with them, excited ber utmost alarm ; be- sides, she well remembered the strange and frightful uoises which had been heard by their servants and herself during the time he was staying at the house before, and she dreaded a repetition of them, which she firmly believed would not only frighten her and the servants out of their senses, but completely ruin her and her husband by driving all the customers away from " The Traveller's Rest." ( T* be continued in our next.) carried the motto, " Pro More et Nonte." This flag, before the procession left the college, he flourished in the school- yard with great dexterity, as displayed some- times at Astley's and places of similar exhibition. The same ceremony, was repented after prayers on the mount. The whole regiitcnt dlnoil at the inns at Sail- hill) and then returned to tile college ; and its dismission in the school- yard was announced by the universal drawing of all the swords. Those who bore the title of commissioned efficers were exclusively on the founda- tion, and carried spontoons; the rest were considered as Serjeants and corporals, aud a most curious assem- blage of figijres it exhibited! The two principal salt- bearers consisted of an oppidan ( the oppidans aljs. the independent scholars, who board in private houses in ihe vicinity of the village, J anil a colleger; the former was generally some nobleman, whose figure and per- sonal connections might advance the interests of the collection. They were dressed like running footmen, and carried each of them a silk hag to receive the con- tributions, in which was a small quantity of salt. During Dr. Barnard's mastership, the ceremony was made triennial, the time changed from February to Whit Tuesday, and several of its absurdities retrenched. An ancient and savage custom of hunting a ram by the foundation scholars, on Saturday in the election week, was abolished in the earlier part of the last century. The curious twisted clubs, with which these collegiate hunters were armed on the occasion, are still to be seen in antiquarian collections. ERNNESTINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. BY THE AUTHOR OF " Tif E BBATH GRASP," ETC. ( Continued from our last.) This information filled Lady Marguerite with fear, ant! TO CORRESPONDENTS. G. L. ( Rochester.) The Popular Original Romance of " THE DEATH GRASP OR, A FATHER'S CURSE!" will shortly appear in Weekly Numbers and Monthly Parts, splendidly illustrated. J. H. ( Glasgow.) Four communication will not exactly suit us. J. W— k.— They are out of print. " WAT TYLER."— We cannot give an opinion until we have seen the whole ofthe tale. J. LOMAS. ( Stockport.) In about twenty more numbers. th consequence of our being greatly in arrears with many of our valued correspondents, the number of Charades and Answers for a week or two, must be limited. " ANNA, MINSTREL or THE HEATH." — The mistake occurred through the author having forwarded us two copies. We highly value the advice of our fair corre- spondent, and feel flattered by the compliments she bestows. We have received a vast number of Charades, Solutions, tyc., which we have nit space to answer in the present number. " A YOUNO LADY." — We will consider your advice. Fi C. B.— It is our wish to please all our Subscribers; we wilt, therefore, give the matter due consideration. " A TYPOGRAPHER" is thanked. " RANDOM THOUGHTS ON MY BEAUTIFUL HEATH," shall appear in an early number. G. G. and ANNE K. are accepted. " A DIRGE," by " ASSTYNAX," shall be inserted. E. T., A. T., " THE OLD COT AT HOME," and " THE KISS," will not suit. " SLANDER," and " A NIGHT'S SPORT," are declined, *** All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High- street, Shoreditch. AN ACCOUNT OF THE ETON MONTEIW. LLOYD'S GENUINE EDITION OF SUSAN HOPELEY. she expressed the same to Blanche, " 1 again tell thee, lady," said the latter, " that thou hast no cause to dread the appearance of Osmond ; his gallantry to the female sex is proverbial, and he is sure to treat thee with marked distinction, since he hath avowed for thee au ardent affection;;" " Alas!" exclrmed Lilly Marguerite, " have 1 not good cause trf'fear him, after the threats of vengeance he liatli belli out against my brother? Hath he not" also, expressed his determination to force me to become bis bride? A robber's bride; the bare thought is horrible. Can I either forget that he was the man, by his own ad- mission, who assassinated the unfortunate persons at tbe? prison, to further the escape of Godfrey de Lacy? Oil, no ; when I think of the human blood he hath shed, I cannot hear his name mentioned without a shudder ol horror, and it seems to me to be impossible that lie could ever be the eoble and virtuous individual thou wouldst fain make him appear to have been." " 1 have told thee the truth, lady, as 1 firmly believe," returned Blanche; " and much as thou art at present prejudiced against him, I do not doubt but that thou wilt, ere long, find him to be all that I have stated." " I can find no excuse for his having torn me heart- lessly from my home," remarked Lady Marguerite, " and endeavouring to torce nie to blast my fame, my happi- ness, and my prospects for ever, by an union with liiin." " Certainly that was wrong," answered Blanche, " and must have caused thy friends much auguish ; but then the violence of the passion, he hath, I dare say, imbibed for thee, must plead his excuse. But, hark ! be ap- proaches." As Blanche spoke, a trembling sensation came over Lady Marguerite, for she heard a heavy foot fall on the stairs which ascended to the room in which she was con- fined, and she bad not the least doubt but that it was Os- mond. In another second, this suspicion was confirmed, for the chamber- door was thrown open, and the robber- chief stood before her. He advanced towards her with the same respectful de- meanour which he had displayed on their fir.- t inter- view, and having made a sign to Blanche to leave the room, he stood gazing at her for a moment or two with looks of admiration, and ill silence; then endeavouring to take her hand, he said in tones of mildness I—-> " Beauteous Lady Marguerite, I see that thou dost still view me with looks of scorn and repugnance, while, at the same time, my love for thee increases to such a de- gree; that methiuks I could rather encounter any fate, than resign the hope of making thee mine. Nay, do not turn from me with that look of abhorrence ; 1 know thou wilt call me a robber, and marvel at my presumption in offering my vows to thee. There was, however, a tiiiie, when probably, even the high and noble Lady Marguerite St. Aswolph would not have thought herself di graced by being wooed by he who now stands before her." " Hadst thou ever been what tbou wouldst fain boast," replied Lady Marguerite; " thou couldst never have acied as thou hast done towards a defenceless female, by tearing ber away from her home and friends. But talk not to me of love; the word from lips like thine is odious. If thou wouldst not meet with punishment for the outrage of which thou hast been guilty, tbou wilt immediately release me, and suffer me, unmolested, to return home." " I have before told thee, lady," said Osmond, " that 1 bid defiance to all the force that can he sent against me. Many, ere now, who have made the ai tempt to oust me and my brave fellows from our stronghold, have had to pay dearly for their temerity, and so would it be if any further attempt should be made. No, lady; here thou No, sooner than utter one sentence which might give thee encouragement, and must be so abhorrent to her feel- ings, she is prepared to suffer all that thy cruelty can inflict. No more, .1 will not listen to thee ; the blood of the murdered is upon thine hands; crime weighs heavy upon thy soul; thy presence excites my greatest horror I" The robber- chief bit his lips, and traversed the room a minute or two with hasty and uneven footsteps, for The ancient custom celebrated at Eton every third year on Whit Tuesday, and which bears the title of the Montein, appears to have defied antiquarian re- searches far as relates to its original institution. It consists of a procession to a small tumulus, on the southern side of the Bath road, which has given the name of Salt- hill to the spot, now better known by the splendid inns that are established there. The chief ob- ject of this celebration, however, is to collect money for salt, ( according to the language of the day) from all persons who assemble to see the show, nor does it fail to be exacted from travellers on the road, and even aflhe private residences within a certain, but not in- considerable range of the spot. The scholars, who col- lect the money, are called salt- bearers, who are arrayed in fancy dresses, and are attended by others called scouts, of a similar, but less showy appearance. Tickets are given to such persons as have paid their contribu- tions to secure them from any further demand. This ceremony is numerously attended by Etonians, and lias frequently been honoured by the presence of their late Majesties, and oil the last occasion by the Queen and Prince Albert, and tbe dill'erent branches of the royal family. The sum collected on the occasion has sometimes exceeded 800/., and is given to the senior scholar, who is called captain of the school. This procession appears to be coeval with the foundation, and it is the opinion of Mr. Lysons, who is Ihe last writer on this subject, and whose industry in collecting, as well as judgment in de- ciding on matters of this character, are beyond all chal- lenge, that it wus a ceremonial of the Bairn, or Boy Bishop, lie stales, from information which he had re ceived, ( hat it originally took place on ihe Glli of De- cember, the festival of St. Nicholas, the patron of children; being the day on which it was customary at Salisbury, and in other places, where the ceremony was observed, to elect the Boy Bishop, from among the chil- dren belonging to the cathedral, which mock dignity lasted till Innocents' Ddy ; aud during the intermediate time, the boy performed various episcopal functions ; and if it happened that he died betore the allotted pe- riod of this extraordinary mummery had expired, he was buried with all the ceremonials which were used at tbe funeral of a bishop. In the voluminous collec- tions relating to antiquities, bequeathed by Mr. Cole, who was himself of Eton and King's College, to the British Museum, is a note which mentions, that ihe cere- mony of ihe Bairn, or the Boy Bishop, was lo be ob- served by charter; and that lieffrey Blyth, Bishop of Litchfield, who died in 1530, bequeathed several orna ments to those colleges, fer Ihe dressof the Bairn Bishop. But on what authority this industrious antiquary gives I tie information, which, if correct, would put uti end to all doubts ou the subject, does not appear. No docu- ments are to be found in support of ii at King's Col lege, oral Eton ; and the Prerogative Court of Canter- bury, as well as the registries of the dioceses of London, Chester, Lichfield, where alone lliere is any probability of its being registered, do not repay the search after Bishop Blythe's will. But after all, why may not . ibis custom be supposed to have originated in a procession to perform ail annual mass at the altar of some suint, to whom a small chapel might have been dedicated on the mount called Salt- hill: a ceremony very common iu Catholic counties ; as suchan altar is a frequent appen- dage to tlneir towns and populous villages. As for the selling of salt, it may be considered as a natural accom- paniment, when its emblematical character, as to its use in the ceremonies of ihe Roman Catholic Church, is contemplated. Till the time of Dr. Barnard, the procession of the Montem was every two years, and on the first and se- cond Tuesday in February, it consisted of something of a military array. The boys in the Remove, fourth and inferior foims, marched in a long file of two aud two, with white poles in their hands, while the sixth and fifth form boys, walked ou their flanks, as officers, and habited in all the variety of dress which Monmouth- street could furnish, each of them having a boy of the inferior forms smartly dressed attending upon him as a footman. The second boy in the school led the pio- cession, in a military dress, with a truncheon in his hand, and for the day, the title of Marshal; then fol- lowed the captain, supported by his chaplain ; the head . scholar of ihe fifth form, dressed in a suit of black, with a ( urge bushy wig, nnd a broad beaver, decorated with a twisted silk hai band and rose, the fashionable distinc- tion of the dignified clergy of that day. It was his office to read certain Latin prayers oil the mount at Salt- hill. The third boy of the school brought up ( he rear as lieutenant. One of the higher classes, whose qualification was his activity, was chosen ensign, and In Weekly Id. Numbers, and Monthly Parts at 4d„ SUSAI HOPELEY! OR, THE FORTUNES AND ADVENTURKS OF A SERVANT GIRL. No. 1 contains Two Splendid Engravings on Steel, a beautifully Illustrated Wrapper, and a superior Engraving on Wood. Published by E, LLOYD, 231, Sliorediich. The Domestic Drama, in Three Acts, replete with Interest and Powerful Situations, called MARY CLIFFORD, THE FOUNDLING APPRENTICE GIRL! NOW PERFORMING AT THE ROYAL VICTORIA THEATRE WITH UNBOUNDED APPLAUSE, WILL FORM No. 13 OF THE TALES OF THE DRAMA, Illustrated with a SUPERIOR ENGRAVING by a celebrated Artist. THE PENNY PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. ON EDUCATION. Education is the ground work of all happy institu- tions; without it man is degraded even to the level of the brute creation, and to produce social concord, as such they must be treated ; but under such a system, happiness could not possibly exist. Under such a sys- tem as this it was that our forefathers laboured. Under it, it was they bore the yoke of oppression, which com- pelled tlieui to obey their lords like so many dogs. It was thus from the want of education lhat the Feudal Anarchy existed for so long a period of English history which we cannot but look upon with horror. And, when wejcontemplati* the innumerable victims both of oppres- sion and blood- shed, that suffered during these ages, can we help exclaiming within ourselves" truly these were the Dark ages ?" The Priesthood and Teachers of this period felt their power over the people by keeping them in ignorance, and, therefore, doled the education outas it suited their purposes. It is tbe want of education, then, that reduces man in ( he social scale of existence : and it is the attainment of education that raises him. We all of us feel reverence for one of superior intel ligence whatever his circumstances may be. As Education, then, advances, so must man advance ; and thus his social condition becomes ameliorated, for by that advancement Ihe powers of the aristocracy he- come weakened. Dare ( he higher classes now impose upon ( he labouring class as lliey did in limes of old P — — Cer( ainly not;— they do oppress, but man is not treated with brutal slavery as he then was. And why is this ?— because the spirit of National Education did not exist amongst the people in those days. The Priesthood and rulers know the power— the in- dependent power of National Education, and strive hard to crush it. There is a spirit hovering over your heads now which bids you be free,— free iu the rights and liberties of Christianity and civilization; and tliat'fspirit is the gentl — simple spirit of EDUCATION. must remain as long as it is my will to keep ihee ; and as 1 have determined to make thee my bride, the pro- spect of thy deliverance is, indeed, very distant. But come, fair damsel, what is the use of this opposition ? Endeavour to conquer this aversion, and to look upon me with esteem, if tliou canst not witb love. Thou mayest think that a man, situated as I am, cannot be sensible to tbe tender sentiments 1 have avowed for thee ; but thou wilt find me sincere; af'er what 1 have suffered, and the manner in which I have been served, I thought that I could never love again ; that the sentiment was banished entirely from my breast, and that venueance held entire possession of its place ; but since I have beheld thee, I beauteous Marguerite, I fiud that i had deceived myself, and that " " Cease '." interrupted Lady Marguerite, " to this lan- guage I must not, I will not listen. A robber, an out- law, nay, a murderer,— for didst thou not confess thyself soon the trial of Godfrey de Lacy? And thiokest thou that I can even esteem a man like thee? Besides, bast thou not confessed thine enmity towards my brother, and threatened him with thy vengeance ?" " Lady Marguerite, if thou didst know tbe cause I have had for this hatred, thou wouldst not marvel, it is to thy brother I am indebted for all my misery and de- gradation ; aye, thou mayest start, but I speak only the truth I— It was Lord Raymond that blighted all iny hopes; it was Lord Raymond that led nie on to ruin ; it was Lord Raymond that made me what I am;— a robber, au outlaw, and a murderer, a? thou hast just called me, and " " Oil, no, no, no," interrupted Lady Marguerite, with much emotion, " that cannot be; it is impossible! my brother the cause of these misfortunes ; these horrors ;— thou must be mad to give utterance to such a thing; how, in what way could he have been the cause?" " It suits me not at present to inform thee, lady," re- plied Osmond, " but I tell thee again, that I have spoken the truth, and have not exaggerated. Oh, lady, thou mayest think thy brother immaculate, but I tell thee, and good cause have 1 for saying so, that he is an hypo- crite, aud richly merits the retribution I have promised to bring upon his head." " I cannot, dare not believe what thou sayest," said Lady Marguerite ;—" it can only he some base fabrica- tion to frighten me into a compliance with thy wishes. Didst thou not tell me, robber, that one of thy principal motives for tearing me away fioin my home, was to gratify those feelings of revenge thou sayest that Lord Raymond hath excited within thee ?" " 1 confess," replied the robber- chief, " that it was a feeling of revenge, which, at first, principally induced uie to bear thee from the castle of St. Aswolph, but., afterwards, the power of thy charms completely subdued tne, and what before was merely admiration, was height- ened into the most ardent love. Lady, need I attempt to describe to thee the power thy beauty hath over me, when I repeat, that, for thy sake, I am even ready to abandon the darling wish of illy heart ; the very idea of which, hath, of la'. e years, I may say, formed a portion of my existence,— revenge? Yes, sweet Marguerite, endeavour but to return iny love only with esteem, ami I am willing to swear, that all the injuries thy brother hath done ine, shall be obliterated from my memory; love shall siifie all those leelings of malevolence I hat have for years raged within mv bosom, and " " My brother would laugh to scorn the robber's boasted power," interrupted Lady Marguerite, in a firm voice, and with a look of the most ineffable contempt. " He would repent were I to put his daring to the test," returned Osmond ; " but, come, this is a mere waste of words; 1 have told thee my sentiments, lady: I ask thee for a return ; there was a tune when Osmond needed not thus to sue, when wealth and beauty were at his Command, but he made the sacrifice to one who afterwards deceived him, cruelly deceived him. He thought, after that, that no woman could mike any other impression upon his mind, save that of hatred. It was, however, fair Lady Marguerite who was destined to teach him different; fate hath ordained that she should re- kindle those sentiments that had so long laid dormant in his breast; let it, then, be her sweet task to endea- vour to recal the robber- chief to what he formerly was. Thus, beauteous damsel, on my knees, do I urge my vows, and solicit of thee a return." As the robber- chief thus spoke iu tbe most impas- sioned accents, he bent his knee to the floor, and for- cibly seizing the hand of Marguerite, be forced it raptur- ously to his lips, and devoured it with kisses. Shame, indignation, and offended modesty swelled tbe bosom of the maiden, and while deep crimson blushes suffused her cheeks, and resentment flashed from her sparkling eyes, she, wilh difficulty, released her hand from his hold, and retreating to the other side of the room, she exclaimed :— " Desist robber, thy boldness but arouses my utmost wrath ! Leave me, and 110 longer insult miue ears with thine hateful protestations. Think not that thy vows can make any impression upon the mind of Lady Mar- guerite but that of the utmost scorn and detestation then advancing once more towards Marguerite, the calm dignity and firmness of whose manlier, however, com- pletely awed him, be ejaculated " Lady, these looks of scorn; these words of disdain will avail thee little; ar. d may arouse my indignation, in Which case, I know not to what lengths I might be tempted to go. I have ottered thee tairlv, at least, as fairly as circumstances will permit me, aud by those offers will I abide, but " At this moment, there was a loud blast upon a bugto, and then followed a strange confused noise from below, which prevented the robber- chief from proceeding any further in his speech. The noise increased, and persons might be heard running lo aud fro in the greatest con- fusion. " What can this mean ?" cried Osmond, involun- tarily laying bis hand on the hilt ot his sword, and look- ing towards the door, as he heard the heavy footsteps of some person ascending the stairs. The following moment, there was a loud knock at tbe room- door, which Osmond having opened, one of tbe robbers presented himself. " Captain," said the man, " thy presence in the cavern is immediately required; Orlando, in just passing through the forest on his way lo our retreat, discovered a band of armed men advancing this way, and having secreted himself while they passed, he overheard tbe conversa- tion of some of those who had led them, from which he learnt that this was the place of their destination !" " All! sayest thou so?' exclaimed the robber- chief, unsheathing his sword, " then there is not a moment to lose 1 Doubtless, the intended attack is that which 1 have loug expected, and for which we are so well prepared ! By the mass I the daring foes shall soon have cause to repent! Osmond, the Avenger, will teach them such a lesson, that they will not easily torget. Is every man at his post ?" " He is, captain," answered the man, and eager for the strife!" „, .„ " Away, then," cried Osmond, " I will follow thee immediately! Lady, we shall meet aga! u, anon, when I have chastised the rash fools who havi dared to un- dertake this enterprise I" Thus saying, the robber- chief waved his hand to Lady Marguerite, aud preceded by the ruffian who had bet.'.? 1 sent to apprize him of the circumstance, he made his way to the cavern. There he found his lieutenant and some of the principal of the gang assembled, and aiming them- selves for ihe affray, and having hastily buckled on his armour, Osmond hastened to the different places tbat needed most protection, and finding everything in lit condition for a desperate defeuce, lie made his way to the battlements of the castle. Here, at first, he saw nothing but the tall trees waving their branches in tbe breeze ; but, shortly afterwards, the rays of the sun fell upon the glittering pikes of the approaching a- sailants, and then be saw a number of men winding their course towards tbe castle, between the different avenues of the trees, led on by a noble- looking warrior on horseback, and who, as they advanced nearer, Osmond immediately recognized. " It is the enemy I expected," he observed ; " it is my detested foe, Lord Raymond St. Aswolph! The contest will be a short one, and I need not command every mat) to stand firm, aud should defeat be our's, let us rather perish in the blazing ruins of this oar retreat, than yield ourselves to their power'." " We will stand by our captain, and perish rather than yield I" shouted a hundred voices. " Enough, my brave Icllows," cried Osmond; " I place the firmest reliance on ye ; but I enjoin ye, one and all, to be careful not to harm Lord Raymond; be who forgets this mandate, dies !" " We will obey!" exclaimed the robbers, and in au instant, at a signal from the robber- chief, tbe ramparts, battlements and every part of the impregnable edifice was filled with well armed aud desperate men, but so concealed, that the enemy could not behold them, and from the appearance of the castle, would be likely to imagine that the robbers were unconscious of their approach, ( To be. continued in our next.) CAPITAL PUNISHMENTS. The following anecdotes, from an article in TaWa Magazine, will more ably assist the great caustf of abolition, than all the raciocination of the most fervid philanthropists, as they palpably impugn the conduct of legal functionaries, who rarely stop to look beyond the dull and cruel formalities of law : — A half- witted seneschal of a manor court in Galway, lately pro- voked a loud burst of laughter by threatening to hang up some b jys for wrangling about a game of marbles at the door. He fiercely brandished a charter in the black letter, whieh conferred the power of life and limb upon the authority which he repre* sented; and he swore lustily that he would assert his privilege lis five minutes' time, if he could but find a hangman. But, although this may be excellent laughirg matter now, it is not so very long since a man was hanged in Ireland for making a noise! The fact is authentic. It was cited at a solemn meeting of the Twelve Judges, last winter, by a member of the venerable ' Consederunt/ who had himself been an eye- witness of what he related. A man was found guilty of some felony, for which it ap- peared uncertain whether he would be cast for death or not. The court deferied the sentence, and ordered that he should stand over till the end of the assizes. The fellow was crazed; and being taken back to prison, fell a howling, and littering various pther disagreeable noises, such as judges do not like to hear, and whk- ii ( as the window of his cell, and that of the Crown Coifrt opened upon the same plot), seriously interrupted the public businesss The cause of this strange disturbance being ascertained, the judge sent a peremptory order to the malefactor to keep the peace, or, as his lordship pithily remarked, ' it might be worse for him.' But the wretch, ignorantly supposing that the law could do nothiftg worse in his case, returned an answer of oeliance, and sent forth more piercing yells than before. Now, what wou'd one of Our feeling popish or radical judges do in a case like this? The soleniu business ot the court was at a stand, and it was absolutely neces- sary that silence should be restored. To remove the noisy culprit , to a distant, part ot the prison would have abated the nuisance, pr'tr hac vise ; but then some future convict might repeat it, and, at ail events, this would have compromised the dignity of the sacred ermine. The judge, of whom it is our hint to speak, had n& notion of sanctioning so bad a precedent; and, therefore, as BOOK as he received the insulting rvply, he cried with a loud voice, ' Wring him up!' These are thrilling words, from whatever lips the. y proceed, after a damnatory verdict of a jury ; but who that 1MS heard them once uttered by the Jihadamanthus in question, can ever dismiss from his memory the tiger's grow), and the blood- shot aspect of crueltv, which filled the by- standers with Indescri- bable horror, and shot a pang, equal to the very bitterness of death, through the heart of the stoutest criminal? In five minutes after the issuing of that terrible mandate, the criminal stood again in the dock, and received sentence of immediate execution. The court adjourned whilst it was done; and— so prompt wa* justice then— his lordship resumed his seat in about half an hour, with an unmoved countenance, and went on trying men for their lives, who, if they were capitally convicted, did not ( you may be sure), offend his ears with ' exclamations hyperbolical.' " In the declining days of a very famous vindicator of the law, already giauced at, he presided at atrial, but was asleep during the greater part of the time. It, is well for those whose conscience can suffer them to slumber in such a situation. But, though he dosed during'the evidence, he was wide awake to ' charge,' which was 4 home* for a conviction ; and the jury, all picked men, ac- cording to the usage of that day, did their ' spiriting ;' and the wretch was sentenced to die. An application, however, was made to his lordship to recommend a mitigation of the punishment, which he stoutly resisted, until the convict's attorney boldly told him that he must produce his notes to the government, which would cer- tainly be applied to on the subject. Now, although Homer could sometimes nod as he wrote, it is not every one that can write while he nods ; and our * Nestor,' had, in fact, taken no notes at all. Con- scious of this, and perceiving also, that he was ' caught napping,' he yielded without further entreaty ; and thus, owing to a happy accident, the man's life was spared. " The stoical indifference with which the Irish go to meet death on the scaffold, where, except in a political cause, no honour Is to be gained by dying like a hero or a martyr, has puzzled many a grave enquirer. Hut the philosophy of the matter was well ex- pl dned by a ragged vagrant, who waB sentenced to die at the Downpatrick Assizes in 1836, for highway robbery. On his way back to prison, he was taken under the gallows, upon which work- men were then employed, ' dressing it,' as a Frenchman might say, for the execution ofa murderer, which was to take place on the following day. The unexpected sight of these preparations appalled him for an instant; but speedily recovering from the shock, he walked on, remarking to the attendant turnkey, • Well, it will save me many a wet foot and hungry belly!' As to the barefoot philosopher of Downpatrick, his saying ( a bon mot to him) was the means of saving his life; for, otherwise, the case might not have been brought under the notice ot the goverment until it would have buen too late. The incident, however, having got into the newspapers, the attention of Mr. Drummond was driiwn to it, and that good and kind mac, with a heart ever awake, in piivaie and in public, to the claims < f humanity, and a spirit that instinctively recoiled from the thought of cruelty, nobly ex- claimed, ' He must not die!' The case was submitted to the lord- lieutenant, our present home secretary, to whom the pro- posal of mercy, * grounded on just and right,' never came unwel- come; and upon enquiry, it was found that the interests of pro- perty ia Downshire and elsewhere, did not render it imperatively necessary that a poor shoeless vagrant should be hanged by the neck till he was dead. If he still lives, it is probable that he en- joys a bellyful, aud walks dry shod to his dally servitude, in New South Wales, blessing the hour when he ' thought aloud, under the gallows tree at Downpatrick t m v m x t S i m M t ttMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE ROYAL FAVOURITE. AN ORIGINAL 11QMANCK. ( Continued from our last.) CHAPTER XI. HERBERT led liis trembling companions from the room, leaving Essex and Southampton to the care of Gilbert, and hurried them along the gloomy corridor, without speaking a word. " In the name of the Holy Virgin 1" exclaimed Effie, as Waller paused before the door of the White Cham- ber, " why do you lead us here ?" " For safety, lady," replied Herbert, respectfully. " But know you not its fearful character asked Lady Murray. " 1 do, madam ; and on that character does our safety depend.' " I'm sure I sha'n't venture into that horrid place," cxclaimed Maud, shrinking back in affright, as Herbert threw open the door, and disclosed fully the dark and melancholy appearance of the room. " I shouldn't expect to come out alive again. I'd rather slop uud have the anger of the earls." 11 Well, then," slid Herbert, glancing at Maud, to » ee Ihe effect of his words, and preparing to close the door on her, " we had better bid you good bye, as time is precious." Maud looked along the dark passage through which they had just passed, and she thought of the wild en- raged look which Essex had directed towards them on quitting the room. She paused for an instant; affection tor her mistress, added to her tears, confirmed her half- formed resolution, and she timidly followed Herbert into the chamber. " Remain here but for an instant," said Herbert, " while 1 go to assist Gilbert in preventing the Earl of Essex from calling for any assistance until we are safe beyond the castle walls. I will return directly." He left the room, and ilicy remained for some minutes in breathless suspense, almost feaiing to look around them, the fearful occurrence of the previous days recurring forcibly to their memory. AI length the room- door opened, and Gilbert, • accompanied by Herbert, entered. Gilbert closed the door cautiously, and was en the point of fastening it, when Herben said, in a low voice,— " We will leave it unfastened, Gilbert, as it will avert suspicion, and prevent their examining this cham- ber too carefully.'' " ' Tis well," he replied. " Now for your chance of escape." Herbert advanced towards the chest, which had been the object of so much terror to Kftie and Mnud, and, raising the lid, beckoned to the party to advance. They obeyed him in astonishment, mingled with terror; and when they approached, ihey beheld, to their great surprise, the lop of a Bteep Uigln of stoue steps, de- scending through the solid wall, and lighted at the bot- tom by a small lamp. The damps were dripping from the walls, and traces of blood were visible on the first stairs. Etiie rccoiled in horror at perceiving this, and could not be prevailed on to descend first. " There is nothing lo alarm you, lady," said Herbert. " This passage is known to none in the castle save my- self; and, therefore, there can be no one to harm you." Then, turning to Gilbert, he added, " Gilbert, take charge of this lamp, and do you descend, to calm the fears of these ladies, while 1 see that all is quiet." Gilbert stepped into the chest, and holding his- hand out to Eflie, exclaimed, " Come, dearest Elbe, banish your fears. Rest assured that Herbert will not play the traitor ; and if he should, have you not my right arm and trusty sword to depend on ?" K llies fears were dispelled by these encouraging words, and, followed by the Lady Murray aud Maud, dark, and huge masses of dark clouds completely ob. scured the heavens. " Now," said Herbert, addressing Gilbert, " if we could obtain but two horses for Ihfi Indies, we should be » ble to manage well enough, but 1 fear we shall never be able to reach the nearest town ill time to avoid pur- suit." " Tn what part are the stables ?" asked Gilbert. " O n the verge of the moat, about a hundred yards to the right, lint they are guarded by a sentry." " No matter. It will, uVider any circumstances, be but his life or onr » . All is silent within the castle, aud it must be attempted." The females were pi, iced under the shadow of the buttresses, with strict injunctions not lo move from the spot oil any account whatever, and Herbert and Gilbert cautiously left the spot. On reaching within a small distance of the entrance of the stables, tliey perceived the soldier, slowly pacing to and ft- o on tile vifrge of the moat. They paused, and drew near each other to consult on th « best mode of proceeding, when, Gilbert's foot slipping, it detached a piece of rock, which fell into the waier. The noise ibis occasioned nroused the sentinel, who hastily demanded " Who goes there I" and presented his arquebus. Almost before he could raise his piece lo his shoulder, Herbert, fearful of the consequences, in case he should fire, threw himself upon him. The arquebus fell from the man's hands, and ihey rolled on the ground together. Gilbert instantly hastened to his companion's assistance, but found them so firmly loeked in each Oiher's glrasp, thai he could not render liiin any help. Their struggles, by degrees, brought them to the water's edge ; and they were on the point of rolling together into the dark abyss bslow, when Gilbert, who had watched them closely, ill the hope of some such opportunity, arrested Herbert as lie was falling, and the soldier, grasping wildly at vacancy, fell headlong into the moat, striking his head violently against a stone before he reached the water, and disappeared with a sullen plunge. They gated un the spot where he had sanished ill silent horror, and then, tuning silently away, pro- ceeded to secure the horses for which so dear a price had been paid. A pair of the strongest were soon se- lected, nnd they returned to their trembling compani- ons, who, having heard the splash in the moat, and not knowing whether it was friend or foe ( hat had caused it, were in a state of the most agonizing suspense. Their appearance with the horses, however; calmed their fears, and they listened with feelings of compas- sion to tile fate of the Unfortunate soldier. But there was not lime For them to think over what had passed ; so Maud and Iiflie being mounted on one, and I. ady Murray and ihe strange lady on the other, and Gilbert and Herbert walking each at the head of one of the horses, they proceeded as fast as was consistent with the camion necessary for their safely, to the nearest town. The strange female still kept herself closely envelop- ed in her veil, and Herbert attended her with great respect. Gilbert kept close to Ellie, who, after the circumstances that had occurred, found her sentiments greatly changed with regard tit him, and beguiled the tediousncss ofthe Way oil conjectures and speculations on the character of their strange companion. They knew that she was of noble estate, for Herbert had ad- dressed her as such, and they did not doubt but that she had beenimmuied in tlie castle by the orders of the licentious governors, and their kindly feelings were soon enlisted in her favour. Towards morning they were cheered by the distant view of the picturesque liatniet of Toivcyster,* situ- ated on the side of a steep hill, its low, red- roofed cottages peeping out cheerily among the dark green foliage of the umbrageous oaks, with which that pari of our island particularly abounds. They soot) reached the hainlet, and proceeded At dntte to the small inn, the only one of which it Could boast. descended the first flight of stairs. Birec. ly ihey had i " T r A^ l .... s j . u - I.. j some refreshment, Gilbert procured cloaks and hats for Maud and Effie, who, in ihe hurry of escape, had been reached the bottom, Herbert entered the chest, and fastening the lid carefully OH the inside, soon joined them. " Follow me quickly 1" he exclaimed, taking the lamp from Gilbert, " for I heard the voice of the earl calling loudly for assistance, as I entered the chest, and I mn afraid he will soon be heard, aud in the search that follows, they may, chance to light on our secret." They now hurried down several more ( lights of stairs, cut, like the former one, out of the solid wall; and, at last, found themselves in a long narrow passage, in ihe middle of which was a small door. Herbert knocked gently, and, the door opening, a female, apparently of about twenty years of age, appeared, wrapped in a cloak, and her face shrouded in a large and thick veil. She bowed to the party, who, in the utmost as- tonishment, returned their silent salutation, and bec- koned to Herbert to proceed. He glanced at them with a look that requested them to repress tlieii curi- osity, and again huirieil on, closely followed by the veiled stranger. " Oh, ma'amsellel" exclaimed Maud, in a voice of terror. " what wus that that lied noiselessly past just then 1" '' It W5, s but a bat, you foolish girl; you should not be so dimmed at trifles," replied lithe. '.'• Trifles, indeed, ma'amselle 1" rejoined Maud, with a toss of the head, and glancing at Herbert, who was in close conversation with the strange female. " 1 wonder 1 am alive after the many shocks we have un- dergone. 1 wonder what Herbert can see in that lady thai he should pay such great attention to her i" As she uttered these words, a turn in the passage brought them to tho end of it, which was completely blocked by a stone wall, and no door or other means of egress appeared, by which the fugitives could make their escape. " How is this, Herbert ?" exclaimed Gilbert, laying his hand on his sword.—" Is this treachery, or have you missed your way ?'' Neither one nor the other. Be not alarmed, ladies; c spring ill yonder wall will disclose a door, which will ondiiet us on the further side of the moat." As he spoke, lie advanced towards the wall, but ere he had advanced many paces, lie stumbled over some rubbish, and f II to the ground, extinguishing the light in his fall. He instantly recovered his feet, and exclaiming, " It matters not now, for I can find tile spring in the dark, felt cautiously along Ihe wall. " Are you sure, Herbert, that you have taken the right passage," said a tremulous, but musical voice after a few moments had elapsed in a fruitless search. " 1 cannot have taken the wrong, my lady," repliei Herbert, his respect for the person whom he was ad dressing apparently subdued his impatience, " as there is no other passage like this among the whole vaults. " Rut if you will remain here quietly for a few minutes, I will return to your chamber, my lady, and procure a light." " l) o so, Herbert," replied the person he addressed. " But be speedy, or our retreat may yet be cut oil." Herbert obeyed, and the sound of his retreating foot- steps were soon lost in the intricacies of the vaults through which they had passed. " Noble lady," said Gilbert, on whom the respectful tones of Herbert were not lost, " I hope I have not been deceived in Herbert; but rest assured that any treachery shall not pass unpunished.'' " 1 thank you for your kindness, but I will answer with my life for his fidelity,'' replied the lady. " 1 am unfortunate like yourselves, and am equally anxious to escape from my persecutors.'' These words sufficed greatly to raise the drooping spirits of Effie's fair companions, and they awaited the return of Herbert with tolerable composure. Streams of light glanced along the wall, and he soon appeared, bearing a lamp. " What! still dreaming of treachery 1" he exclaimed, gaily, ou perceiving that Gilbert carried his drawn sword. " Well, then, now to prove my fidelity 1" and he advanced towards the wall. The light fell mi a small brass nob, which, on being pressed, caused the stone in which it was fixed to fall back, and enabled Herbert to i emove several others, till he had obtained a sufficient cavity to permit them to pass through. In the next instant they found themselves beneath the outer walls, and in safety, for the night waB intensely unable to obtain either t and procuring, by the aid of the purse which Ire hatf rticeived fiom ihe suanger, fresh horses fot the whole party, they again set for- ward, with newly- awakened hopes, on their journey to London, where, it was proposed, they were lo seek for justice at the feet of their sovereign. " It was on such ft. morning as this, my lady,'' said Ilerbc rt, addressing the veiled stranger, " but under far different circumstances, that we passed this road some three months ago. 1 little thought then that I should return thus accompanied ; and I should not have been ill pleased had it happened before, were it not for the pleasure of having now contributed to the es- cape of yon fair ladies." " Wi re you in the employ of Essex at that time ?" asked Effie. " I was, ma'amselle," was the reply. " Why that must have been somewhere about the period of the death ofhis fair wife, the young Countess of Rutland I saw ber once at my lady's castle in Huntingdonshire, and methoughl I had never before seen one so lovely," observed Maud. A deep sigh escaped from the bosom of the strange lady, upon whom the eyes of the whole party were in- stantly turned. She observed the pitying curiosity visible iu their countenances, and, lifting her veil, dis- closed a face in which Nature had lavished all her art. " If long suffering has not much changed me," she exclaimed, in a trembling voice, addressing Maud, " you canuol fail iu recognizing me— I am her of whom you speak— the unfortunate Countess of Rutland 1" CHAPTER XII. NOTHING could equal the astonishment of the little parly on the unexpected intelligence that the Countess of Rutland was still living, aud with what heart- felt thankfulness did Elfie congratulate herself on her nar- row escape from dishonour, when she consented to a secret marriage with the Earl of Essex, the husband » f the countess. Lady Murray embraced her friend with silent transport, and as she gazed upon her wan and pallid countenance, a prayer of gratitude ascended lo the I In one of ihe Most High, and ( heir mutual tears mingled for some moments unchecked. Maud, the thoughtless, merry Maud, laughed and wepi by turns, and the very men, whose rugged natures were unused to weeping, turned away lo hide a tear. '• My dear Matilda," exclaimed Lady Murrav, " what will be the joy of your friends when they hear of your unexpected return ; for, though your mysteri- ous and sudden death occasioned great surprise, there was not the slightest doubt as to its truth." " I am much afraid, my dear Lady Murray, that il will be of little use in applying lo the queen for jus- tice ; for, if Herbert mi- taketh not, it was after a pri- vate conference with her majesty that my husband de- livered to him the orders respecting my abduction, subsequent imprisonment, and reported death." " Fear not," said Lady Murray ; " this lady hath a similar suit against thy husband at court, and the queen's jealousy being thus piqued, a forced justice will be obtained. You know not yet half ihe villanies of which thy graceless lord has been guilty, nor an thou alone his victim. But, dear Matilda, tell us bv what wonderful means you are still alive, and how you contrived lo subvert the fidelity of honest Herbert." * Now a considerable town, and modernized " Toucester," ( To be continued.) FOOTK'S WOODEN LEO.— George Colman, the younger, ob serves:—" There is. no Shakspere or Roscius upon record, who, like Foote, supported a theatre for a serious of years, on Ills own acting, on his own writings, and, for ten year, of Ihe time, upr> n a wooden leg ! This prop to h s person I once saw standing by his bed- side, ready dressed iu a handsome Bilk stocking, with a poli- shed shoe and gold buckle, awaiting the owner's getlingup ; it had a kind of tragl- comli'al ajip'earance, and I leave to Investigate wags ' the Ingenuity of punning upon a Foote in bed, and a leg out of it. The proxy for a limb tlms decorated, though ludicrous, is too ( strong a reminder oi amputation to be very laughable. His un- dressed supporter wss tile common wooden leg, lifee a mere stick, Which was not a little injurious to a well- kept pleasure- ground. I remember following him, after a shower of rain, upon a nle. Iy- rolled terrace, upon which h. stumped a deep round hole at every other step he took, till it appeared as if the gardener had been there with his dibble, preparing, against all horticultural practice, to plant a long row of cabbages in a gravel- walk. MEMOIR OF JOSEPH HUME, ESQ. ( From the Leeds Times ) The history of Joseph Hume is a record of patient in- dustiy and perseverance, perhaps unexampled in the whole range of our country's biography. With no lofty endowment of genius or talent, lie has, nevertheless, been enabled to attain a high niche in the temple of fame. The motto of Mr. Hurtle is, and hasevel- been, " PERSE- VERE ;" it is Ills high moral courage which has enabled him to do that which higher mental qualifications alone would never have been sufficient to accomplish, Joseph Hume was bom in the borough of Montrose, In Scotland, in the year 1777. His father, who was the cap- tain of a trading vessel of that port, died while he was yet young, leaving a large family lii the Chttrne of hi- widow. Mis. Hutile is said to be a woman of extraor- dinary perseverance, energy, and self dependent habits ; and there Call be uo doubt t'mtit Was the influence of her example, ber precepts, and lic- r character, which fed, matured, and perfected those strikin » qualities which have since rendered her son so distinguished a perforoier on the stage of national events, anil won for him the grati- tude and regard of so many of his countrymen. Mrs. Hume brought up her children in credit and comfort, imbuing their miiids> with tlio.- e strict mural and religious principles, which are considered so important a part of every Scottish education. At an eatly age our hero was apprenticed to A surgeon in . Montrose, with whom he • erved for three years. He was afterwards sent to Edin- burgh University to pursue his . studies, where; after the usual course of learning, he admitted a mertiber of the London College of Surgeons in that city. In 179fi he made a voyage to India; and alter the lapse of twelve months, and underling the usual examinations, he was admitted a member of the London College of Surgeons. After a considerable period of service in the East India Company's naval service, Mr. Hume proceeded, in 1799, to Bengal, having been placed ou the medical establish- ment under that Presidency. Soon after he lauded in India, he was ordered to join Lord Lake's arniy; at that time engaged in the Mahrntta war. During even tbe tin' certainty and anxiety which invariably accompany a state of warfare, the active faculties of Mr. Hume's mind were never unemployed. In the bustle of a camp, and amid the laborious duties of his profession, he still found leisure lo devote a sufficiency of time to learn the Persic language ; ami when the sudden indisposition of Colonel Achuiuty, at that tittle iiitferpfeief to the arllly, had placed ihe Commander of the British Indian forces in a most distressing situation, the only man found able to hold communication \ Mth. tlie natives was Mr. Hume, who MS iriiriiediately selected to fill thg important office of interpreter. He contrived to continue his medical duties, and to fill, besides, the offices of Paymaster and Postmaster of the troops— trusts which could only be efficiently discharged by one capable of holding direct communication with the natives. During ihe Whole time the army was in the field, his extraordinary powers of application, and apparently na- tural taste for labour, enabled him to unite in his person a variety of offices, to which not merely honours, hut considerable emoluments Were attached) afld lie per- formed his duties with such activity and industry, as ob- tained for him the marked approbation of the Com- mander- in- Chief, and recommended him to his private triendship. Peace was concluded in the year 1807-$, and Mr. Hume soon after returned to England. A life of mere idle enjoyment, of wealth did not suit the active temperament of Mr. Hume. His ardour in the pursuit of knowledge and information on many subjects of vital interest, left hi til no tittle for feposfi. Those who know anything of Mr. Hume, know his fondness for " facts ;" and to hunt up facts he immediately devoted himself. But he did not go to books only for these ; lie went to men. In the year 1809 he made a tour of minute observation throughout the United Kingdom, and actually visited every place Of Ulahilfactufing celebrity in England, Scotland, and Ireland. The information thus acquired only stimulated his curiosity, dud confirmed his habits of mind in faWiuif of fact- hunting, lie next defoted the greater portions of the years 1810 and ,1811 to travels of observation in Spain and Portugal, Turkey, Greece, Egypt, and Ionian Islands; Sicily, Malta, aiid Sardinia. He was now, by the tetllpel1 of ills mind, the extent of his experience and information, his habits of patient industry and research, aud the solidity of his forttir. es in the world, qualified to fill with effect a seat in the Legisla- ture of his country, which had, for sonle time past, it is probable, been the guiding- star of his course. . And now we airlve at the Commencement ul the Parliamentary career of Mr. Hume. On his return to England, the seat for Weymouth being remitted vacant by the death of Sir John Johnstone, Mr. Hume was elected for that Borough, and sat in Parlia- ment during the session of 1812, At that period the lines between Reformers aud Tories were not so clearly de- fined as they now are. Mr. Hume weut into Parliament for a Tory Boiotigh, and oti some occasions supported, on others opposed ( as in the case of the Framework Knitters Bill), the then Tory Government. But that his Parliamentary conduct was not palatable to the Tory pro prietors of the Borough of Weymouth, is sufficiently proved hy the fact, that ihe Trustees of Sir John John stone declined to return liim to the next Parliament. His next sphere of public activity was out of doors. At that period several great social projects were in the course ot advancement, into which Mr. Home threw himself with his accustomed eneigy. The supporters of Lancasterian schools found in him a zeaious co operator. He was long a Member of the Central Committee to effect their extensive adoption. The plan for Savings' Banks, which was afterwards adopted, was first recommended in a pamphlet hy Mr. Hume. In the Court ot East India Proprietors he commenced to advocate a system of liberal and enlightened policy ; and so early as" 1811 he stood alone, coil tending in the Court of Proprietors for freedom of trade, against the united upholders of monopoly. Six laborious years were thus passed. In the year 1818, however, lie was solicitous to become a candidate for his native town of Montrose, and the oilier five towns com posing that district of boroughs, and was a seeond time returned to Parliament. His independent conduct there soon rendered him a " marked man" by the Tories, and at the election which succeeded the accession of George IV. to ihe throne, au opposition was started, backed hy all the interest of the Ciown, which, nevertheless, Mr. Hume was enabled to overcome, after one of the severest struggles which the people of the Montrose district had ever witnessed. Since that period Mr. Hume lias been constantly before ihe public, and has generally pursued one uniform and undeviating course of public conduct. Never a week has passed that he has been out of sight, riicre is scarcely a page of Parliamentary Register which does not record some one or other of his says and doio . s. In every department of reform has he been at work— in the finances, tbe revenue, the public account-, the excise, the army and navy, the church, the representation ofthe people in Parliament, the emancipation of Catholics and Dissenters from their religious disabilities— in all these de- partments of reform has Air. Hume greatly distinguished himself. As has been remarked, Mr. Hume may claim the merit of having, during a period of twenty years, in which lie retained a seat in the House, been more unin- terruptedly active than any other member in it. The leader of the assembly for the time being may have risen as often and made longer speeches, hut lie has been re- spited after a season, and has found repose ou another bench. Mr. Hume's duty, voluntarily imposed upon him- self, has been continuous. Under every adminstration his labours have been renewed. No change has brought change to him, in the matter of attendance aud exertion ; nor can we conceive it possible for him to survive that day ( not very likely to dawn at present) in which, having ransacked the deepest drawer of his desk for patlia- mentaiy documents, he should find himself left without au abuse to investigate or a grievance to be redressed! We » can here refer only in general terms to the sub- jects upon which Mr. Hume ha « bestowed the largest portion of his energies since Ins election in 1818. Finan- cial questions have always been his favourites. With these he began his career as a Reformer. During several sessions after his return to Parliament, he never failed to show, at every opportunity, that the financial accounts of the Government, as laid before the House, were imper- fect, and that frauds, to au immense amount, might he ( as ptobably they were) committed without the possi- bility of detection. Undaunted by defeat, Mr, Hume, year by year, persevered in his assaults. The man who stuck to his point with such pertinacity, must have had ground for complaint. Attention was awakened, con- verts came slowly dropping in, and at length Mr. Hume come and the expenditure." Such had long been the mode of making up the annual national finance state- ments. From the date of this report the annual finance accounts have been greatly improved. Mr. Hume carried on his labours incessantly, and contributed to overthrow the sinking fund system— a State fraud that bad long created and deluded the countiy. Through Mr. Hume's exertions in regard to financial" affairs, to retrenchment, and reductions generally, to pensions, sinecures, and salaries, a saving is said to have . been realised to the country of two millions a year in peace, and five millions a year in war. Surely this is something for one man to have accomplished even through the midst of a defeat, and contumely, and insult. Hut this is not al!; it is not one tmndl- edth part of what Mr. Hume has accomplished. There is not a depart- ment, of reform it; which he has not been a labourer. He his laboured to accomplish church reform, hitherto with hut small success; abolition of military flogeing, naval impressment, and imprisonment for debt; reform io the criminal law, and abolition of death pun- ishmints. His exertions greatly contributed to the repeal of the combination laws, and of the Act withholding from working men the right of going abroad. He lias been a zealous advocate for free trade in every branch of industry. He has exerted himself greatly on Ihe subject of taxes on knowledge, Post- office reform, colonial slavery, county rates bills, election expenses, and Siie fraudalent light- house system. His advocacy of Catholic emancipation and the Reform Bill was conspicuous; and his share of the honour of destroying the odious Orange- ludse system, and detecting the Cumberland conspiracy, was a lat^ ge and memorable one. His efforts at reform in every department of the aritiy, navy, and ordnance have been incessant. All these labours have been acknowledged by the ex- tensive popularity to which they have led. The cities of London, Edinburgh, Gloucester, and manv other places, have presented him with their freedom. In 1824 he was elected to the Lord Rectorship of the University of the Marischal College of Aberdeen ; and in 1830, ihe distin- guished honour was paid to him by the electors of Mid- dlesex, of returning him to Parliament as their represen- tative. The rage of the Tories at this election knew 110 hounds; and by dint of great efforts in the Registration Courts they were enabled to unseat Mr. Hume at the general election in 1837, Since then he represented the city of Kilkenny in Ireland. During the last Parliament Mr. Hume was as inde- fatigable in his exertions as ever. Age, which. generally brings repose, to him seemed only to add a new increase ol zeal in the cattse of general reform and improvement. Difficulties daunt him now as little as ever they did, and opposition serves but to louse him to new activity and zeal He has also the gratification of seeing the seed which he has sown through a long series of years at length bringing forth some fruits. The principal subjects to which Mr. Hume devoted himself during the last Par- liament, were Ihe Bible monopoly, which he has been chiefly ins till mental iu abolishing ; reform in the repre- sentation, on which lie lias made several most able speeches ; the Bank of England Charter, oil the renewal of which lie was acknowledged by ihe daily Times ( with Whom Mr. Hume is no favourite) to have made one of tlie best and most comprehensive speeches ever delivered on the subject iu the House of Commons ; free trade, which he has taken every possible opportunity of advo- cating ; and various other measures of financial economy and retrenchment. Probably, however, the most im- portant service which Mr. Hume has ever yet performed — at least the one likely to lead to the most important results— is the exposure, which he has been mainly in- strumental in making, of the shameful abuses in the British tariff, which rob the people without benefitting the revenue, and inflict a needless injury upon every branch of British industry. Mr. Hume moved for the appointment of the Import Duties Committee in the House of Commons about a twelvemonth ago, and, as Chairman, was instrumental in eliciting that important mas* of information which has already been distributed io a thousand forms over the length and breadth of the country, and which has, unquestionably, determined the present Ministers to promulgate their new scheme of commercial reform, for the relief of industry, as well as for the replenishment of the exhausttd coffcrs of the State. The recent history of Mr. HUillC la soon told. Ou the late dissolution of Parliament he was induced to stand for the borough of Leeds, with every prospect of being triumphantly returned. We need scarcely say how falla- cious such representations proved. Mr. Hume was de- feated, and Leeds has affixed to it the disgrace of having expelled from Parliament one of the most useful public men who has ever lived. The loss is no loss to Mr. Hume, but to his country. For himself he will be a greater gainer; but the questions which Mr. Hume had made his own will no longer have the benefit of tils able and fearless advocacy in Parliament. About a fortnight ago Mr. Hume left London to spend a few weeks upon the continent of Europe. For the time being he is out of Parliament; but we may, with safety; predict that Ills exclusion will not be of long con- tinuance. Numerous constituencies await the first op- portunity to call upon liim to represent them; and we should not wonder if before three months are over, we may again find him in iiis place in the House of Com- mons, watching over the national expenditure, aud con- tributing by the moral influence of his example to propa- gate a sense of honesty, integritry, and economy in the expenditure of the public money. obtained a Select Committee of the House of Commons to inquire into the state of the public accounts. On the iilst of July, 1822, the committee made its report, in which Ministers were compelled to admit " that the then form of the accounts neitlitr did nor could exhibit any balance between the income and the expenditure," and that " no true balance could be struck between the ii. » BURNING OF A LINE- OF- BATTLE SHI ® ,. Oil the nigllt of the 14tll, soon after I had turned in, I. was sud. denly roused hy au alarm ot tire. Jumping out of. my hammock, I learned from the sentry in tbe cockpit that it was not the lloyal Augustus, lint one of the squadron. I was dressed and on deck in a moment, when I saw volumes of deme smoke, . Illumined hy oc- casional flashes of lurid f! one, issuing from the stern ports ot the Ajax. The Royal Augustus was the nearest ship to the Ajax, which was distant trom ber about two or three cables, and as many points on the starboard bow. It was blowing moderately. fresll at the time, from the N. N. fcl., and the squadron rode bead to wind. As soon as he knew the critical situation of his ship, Captain Blackwood sent a midshipman in the jolly- boat to apprise the Ad- miral of his danger, and to request that the boats ot the squadron might be sent. In readiness to take otf the crew, should it be found necessary to abandon the ship. It was soon seen that the tire was making lurther progress - the flames now issuing in a stream from the after- patt of the shin, and asceuding towards the poop. The night signal had been made for assistance upon the first alarm of lire, ana every exertion was making to get our own boats into the water. It was plain that the hope of saving the Ajax was fast de- creasing; every instant tbe flames were gathering head, and, from our proximity to the burning ship, it became a question whether, in the eveut of the fire reaching the magazine and exploding, there was not danger ol some of the burning mass falling on board ttie Royal Augustus. Some such idea, no doubt, influenced the Ad. miral and Captain; for, before tile boats coulj be got out, orders were given to cut the cable, and ia a few minutes ihe Royal Au- gustus was running to letorrard under jib and staysails. This step, which many people in command, and who are keenly seiisible of the great weight aod responsibility that are always inseparable from it, would perhaps have adopted under the circumstances, struck me at th » time as being rather precipitate j for before the boats could be got away, we bad run more than half a mile to lee- ward, to recover which distance they had to pull against a ratller fresh breeze aud lee current. When the ship had dropped to a distance thought sufficiently safe and clear, she vvas again brought up. From the manner in which the fire was gaining head, it was now evident that the safety of the crew must depend upon the ex- ertions and assistance of the boals of the squadron : by ten o clock the fl. mes llad burst through the stern, wrapping the whole of the alter part of the ship in lire ; owing, however, to the direction of the wind, and, no doubt, to the great and untiring etfoits of the stout- hearted clew to subdue litem, their progress forward was not rapid. Slill they advanced, and before midnight presented one of the most terribly- sublime pictures I ever beheld— beautiful, it might be described, could the mind divest itself of its tears aud anxiety for the gaii& ntcrew. The wind had sunk almost to a calm, and the dense black smoke hung like a pall or canopy around the devoted ship, whilst the tire that glowed and raged within, showed- every spar, shroud, and rope, as distinctly painted ns if traced by an artist's pencil. Heated by the intenaeness ot the lire, the ordnance are discharged on. by one, knelling the death of the noble ship, like minute- guns at the funeral of some de- ceased officer. Fiercer and fiercer glows the hisses and now- re sistless lire ; higher and higher mount the aspiring flames} soon the tough, strung cordage feels their withering touch, dissolving like flax before the breath of the destroyer. No longer sustained aloft, the yards cant on end, anl sink into the yawning, fiery gulf, which seems to roar and hunger for their reception. The lofty masts, which stood proudly erect to the last, nor yielded till the relentless fire had pierced their inmost core, at length fall prone into the sea; like the warrior, who, though the steel have reached his heart, still fae.- s and frowns defiance on his foe, nor blenches uor falls till the life- blood gushes from the wound. After the fall ot the masts, the smouldering hull long remained unmoved, nor ditl it drift until two o clock in the morning, when, the light wind having veered a little more to the eastward, it was slowly borne towards the island of Tenedos, upon which it struck ; and at live O'clock, a partial explosion of tlie magazine shattered lo pieces What the lire had not consumed. Thus miserably perished the tioble, but ill- starred Ajaxl— a most inauspicious omen for the success of eur enterprise, aud an irreparable loss, considering its magnitude, and the smallness ot the force with which it was to be attempted. Our boats returned soon after two o'clock in tbe morning, having saved a good many of the crew. The following day It was ascertained that the Captain and half tbe officers and crew had baen secured— all the rest had miserably perished. COUNTRY LEGENDS.— NO. U ( After the lngoldsby Legends.} THB VERGER'S STORY.— THE DANCE OI DEATH. • Solemn and slow toli'd the old church bell, As the sexton rang forth the funeral knell, ( Of whom I don't kno. w, and so I can't telli) It echo'd from aisle, and choir, and cell. ' 1 lie sexton so grave, as I have been told, ^ Was five score and more— that is, a hundred years old. It was firmly believ'd, as I re heard people say, Th.. t that wicked old sexton, so sings my lay, Would live to the world's end, ( that is the last day,) For no one had ere seen or heard him to pray— Or say Ava or Maria or e'en Pater- Nostus, And some there were said he was e'en Doctor Fauitus, Or the ghost of Friar Bacon, or some other such evil— All strictly agreeing that be was sold to the devil. Some who went farther— a few of tlie bolder— Swore that the sexton never grew older; Ann old Martha Grubblns said her grandmother told her.^ __ That when she was young, thsre was some one '* as frrtow'dher.' As knew an old woman, some eighty years older, Thai knew that old sexton— far old he was then— As old— ay, much older— than old Father Ben. And though eighty winters had dwindled away. The sexton looked younger from that very day !— A fact which I'll not take upon me to say. So now, if you please, we will hammer away. The old chinch- yard was buried in sleep, As the g: ave old sexton look'd out for a peep. To see all was right For the rest of the night; For though he had nothing to lose, l. e d to keep The key of the chsrneUhouse, vestry, and chancel, On pain of dischafgn, or, as lawyers say, " cancel; When, dreadful to 82V, there cam. a loud rap, ( Which waken'd the iex'on out of hl « nap,) At the eastern parch Of the old grey church. The sexton arose, With tha gout ifl >!• tpe » , And blowing his nose, Which was almost froze, lie threw on his clothes, How— Heaven knows! He look'd out east, and north, and west, Avowing most gravely, " He wish'd he was blest'* If he knew what had awaken'd out of his rest. As he lay so snugly coil'd up in his nest. He look'd right, he look'd left— about, around. When he heard, as he list with his ear to the ground. An astonishing, comical, queer sort of sound, Which seem'd to arise from mound to mound, ( Not unlike a trombone or tbe hark of a hound,) And a whizz In the air, which went round anil round. The sexton was filled with alarm and surprise, And blessing himself and cursing his eyes, He wonder'd and wonder'd from whence could ariie Such a strange filly- leo, and was lost In surmise; Then his wonder was changed in all Instant to fear, As intently he gazed— What do you think should appear! A host of grim figures, hand- ln- hand, two and- two. Cheek by jowl, and abrest— such a fierce grisly crewf From each grave there arose, in a long winding- sheet, A grim ghastly skeleton, with bells on its feet, Each performing, with ease, some impossible f. att Now they join hand- in hand, separate, meet, And prepare, the nfght's revels to gaily complete. They shake their long legs, and rattle their bones, " Making night hideous " with yells and deep groans, Dancing and prancing to music— whose tones Sound on the night air tike a shower of stone.. Having finished the round they mingled in crowds. And began in great haste to strip oti their shioudsj And then every one, time and trouble to save, Laid his own shroud on his separate grave; And instantly forming themselves into a ring. They ran, hand- in- hand, round and round In a string ; In and out, round nnd under— tivo- and- two, thrce- and- three, And kept up with spirit and gusto the spree. The old sexton's fears and alarm being o'er, At such antics so tickled, began he to roar; And the better to view them he open'd the door, And determiu'd he'd quickly that skeleton Boor, Who, to show off his antics, was attempting to soar, As a skeleton never attempted before. So the mischievous elf, " Who rejoiced to himself, Determin'd to steal— some term it pelf, That skeleton's shroud, as it lay on ttie grave, And hide it away in a hole in the nave. So ti ue to his word, without more ado. The wicked old sinner watching his cue, At the grave- clothes let Ay at a shy, And whlp'd them up In the wink of an eye; When, lo! aud behold I the church clock struck one. Tile dance suddenly ceased— there was a rush and a run. Each skeleton lightly sklpp'd into his grave, Except he who's shroud was hid in the nave. That gunning old sexton was smother'd with fright— Not a hair on hisjasey but stood bolt upright, As the skeleton's antics met his sight, Who was shaking hi. bones with all his might. And thumping his head both left and rigiit, ( As if he wish'd to get up a fight.) The sexton, alarm'U, would nave taken to flight. But where to fly to bother'd him quite ; When, lo! and behold I— oh, dire tu tell • tbe Skeleton made for the door of the Bcll- frey I That son of a gun', The old sex- tou, With a limp and a run, As quick as a shot ran up tbe spout, Before his mother knew he wus out. But that cunning skeleton shew'd welt ennngfi, Think what you may, that he w> vj up to snuff. No sooner he saw what tiie sexton Had done, Then taking a leap, hop, skip, and a run. He laid hold of the spout— good lack 1 And giving a spring, he was up in a crack. The sexton, so frighteii'd, he shook in bis shoes, For the kind inyitatton be couldn't refuse. If the skeleton should take it into his head, To ask him to go and sup with the dead. Already he felt his grasp like a vie,-—• He knew it would be all up in a trice. When, strange to say. Well, iack- a- day I The skeleton spied the sign of the cross ! It was plain to perceive at a glance, that such sauce To Ills pig be did aot expect, For it instantly had such a strange effect, That the sexton bad a good right to be glad, ( As all must allow in the Sequel he had.) No sooner ditl Bo'ney this effigy ate, Than he cried out alouti, " It's all over with me 1" The sexton then heard naif a dozen loud moans, And a noise like the falling of a bag of boors. He look'd out—' twas the dawning of morn, But— strangest of all— the spectre was gone. HER8IC CONDUCT IN THE IRISH REBELLI TO THB EDITOR OP THB PENNY SUNDAY TIMES. Sir,— In your paper, dated July 11, 1 » 41, I have read the follow- ing apparently- absurd and laughable story; you will, no doubt, b. hot a little surprise'! when I assert that there is not quite so much fiction in it as you suppose. If you read the following, tlis truth of which you may rest satisfied of, it may not prove uninteresting'. The writer of these lines was an officer in a Scotch fencible re- giment, stationed in Ireland iu tile year 17DS. aud was present at the conclusion of tbe hard fought b . uie of Tera aud Meath, in lihe Irish rebellion, ( more correctly speaking than revolution.) where he witnessed a circumstance that comes very near indeed to your story, as follows :— In one of ibe revolutionary battles in Ireland, a rebel hair- dresser ran up to the mouth of & cannon, to which an iirtllleiy- inan was just applying a match, and thrusting his head into its mouth, exclaimed, the moment be; ore he was blown to atoms, " By Jasus, I have stopped your mouth, my honey, for this time." In the battle of Tara, the rebels fought iike devils, as they iflways did, being almost without intermission, in a state of mad- dening iutoxication, when there was scarcely any possibility of re- sisting the impetuosity of their attacks. At tiie conclusion of this fas yet) disastrous contest, I, theu commanding a detachment of the liea- Fenclbles, on our march to Dublin, arrived on the ground, it appears, at the critical moment, our troops having much the worst of the business, we lost hot a moment in dashing into the atfray, and stumbled in our first onset on a curricle gun, whose men had every one been killed. The boys, as they were styled, in the very act of turning the gun on us, when a young lad, an en- sign, not seventeen, rushed in amongst the infernal monsters, snatched up a bit of fire he found near one of the dead artillery- men, and instantly applied it, when the gun did its duty with a vengeance, sweeping a iane through the astonished wretches, when they instantly took to flight, and left us masters of the field, but so crippled for cavalry that we could not pursue. Now, sir, fpr the pith of my story; at the moment that the gun exploded', from which I was but a very short distance, an old man, a labourer ajbout sixty years of age, took off his old rusty wig, which he thrust up the gun with the handle of his pike, roaring out, Come oin boys, ( the Irish can, and do speak, without the preface 4 by J. a » us,) her mouth is stopped; consequently, the old madman and ihany more, were swept into eternity; and with this almost- Heroic act, ( had it been in a good cause,) ended the battle; for when the Irish or French take what is called a panic, their flight dannot be prevented— they fly, and they know not from what. This physical defect in the French, stood our friend at Waterloo, j Your anecdote must have originated from the circumstance " l mention. I remain, sir, yours, & c., ^^^^^^^^^^^ VERITAS, . AN ANECDOTE ABOUT SKA FISHING.— Sir Hussey Vivian, ac- companied by his son, Major Vivian, were crossing the English fihannei in a sailing vessel, and amusing themselves at the same t| me in fishing lor mackerel; but, being unprovided with fish- bait, a! sixpence was used initead, which, indeed, is a very common plan. Major Vivian, as I understand, was the first who succeeded in hookiug a fish, when, hauling away too eagerly, his tackle bjroke, and away went flali, hook, sixpence, and all; but, strange tj) say, having shortly after baited another hook with a piece of njackerei; he actually hooked the same fish, which, this time, he Wad the good fortune to secure, and thus recovered back his lost hook and sixpence.— The Sportsman. gg : THE PENl^ Y SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES* POLICE GAZETTE. ^ ragmcitta for tf » t Curious. THB DOMESTIC MAN.— There is no being of the masculine * end « r whom " the sex " so heartily despite as the domestic man. iHe is an anomaly— a sort of half- way house between the sexes, a concentration of weaknesses— a poor dribblet of humanity— a vile « caudle- drinker— an auditor of laundresses' bills— an Inquisitor of the nursery—& fellow that likes tils bed warned, and takes notes of the decay of carpets— a reader of works on " cookery," and a treatise on teething "— a pill- bolter— a man that buy » his wife's gowns and hi. children*! dresses— ft scolder of maid servant.— a frequenter of the kitchen— a person who can tell you the price of treacle, and how long ft mop should last— a gazer at butchers' win- dows— a consumer of ginger wine— a slop eater— a market vlsitoi — a tea maker. He looks like the aborigine of a bed- room. He Is lean and blllou.— delights in black gaiters and a brown great- coat. He entertains his visitors with his discoveries of the tricks of bakers and the machinations of grocers— tires them to death with long stories about bad bread and " coffee without adultera- tion." He always knows what is to be for dinner, what remains in the larder— and employs his gigantic intellect In considering the best mode of cooking It. He Is naturally fretful and peevish, • od In cold weather has a helplessness of aspect peculiar to him- self. These men never look like Englishmen. They never ac- quire that manly bluff appearance which is the character of our nation. God knows what is the matter with them, bat they al- ways seem out of sorts. Their features are sharp, their voices " re effeminate, and they are nearly all of them " ttoubled with colds." The business of life with them is to regulate the affairs of housekeeping— tlielr tastes, habits, thoughts, and rivalries, srt. avo- nanish. Their conve, sation Is about " Poor Mrs." th!,, and " Poor Lady" that— antiquated matrons, with whom the/ occa sionaliy compare notes in matters of condolence— yet who have enough of the spirit of their sex In them to despise Vtielr mftle co adjutor, and In their souls they think " poor » It,'< io- and- so Is the greatest bore alive. They are always complaining; If hot posi- tive y unwell themselves— a case of rare i> cciirr » nte-- BOme of their 5!" L ! " 0_ 0!' ' f tl,, lt " oultl fill, that, at least, a dish h « . been broken, and there I, uwavj a number of standing Z'll t0 , V, e produced whe- r. tension requires. " Well Heaven help them ! a. Shakspere says, •• for they are sad fools." They live a long time, these- fellow., but they die at last- all th, pill, . nd possets in the world MU not , Tert death. SIMILITUDES 6F LIFE. WRITTEN BY A. KVNB. In childhood's daaVn, when smiles and tear., On globing cheeks are bright compeers, And paint these cheeks as symbol, true, Of roses sprent, with snn- let dew. W hen all our cares, and all our joys, « t! 1,0', 1? ht uprears— a thought de. troys, As light and shade, around us play— Then life.',. like a Sprlng- tide day. VTnen o'er the form Adolescence Maintains lier fairy Influence, And Alls Ills head, the heart, and eye, With all the charm, of phantasy. Who prompts the footsteps on to trace Diversion's gay abiding place ; While lepld pleasures point the way- Then life is like a Summer day. When years tiave mellow'd heart and mind, And passion sink, to rest retin'd; When retrospection loves to sigh, For day, and pleasures fluted by. And time's memento's have begun, To speak of vigour's setting- sun, That shines but with diminished ray- Then life Is like an Autumn day. When second childhood holds it. reign, And pleasure Is excit'd by pain; When impotence the frame enerves. Till ev'ry sense but feeling swerves. Who, where. oe'er her victim files, Maintains, untamM, her energies. Till dissolution strikes his prey- Then life Is like a Winter's day. Though in these stages there should be ha V tludes of infelicity ; Alike the sad, and gladsome man, Regrets that life's a short- iiv'd span. Though human ill their hearts subdue, The phantom hope I hey still pursue \ And fain would here prolong their stay, While hope can paint a better day. A nobleman of the thick blood of Ihe Irish nation, paid his addresses to the daughter ofa friend who valued money more than ancestry. The Md gentleman hinted to his lordship lhat he supposed his lordship's Income was equivalent to his daughter's. " Why, ho, sir," re- plied his lordship, " I cannot say ' tis altogether so con- siderable ; but then, you know, sir, there is my blood." Oh, d— n your blood," returns the gentleman, " jf you squander my daughter's fortune away, she must not depend on jour blood for a subsistence. A hog's blood would be of more service then, and would make much better puddings." Two Irishmen meeting one day, " I am very ill, Pat," said one, rubbing his head. " Then," replied the otb » r, " I hope you may keep so, for fear of being worse." A blacksmith of a village in Ireland, murdered a « iaB, was condemned to be hanged. The chief peasants of the\ place joined together and begged lhat the blacksmith might not suffer, because he was neces- sary to the place which couid not do without a black- smith to Bhoe horses, mend wheels, & c. But the judge said, " How can I fulfil justice J" A labourer an- swered t " Sir, there are two weavers in the village, and for so small a place one is enough, hang the other.') Bannister, reading on the front of a dwelling house " this house to let, inquire within," which had been apparently unoccupied for nomeyears," I'll make some inquiry about this," said Charles. " Will you be so kind to inform me, sir, what is the annual rent of that empty house?" " Fifty pounds, besides taxes." Will you let anything w'ith it ?" " No, why do yon X *" " Because, if you let it alone, it will tumble dramatic ® ral* 6.— No. 12. COUNTRY G- IRLS IN LONDON, OR, SAILORS, SWEETHEARTS, AND WIVES; A Tale, founded on the Domestic Drama of that name, now Performing at the ROYAL PA^ ILION TftfeATRE, with immense success, CHAPTER ax 7 down.* SOttG OF THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. Mine is the famed philosopher's stone, Mine Is the altar, and mine alone j " Where kneels the Atheist in his pride, With the true believer side by side. Spirits of earth ! or spirits of air 1 Spirits dark ! or spirits fair ! Tell me who hast so sweet a control, , As the Spirit of Beauty holds over the soul? Did, ye never see me wring my locks On the shingles of the coral rocks, Nor dip myself In the frozen lake, In the Icicle, nor the snowy flake ? Have ye never beheld my form In the forked flash when It lights the storm ? Nor seen me In my freshness sweep O'er the heaving waves of the dark blue deep ? I'm borne upon the raven's wing. And over the loved my spells I fling \ I rest on the petals of the rose, And lie In the balmy sweets It throws. In the violet cup I dwell, And bury myself In the cowslip- bell j I bask on the face of the limpid rill, On the primrose lank and sun- burnt hill. I make my home on the castle tower, " Where the Ivy creeps, and the wild weed* flower. Upon the broad crowned oak I swing, To the mlssletoe berry cling. In the span of the heavens my throne is set, Where all Is dark, and deep, and jet! And the Spirit of Beauty's ne'er so proud As ' tis when it flies on a star- lit cloud. I'm found no more In- the prince's tent Than where the needy serf is pent; Wealth may not bribe my even course, Nor poverty make my act the worse. On the ruby lip and dimp. ed cheek, Wherever they're found ' tis there I speak. No matter the sect, degree, or race, With the peer or the peasant I take my place. Where'er I am, and where'er I Ike, There will the child of passion be; Votaries bow to my dazzling shrine, And dream they're doing some deed divine. I'm worshipped by all in every clime, At the matin hour and vesper time; But glassed- on the brow of the bright and fair, The Spirit of Beauty's most god- like there! Ashted, July 21, 1841. T. B. COLLINS. THE LATS MR, POWER AND THEOPHILUS CIBBBR.— The simi- larity of the fate of the well- known Theophilus Cibber, to that w* fear ef the excellent snd inimitable Power, is such that we cannot forbear giving it a place In our columns. In the winter of 1758 hf. was engaged by Mr. Sherldau to go over to Dublin, to assist him to make a stand against the new theatre, just then opened in opposition to him in Crow- street. On this expedition, Mr. Cibber embarked at Park- gate, together with Mr. Maddox, tht celebrated wire- dancer, 011 board the Dublin trader, some time ir the month of October ; but the high winds, which are frequent at that time of the year in St. George's Channel, and which are fatal to many vessels in the passage from this kingdom to Ireland, proved particularly so to this. The vessel was driven to the coast of Scotland, where It was cait away, every soul In it ( and the pas- sengers were extremely numerous) perishing in the waves; the ship itself was so entirely lost, that scarcely any vestiges of It remained to indicate where It had been wrecked, excepting a box containing books and papers, which were well- known to be Mr. Clbber's and which were cast upon the western coast of Scotland. — The Lyre, No. I. It appears, by a worthy baronet's speech on universal suffrage and parliamentary reform, that— the scarcity of pli^ m? will be very great this year. IN one of the rural districts of Yorkshire there lived, a few years since, a humble but honest farmer, named John Barleybom, who, throughout his life, had maintained a character for frugality atid uprightness of condiifct thai had galhed far tilm the esteem and respect of the Wndle neighbourhood. His family consisted of two daughters and a son, the former celebrated for their beauty, but the la'ter, owing to some youthful Indiscretions, had left home at • n early age, and, as report affirmed, had entered himself on board a king's ship, to fight the enemies of his native land. This news, however, had never been confirmed, and as no communication from hlra had ever reached home, the greatest fears prevailed there that he had perished. Poor John Barleycorn and his wife endured this misfortune with as much fortitude as they coilld, and buoyed up With a faint hope that their son John might return un- expectedly, they devoted themselves with zeal to the task of rearing in the path of virtue the two daughters with which their union had been blessed. Mary and Rose were. Indeed, all that their parents could desire; simplicity and goodness were implanted In their hearts by the ex- cellent example that had been set them by theW parents, and their extreme beauty Had already won ? oi* thfem a host of lovers, each of whom seemed to be desirous of supplanting the numerous rivals, with whom tliey had to compete. Mary Barleycorn had, however, some time since given her heart to Giles Growse. a young rustic In the neighbourhood, whose situation in life rendered him a most suitable match for the daughter of a humble but Indus- trious farmer. Yet, though Mary had gone thus far, it was not long before it became but too evident that her disposition was naturally fickle, and that she would occasionally coquet with other youths, much to the annoyance and jealousy of poor Gile*. As for her s'* ter ltose, she had hitherto refused every offer that had been made to her, ahd It Was not till the arrival In that neighbeurhood of a young gentleman of fortune, named Sparklt, that she ac- knowledged her heart to be fairly subdued. After remaining In the village some little time, Sparkle was compelled to visit London, and, on returning in the course of a week or two, he brought with him a young friend, named Squander, who, besides possessing a fine manly form and winning manners, wits said to be one of the most notorious libertines Who at that ptrioJ infested the metropolis. To do justice to Sparkle, however, it must be admitted that he tiras not aware of his friend's depravity of heart, and that the introduction he had brought about was entirely the effect of chance. Giles Growse was the first to look with an eye ot suspicion on the young stranger, whose attention to Mary had excited a feeling of jealousy in his bosom that he could not control. He even ven- tured to tell her that there was danger In thus affording grounds for ihe censure of friends, but she merely laughed at the jealousy he had manifested, and, with some little show of resentment, declared that she would n6t be reproached by one who had no business to interfere. Gitej thns found that he had ventured too far, and avoiding any further mention of the subject at present, he determined to watch them narrowly, and . atl. fr himself whether there were any sufficient grounds tor the fear, that had thus taken po. se. sion of hi. heart. At length Ma.- y and Rose, who had heard much talk of London and Its pleasures, began to express a great wish to visit the metropolis; but for some time this desire was combatted by their parents, who, knowing the vice and profligacy that reign there, were unwilling to trust their daughters to the terrible vortex that ha. proved the ruin of .0 many unsuspecting person.. Th. y pointed out the dangers they would be exposed to, but their fears had little effect upon their youthful auditors, and in the end Diary and her sister .0 far succeeded, that a reluctant promise was ex- torted, and preparations were accordingly made for the much desired vt. it. It was then arranged that they should aeek a tem- lorary home in the house ot a relative, who had long resided in [. ondsn, and to whose care It was believed they might be safely confided. Still, however, the father's fears were excited In behalf of his bel. ved daughters, and when the moment for their departure came, he once more cautioned them against the dangers to which they would be exposed:— " You are about to leave us, my children," he said, " and to Heaven', protection do I now entrust you; yet it behoves you to keep a watchful eye upon the motives and actions of those you will be thrown among, for London abounds with profligates of all classes, and unsuspecting innocence but too often falls into the snares that are laid by the crafty." " Oh, do not fear for us, dear father," answered Mary, gaily* for, bearlug in our remembrance the good lessons you have taught us, there 1. little fear of our being deceived by the people you . peak of. Besides, we shall not be unprotected, you know 1 and with a friend to watch over our safety, there can be none of the danger you suspect." " Let me caution you, my love,'* answered her father, " not to be too confident, for when once the worthless have formed a de- sign, even Innocence like yours may prove but an Insufficient shield. Heaven knows with what care and anxiety your mother and I have watched over your early years, and wo may, therefore, be pardoned for betraying this uneasiness when we see you about to leave the home of your birth." 11 Aye," replied Mary, " but ihe recollection ol the kindness you have bestowed upon us will be sufficient to make us the more [ uarded during our absence. Rose and my. elf will be very care- ill, I can assure you, and depend on it we shall return home again by and by to laugh with you at ths fears you now express." " Your father," exclaimed Dame Barleycorn, " has only ex- pressed the natural fears ot a parent for his children. It has been our pride to watch your advance from Infancy to the present hour; we have seen that the lessons aud examples set by us have not been thrown away 1 and yet, knowing that you are about to leave u., and that you will be tar beyond the reach of our protecting care, It 1. scarcely to be wondered at if we look forward with doubt and trembling to the trial, and temptations to which you may be exposed." " Wily, surely mother," cried Mnry, " you do rot think us weak enough to become au easy prey to vain words or promises ot people that we know nothing about." " I'll tell you what it is Mary," exclaimed Giles Growse, who at that moment had arrived to bid them good- bye ; " there's fellows. I heard, In Lunnun that would persuade the very devil himself, If once they set their mind on It, and hang me if I half like your going away from home." " Why, you are not jealous, Giles, surely ?" cried Mary, in a tone of pique. " Yes, but I am, though," replied the rustic;—" you and I, Mary, were to have been married, and who knows but you may t'orget all about me when you get to Lunnun ?" " Oh, there's no fear of that, Giles," she replied. " I have never yet torfelted my word, and I don't believe there's a person In the world that would make me do so." 11 Nay," retorted her lover; '' 1 know of one that will try his best to cut me out." " Indeed 1 and who, pray, is he ?'* " Why, young Squander, that came visiting down here with his friend, Mr. Sparkle. He's a wild, random sort of chap that I - Jon't like, and It's my opinion that he lias made up his mind to carry you off from me.'* " What a simpleton you must be to think so," cried Mary; " the person you speak of ha. been merely civil, and yet It has somehow < ot Into that foolish head of yours that he is desperately in love « vlth me." " Aye," replied Gilt's, " and It would take a good deal to per- iuade me against It, Mary; but never mind, I may, perhaps, keep tn eye upon him when least he suspects it aud if 1 should happen to catcli htm at any of his dirty tricks, it ain't his fine coat that will save him from the punishment he deserves." " Come, come, Giles," interposed the father, " you are a little too warm on this subject, though I can reaped the generosity of heart that has prompted vou to this expression of your feelings. My daughter, have been warned ofthe dangers to which they may tie exposed, and I dare say we shall all of us li - rentier acknowledge hat our fears were groundless. At any rate I am confident in the rectitude of their minds, and rliall, therefore, await their return full of that hope which has never yet deserted me." At this period the loud notes of a horn announced the arrival of the coach, and, after a hasty adieu, the two cisters entered the vehicle, which was to bear them from a happy home to the busy metropolis of their native land. Giles watched the stage till it was out of sight, and then, without informing any one ot hi. inten tions, he set off on foot, determined to reach London, and thus be at baud la case hi. assistance should be required. her. At the same time Squander pressed hi. . ult to Mary, but hi. base Intentions were manifest, and In the first burst of her Indignation she commanded him to quit her presence, and never .. gin to » lslt one Shorn he hod .0 grossly Insulted. Finding him. felt thus r. Jected, SqtiftHdrt Changed HI. tactics, and began to play the hypocrite with such ft . how of repentance, that Mary re tracted the . eutence of banishment she had passed, and thus was he once more permitted to visit her, and pour Into her ears the Insidious poison that wal to undermine the good example and precept, she had learnt at home. Giles, too, was hardly ever thought ot, for Squander had taken care to represent him as a lover lar beneath her worth, and having succeeded in this, It wss the less difficult to complete the fiendish plan. In which Se tru engaged. In . hort, Mary < nl eventually induced to elope with the libertiile from the house of her sUtet. add from that moment . he became the wretched paramour of a heartless villain. It would be in vain to dwell upon the coarse of crime and wretchedness that followed the fatal step that had been taken by the hapless Mary. Suffice it to . ay, that Squander s habit, or Intemperance and prodigality . oon reduced him to ft state of liepgary as abject as can well be coficelvitt. fie and the wretched partner of his bankrupt fortunes were compelled to quit the splen- did mansion that had once been his; and as friend, had now turned their back, upon him, he wo. obliged to wander wlih Mary through the streets, without a roof to shelter them, or food to satisfy the sharp cravings of hunjer. Yet did she endure all with- out complaining, for conscience told her that all had been pro- duced by her own thoughtless conduct, and earnestly did she beseech Heaven to release her fiom a life that had now become so full of bitterness and grief. As lor Squander, he had become morose and cruel In hi. conduct towards her; he h id grown weary of the society of the woman he li « ' d basely t- mpted to ruin, and by every rne. tii in his power did he seek to rid himself ot her who no longer porseksed his love. At length, rendered desperate by the misery of his situation, he determined to commit a robbery, and hoping to obtain the assistance of Mary, he at once explained to ber the Intention he had formed, and demanded her aid In carrying It inlo effect. The poor girl was inconceivably sho. ked when sbe 1 Inn heard the desperate attack he wa. about to commit, and re- covering somewhat from her agonizing grief, she ventured to enquire who it Was that he Intended to rob. This question lie al first endeavoured to evade •, but finding that she wa. determined to learn tl. e secret, he at length said " You ask me, Mary, who It is that I am about to e » « e of lone ol hi. treasure. I he truth is, I believe, you will entertain some scrup es on the subj. ct when I explain myself further, but Since the affair be known, sooner or later, 1 may as well tell yon at once CHAPTER II. MARY and Rose had not been long in London before they were visited by Sparkle and his libertine friend, Squander. The former was stiil sincere lo the honourable professions of love with which lie had addressed Rose, and having communicated with her friends, and obtained their consent, he shortly afterward, married that Sparkle I. the man it I. my Intention to rob." " My sister s husband 1" cried Mary, shuddering with horror. Even so," retorted the villain; " he ha. alway. a large quan- tity of plate In hi. house, and as I know how to gain admittance, the affair may easily managed, and thu. you and I may escape the evils of poverty that now press so heavily upon us. " Villain I" cried Mary, resolutely, " ft. lt in. no more to be your accomplice In thl. infamous affair, for . ooner would 1 perish of hunger in the street, than join you In ft crime from which my . oul re"° No'n. ense!" exclaimed Squander; " what's the use of Baking a fuss about trifles ? The truth Is, we must have money aomehow, and if we let thl. opportunity . lip, if. hardly likely w. . hall get " ^ Vwhl'pe'rlsh," cried Mary, " rather than add robbery to my other crime.." ,„ . ... . " Well " he replied, " yon, of cour. e, will do a. you think proper about it; for my own part I have no . uch scruple., and, therefore, the thing shall be don « . You must promise, however, not to give any Information that might « « rve to bring me to the gahows. t<) kn0B. of your crime," an. wered Mary, " and yet to connive at It. However, fallen as I am, there Is no h. lp, and 1 pledge myself to say nothing that will place your life In peril ; but from this moment we part, never to meet again in thit world- Squander made no further reply, but as It was now late M night, he hurried away, and proceeding towards the house of hi. lormer friend. Sparkle obtained admittance to It with a. much ease as he hail anticipated. Then gl'dlng through the rooms w. th a steattliy tread, lie quickly pos. es. ed himselt of the treasure that had templed him to . till further crime ; thi. done, he vva. about to return, when, on a sudden, he was seized by a powerful hand, ftnd at the same moment, the well- knowu voice .1 Giles Grow., tell upon hi. startled ear. . " Villain1" exclaimed the rustic, " I have found thee at la. t, and never will we part till I have avenged tho wrong, thou halt done poor Mary." , " What weuldst thou do with me ? * demanded Squander, trem- bllng at the tempest th , t threatened to overwhelm him. " Do with tbeel" cried Giles, furiously, " curse thee, but 111 have thy life for the evil tliou hast done !— H.. t thou not be- trayed the girl that trusted tllee, and now thou ha. t entered the house of thy friend as a thief to rob him of hi. treasure I Thou hast deserved death, and from my hands thou . halt meet the reward ot thy crimes." , , . " Spare me! spare me!" murmured Squander, ga. ping under the powerful clutch or hi, adversary; " let me escape, and you shall have lhat which tempted me In an evil hour to enter thl. Pl" CAve." answered Giles, " but thou canst not make re. tltutlon to her whom thou ha. t most Injured. Mary, whom I loved better than all that the world contained beside, ha. been ba. ely betrayed ; she who was once virtuous, ha. became a mark for the scorn and execration of the world. " True, but it Is yet in my power to offer . ome recompense ;— 1 "' whu"" Vn « rmPTd Gile. ; " dost thou think I will spare thy life, that she may become the wife of a villain ilk. thee ? thy hour has come, and thu. do I aveng. the foul wrong, thou ha. t d0Withthls, he plunged a knife Into the bosom of his foe, . nd then with savage triumph, dragged him from the house with the intention of proclaiming the deed, and delivering himself up to justice : upon reflection, however, he resolved to deler this until he had made an effort for the rescue of Mary, and leaving Squander faint aud bleeding ou the pavement, he rushed aw. y Irom Ihe spot, scarcely knowing or heeding whilher he went. We must now return to Mary, who had no sooner been left by her worthless seducer, than her memory recurred to the past . cents ot a once happy and virtuou. life. Shame and misery wer. now her portion, and remembering the agony that would fall upon her parents when they heard of her lapse from virtue she resolved no longer to drag out an existence that was now hateful to her. Mad- dened by those thoughts, she rushed towards a canal near wh eh she had been standing, and with one cry to Heaven tor pardon and forgiveness, plunged into the water, which she hoped to have made her grave It chanced, however, that a sailor, attracted by the wildnes. of her manner, had been watching h. r from . ome little distance, and no . ooner had . he thrown herself mto the co. l, than springing forward to her rescue, he snatched the hapless girl from distraction at the very moment when she was ab. u to sink for ever. Thl. done, he next applied himselt to the task of recovering h. r trom the stupor into which she bad fallen; this effort wa. quickly crowned with succss, but, no . ooner had she been brought to her recollection, than hurrying out a tew expres- sion. ol gratttude for the generous zeal lie had manifested m her behalf, she hurried away, and wa. immediate y lost to his view in the darkness of the night. Distracted as she was with the terrible reflection, that haunted her mind, Mary wandered about for many a long weary hour after this, and during the whole of that time, not a morsel of ffioiiI to appease ber hunger, nor a drop of water did sire obtain to cool her parched lips. At this moment, how heavily did . be leel the effects of that fatal step which had led her from a life of virtue, to one ol shame and crime. Again she meditated . elf- de. tructton, bat the reflection of her former preservation made her pau. e, ere she, a • econd time, sought to rush unbidden, into the presence of her Maker-, life was, iodeed. a heavy and . Ickening load; but the misery had been produced by herself, and resolving to endure all as well t. s she could, she almost unconsciously entered a pnullc- houae, to which . he had been attracted by the sonnds of joy and revelry within. Scarcely knowing wlilther she went, Mary entered a room In which a number of sailors and their sweethearts were assembled, and amongst whom she recognized the very person who, but a few hours previously, had rescued her from destruc- tion. From these she would have asked assistance, but hsr tongue refused to supplicate for charity, and she was about to turn away, when her eye fell upon a well- filled purse that was partly haoging from the pocket of the satiar who had rescued her from death; with a quick and trembling hand, . lie matched the tempuug ptize, and was about to effect her escape from the room, when a well- known cry of recognition arrested her attention, and turning in the direction from whence the sound had come, she discovered in the sailor . he had ju. t robbed, the long- lo. t brother, whole return to England had been .0 little expe ed. Overcome with sh. rfie Md femrtse, Mary would have Instantly effected her el- cape, but ere . he could do .0, the hone. t tar canght her In hi. arm., and vowed, tJiftt having foimd her, nothing should ever part them till he had re. tored to the ham., which, In former time., had been .0 full of happlne.. and joy. A. to the pu/ se, which, In a moment of desperation . he had taken, h « generously concealed that affair from hi. companion., and accepting the offer of Tom Tackle, one of hi. messmates, he conviyed her to hi. kosW, where ah. wm to remain till he could take her home. CHAPTER 111. UKtintt th « care of her new- found friend., Mary iaon feeov « red herself, but It wa. Oittf td learn j> et rii'ore Of the tefrlfcle effects Of her Imprudent conduct. Hir brother had. In the meantime, made enquiries about home, and from the Information he had been enabled to obtain, it appeared thst Dame Barleycorn had been overtaken by a sickness, from which It was feared the # o41d never recover, atid that her husband wa. then the inma'e of BedllM, to whh h place he had Been driven by the heavy affliction, that had alien on llim. Thl. ne#>, which h. d been obtained from Glle. Growse, was the caii. e of fresh torfdre lo Mary, who, with tears of true contrition', acknowledged the heaVy share she had had In bringing hlln rind misfortune npon tho. e who had tenderly reared her from Inline;-, to that rmiment wben sh « had weakly yielded to the voice of a libertine. From the same sotrrce, also, she heard that Squander had died of the tfolfiid > ie had received wMt. t he wa. la the ict of fobbing hi. friend, afrd tftat he tad expressed the deepest remors. for the crimes he had been guilty of, and which he acknowledged had been instigated, by giving too free a licence to extravligauci and dissipation. A, soon as Mary had recoVefed, In . ome Utile degree, from the effects of thi. Intelligence, her fi'r. t and tffo « anrtlotts itish wa., to vl. lt her father, and, If any light of reasop y « t remained In hi. I, rain, to obtain pardon and forgiveness for th. conduct whrieh had driven him to madridl3. This was a request that her brother Hitd no wish to oppose, and having' f hiteatid her to' beat file Interview with as much fortitude as possible, they set out together for fhe melancholy abode to which misfortune had driven them. On their way, they were joined 1 y Giles Growie, who, despite of Kef deser- tion of hlra, was still anxious to afford what con. olatlon he colild to Mary, whose melancholy affliction, filled htm with the most heart- felt sorrow. On reaching Bedlam, they were speedily conveyed to the cell occupied tij [ Heir unfortunate father, who they found seated upon hi. bed of straitf, add betvalllng, In the most abject terms, the mis- fortunes that hod befallen tilm In his old » ge. Aive- streck, they stood lor a few moments without venturing to approach htm, and its they thu. . io'od unobserved, the} overheard » h « poor old roan, . ay, as he gave expression < 0 his grief :— " Where Is she 7"— Ire Cried, In i tone tf dei(, onrtenCf ( " she who was my beat beloved, and who ha. yet deserted her heart- broken father when most he needed tbe cheering presence of hi. child > They . ay she ha. fallen from virtue, bst I believe them not, for she was good and virtuous when last I saw lief, and surely they do but m;. ck me when they say that . he has listened to the voice of a aeducer. I'd not believe them though;— they . peak falsely, and were th, » ? here now, 1 would brain them for daring to say aapht against ihe darling of m7 soul.'* " Falherl" groaned Mary, with agitation. " Hah !'* he exclaimed, startled bv the .911 rtd;—" who wa. It that called npon me by the name of fathtr ' But they know not I what they say, or they would not cheot an old man by pronouncing a word thatfill. him nlth . uch deep emotion.'' " Nay, I cau endure this no longer !" cried Mary, springing for- ward, and throwing her. clf at hi. feet, " my heart 1. well nigh bursting with anguish; father, yiur Alary, your repentant child kneel, before you to a. k forgiveness, ere death puts A period to her suffering,." " What 1. thl. I hear?*' cried the old man, gazing upon her with a countenanse that betrayed . ome faint dawning of returning reason; " a female kneels before me, snd oh, how like she is to one that 1 have In vain tried to forget! Speak, girt!— art thou, indeed, my child, or Is this some fearfat vision come to cheat me with hopes that never can be realized? Speak, I say, and let me know, ere madness again takes possession of my brain, whether my heart's fondest treasure yet live, tp claim the pardon ot her broken- hearted father? ' " Al..!" she cried, " I am, Indeed, your guilty, but now re. pentant child; I have come to ask your blessing, and when that is granted me, 1 care not how soon death puts a period to my sufferings." " Thou hast It, girl," he exclaimed, rushing forward and clasp- ing her In his Rrms ;—" yes Maiy, I know thee now. and never will we again part, till the dark anil silent grave ha. clo. ed upon me for ever 1" Thu. forgiven, and Tendered somewhat more happy by her father's return to reason. Mary gave way to the fulness of her joy, and .' nking upon the bosom of the old man, she felt somewhat recompensed for the many trials and privations that her own con- duct had brought upon her. It was not, however, till the next day. that the patient was allowed to leave the noble Institution In winch he had found a temporary refuge, and then mounting one of the York coaches, they returned home to seek thit peace ftnd quiet, whl, h It was feared, at one time, had fied for ever. On arriving at the cottage, their joy wa. Increased by finding that Dame Barleycorn wa. recovering from the llines. which had been brought on by recent misfortunes; her daughter's reltorailon completed the cure, which wa. already In favourable progress, and ere another week had elapsed, Mary once more found herself happy amongst those who could generously pardon the In- discretion o'f thoughtless youth. Even Glle. Growse offered to forget the past, and make her ids wife t but thi. noble preposition wa. firmly rejected by our heroin.,, and the remainder of her days were passed In penltenee for the evil step she had been induced to moke, and gratitude for the happy change that had Uken place in her circumstance.. Ayr. ANSWERS TO CHARADES. ANSWER tO mm FIRST CHARADK IK NO. 6S. Mr. Clark, your charade ha. been . tudied by me. To find out the « n. w. r I laboured, And If It I. not ProcraMnator, By contradiction 1 . hftll be tavoured^ c ^^ ANSWER TO TU* FIRST R1DBL* !! » NO. « 4. 1 took up your paper. By the light of a taper, to look at the capital', crime, Bat hi turning It rotrad. In the last page I found A number flf riddle. In rhyme. When young » . a boy I was plea. M with a toy, And put no great valne on money j Yet at that same ( Ime, Though 1 tell It In rhym » , I wa. a great lover ot honey. Bnt when 1 grew older. And also grew bolder. To wall! wi'hout fear in the night 1 When the day', work Is done, At the sJt of the sun. The moon gives » be. utUui light. If ever I marry. By the living Harry, I think that an excellent wife Might be found full . oon. And that the honeymoon Would oaly depart with the life. T. C. ANSWER TO THK 8XCOND RIDDLB IN NO. 64. Your segment of a circle, I speak most sincere, Your stroke, and triangles I placed in due care; When arranged In due order, believe me it*, true, Dillon, the author, appeared to my view. Jfewton Heath. P. BAXTKR, ANSWER TO O. S.'. KIBBLE IN NO. 64. Th. fourth riddle 1. signed by G. 8., It. answer 1. Camel- leopard I gue... Leed., 17th June. 1841. T. B. ANSWER TO TUB FIFTH KSTIOHA IN NO. 64. That lead I. heavy I agree. In fact, ' tis just the same to m tf And yet, although I cannot dance, I'd be ft man were I in Franc.. Ayr. T. C. CHARADES. I. I am a word of eight letter..— My 5, 6, 2, 8,1. ft conclusion ftt which I begin; try 1. 2, 5, fi, is a support; uay <), 6, 7, 8, . urround. the world; nly 2, 8,1. the plural ot my 6, S, 3; my 6, 7, 8, 2, i. a cavern; my 1.2, S, 3,1. a kind of pulse; my 6 2, s, 8, I. con- temptible ; my 5, 3, 8, is the name of an ancient queen ; my 4, 5, 6, 1. a child', frock ; my 1. 7, 3,1, a repository , my 4, i, 8, 2, Is a female's 3, 5, 6, 2; my 8, 7, 3, 7, 6, is * chftracter 1a mu. lc; my B, 8, 8, 2, give, a most maj. stlc appearance to the lion ; my 5, 7, 6, !> a design; niy 8, 5,1, is to cftlch unexpectedly; my whole I. tie nam. of an ancient . acred tribe, and » be "' iter of this charade. ——. FIKJ- D. II. TO MR. i. ZT1I/ L0N, DUBLIN-. What 1. my name, good Air, Dillon fix, I am composed of letters simply . la. My 3 ftnd 1 with . I and 6 repeated, Will name the place where royalty i. seated. My 3, fi, 1, whate'er be said or sung. Forms a mark'd conti ast to the giddy young ; That time when we with I, 5. 3, and 4, Or hobby- horse passed childhood', aeason o'er. My 4, 2. I, will keep from enriou. eye. The hidden treasure in your che. t that lies. Though gaudy plumage may make fair the birds, The lonaest are not the most pregnant word. ; So fi and 5 with me, though small It be, Will oil be found a sad though short decree. My whole is one who writes a good chsrade, Without pedantic boasting or parade. EXTRAORDINARY NOVELTY IN THE FINE ARTS!!! ® t) catrce. Thl. day Is Published No.. 1, 2. and 3. of the POLITICAL DRAMA, A Catting Caricature, Published Weekly : price Two Sou. F rench, or One Penny English. DESIGNED BY STEAM, AND ENBBAVED BY SLKCTRO- MAONETISM-. For which purpose ha. been engaged, at an FnCTmou. Expen. e, the unapproachable tal. nt of the CARICATURIST GENERAL, MASTER OF THE BLACK ART, tec. Office of th. POLITICAL DRAMA, 18, Duke-. trect, Lincoln'. Inn- field., London. " Nothing extenuate, Nor ut down aught in malice." SHAK8PF. HK. HAVMARKRT.— No change of any importance has taken place in lire performances at this thiatre since our last. Mr. C. Kean and Miss E. Tree, will re- appear in the course of two or three weeks, in a new play, written liy Sheridan Knowles, and wliicli has been for some time in preparation. It is written expressly for them, and is to be got up in a style of splendour seldom equalled at any theatre. STRAND.— Barnaby Rudge at this theatre is one of the best adaptations of " Boz's" celebrated work, at present beitii! played. The part of the hero by Mrs. Keelev equals anything that we have seen her in for some time. Tne attraction of The frolics of the Fairies, is unabated. SADLER'S WKLLS.— Mr. Elton has been playing the legitimate at this ahly- mauaged theatre, and Iras been re- ceived with his usual applause. Mr. Homier lias pro- duced liurnaby Radge with pre- eminent success; Mrs. Homier sustaining the part of Barnaby with her usual ex cellence. PAVILION.— Mr. Rogers' new domestic drama, called Country Girls in London, has nret with much and well- merited success. As our readers will find in the present number art original dramatic tale upon the subject, we shall refrain from entering into any particulars of the plot aud incidents. We are glad to see tliat the house is doing very well. SURREY.— An ex. ellent circus having hern constructed at this theatre, the whole of Mr. Ducrow's magnificent stud of horses, and his unrivalled equestrian artistes, in addition to the regular Surrey company, are performing every evening to houses literall) crammed to the ceiling. Of the scenes iu the circle, we need only say that they are iti the same style of excellence as they were conducted at the late unfortunate Amphitheatre, while the dramatic entertainments are got up with that skill and judgment which have made the Surrey so popular since the manage- ment of Davidge. We are happy to see that the spirited efforts of all parties engaged in the undertaking have hitherto bfcen so liberally rewarded ; and we trust that the public will continue their patronage. VICTORIA.— Mary Clifford; or, The Foundling Ap- prentice Girl, is another of those deeply interesting do mestic tragedies, which have already established this theatre as one of the most successful in London, and in which Miss Vtnceut's beautiful acting draws so largely upon the sympathies of the audience. The piece is founded upon the evil doings of that female fiend, the infamously notorious Mother Brownrigg, out of which material the author has contrived to concoct a drama abounding with thrilling situations and effects, impres- sive language, and inculcating an excellent moral. The drama throughout has been immensely applauded every evening since its production, and bids fair to outrival any of its most successful predecessor s. QUEEN'S THEATRE, MANCHESTER — Mrs. F. Carman has very well adapted the celebrated Romance of Eta, the Outcast, which has been broueht forward at this theatre with great success. Wallinuford ( J. W. Benson); Walter ( Mr. Egerton); Rackett ( Mr. Parry); Jeremiah Baruell ( Mr. W. Mills); Mark Darwin ( Mr. Prest- rn); Knobbs ( Mr. Gates); Ela ( Mrs. Weston) ; Fanny ( Mrs. F. Carman) ; Maria Herbert ( Miss E Gates); jabella, the Sybil ( Mrs. Huggins) ; atul Mrs. Wallingford ( Mrs. W. Mills), were all excellently represented, and the dratna goes off wilh the greatest possible eclat, l'he theatre is very well attended. GRAVESEND THEATRE.— Success continues to crown the indefatigable exertions of Mr. Neale, the manager of this theatre. In addition to the other talent, the cele- brated Mr. Henry Betty has been engaged, and ap- peared in some of his most popular characters. Messrs. Matthews and Howell, the popular pautomimists, have also been engaged. Gallant Tom will be produced with gr eat spirit. PARR'S INFALLIBLE LIFE PILLS which are now recommended by all who have tried them : they have, been the mean, of restoring to health many thousands who have suffered by dire disease and lll- heallh.— Read th. following letter from Mr. NOBLE, of Hutl j it I. w. ll worthy of perusal:— To THB PROPRIETORS OF PARR'S INFALLIBLB LIFB PILLS". Gentlemen.— Since I undertook the agency of thi. popular Medi- cine, I can with truth « ver, that It has, to my own knowledge, been a very great blessing to scores of person. In thl. town aud neigh- bourhood. Indeed, . o numerous are the testlmonlftl. to the ver- mes of " PARR'S PILLS," In the cure of Inveterate dl.. a. e, thftt many per. on. who had been quite hopeles. of any relief, have ob- tained a permanent and perfect CURB. To particularize would be useless; the cases are . o numerous. One person wa. cured of a bad leg of 15 year, duration ; another, of Rheumatism ot 10 years standing; others, of Asthma, & c., & c. These are among the CUT. ES ; and numerous are the cases of RBLIEF In Rttlon. and Liver Complaints. Sick Head Ache, Cough., Cold., and Disease, of the Stomach and Digestive Organs, See. From these FACTS, more than from any mode of advertising, th. sale of the Pill. 1. dally Increasing; every person who ka. been benefited Is anxious to recommend them, ftnd a.. 1. t hi. neigh- bour.— Enclosed I. je50, which pleas, send n. « In Pill, by the next coftch. I am, Gentlemen, your's, respectfully, JOSEPH NOBLE, Printer, Bookseller, and stationer. 23, Market- place, Hull.— Jan. 18,1841. IMPORTANT CAUTION. It ha. been discovered, that vile attempt, have been mad. to . nbitltute base Imitations for the genuine Medicine.; In proof of which, attention 1. Invited to the following Advertisement, which appeared In the NOTTINGHAM REVIEW, of Jan. 29, 1841: PUBLIC ACKNOWLEDGMENT. I, th. undersigned JOHN CUBLKY, late of Derby, but now of the town . f Nottingham, heretofore a schoolmaster, but now out ot employment, do hereby acknowledge, that I have lately got com pounded . ome pills which 1 have sold to different person, as " OLl » PARlt'S LIFE PILLS," by representing that I bad pur chased the lteclpe for that celebrated medicine; such represen- tation wa. however, entirely false, and the proprietors of the genuine Old Parr's Life Pills, have commenced legal proceeding, against me, for ike above fraud. Hut I having expressed sorrow and contrition, and given up to them the names and addresses of each person to whom I have sold any of such pills, as well a. of th. druggl. t. who compounded the same, and agreed to make this public apology, and pay all the expenses, Including this advertise- ment, the proprietors have kindly ccnsented to forego such legal proceedings. I do, therefore, declare my . ham. and sorrow for having committed such an Imposition on the public, and such ft fraud on the proprietors of Old Parr's Life Pills, and further ex- press my acknowledgment, for their lenity. JOHN CUBLEY. Dated this 28th day of January, 1331. Wltne..— H. B. CAMFBBLL, Solicitor, Nottingham. In order, therefore, to protect the public from . uch Imitation, the Hon. Commissioner, ot Stamps have ordered " PARR'S LIFE PILLS" to be engraved on the Government Stamp attached to each box, without which none are genuine. LETTER From Mr. J. DRURY, of Lincoln, shewing th. high estimation these Invaluable Medicines are held in that City:— " To the Proprietor, of Parr'. Life Pill.. " GENTLEMEN,— " I beg to Inform you, . evera! pereon. have acknowledged to me they have experienced great improvement in their health, through taking Old Parr's Pills; in particular a lady, who said she ' never knew what it was to be without pain In her head, but after taking one box, she has been tree from It ever since. " You must, I am sure, from the great demand for the Pill, at my . hop, think they are considered here of great value, and I have no doubt many more will be sold when they are generally known ( In fact, some folks begin now to think th. y will have no occasion to make their will, for the next 90 or 100 years to come. I am, your obedient Servant, JAMK8 DRUB . 224, near the Stone Bow, Lincoln, September 28,1840. Price 1.. IJd., 2.. 9d., and family boxe. II.. each; the boxe. at 2.. 9d. contain equal to three small, aad those at Us. equftl to five at 2s. 9d. Full direction, are given with each box. Thl. Medicine I. sold wholesale, by appointment, by EDWARDS. St. Paul'. Church Yard, Loudon. A Book of 16 pages, containing a memoir of the " LIFE AND TIMES OF THOMAS PARR," who lived to be 152 year, of age, may be had GRATIS of all the accredited Agent, for th. . al. of " PARR'S INFALLIBLE PILLS." Thl. book wilt not b. re- quired again; IT is GIVEN To YOU. and you will confer a favour upon the Proprietor., If you will LEND It to such of your friends a. are suffering from any disease, as it is sure to be Interesting and useful." OBSERVE the before- mentloned Important CAUTION ; none are genuine unless they have the Head of Old Parr on each box and the ivords " PARR'S LIFE PILLS' on the Government Stamp • to Imitate which Is Felony. THE STARS.— Dr. Herschell has enumerated 44,000 . tar. in the . pace of a few degrees; and by anslogy, there appear, to b. 75,000,001) in the heavan., ( Vide George Adam. E « SI%.) Salande agree, in thi. number. London:— Printed and Published by E. LLOYD, 231, High Street, Shoreditchand at 44, Hotywell- street, Strand.