AND PEOPLES LONDON:— SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1841 TAKING IT COOLLY. A DIViS ION IN THE ARMY. DREADFUL RIOTS AT R@ ll How pleasant on a winter's morn, In bed when snugly laid, Aroused to be by angry dame, Of whom you are afraid. T'have th' contents of water- jug, Soused at you so unruly ; Tho' great your rage, ' t must be allow d, That you must take it coolly. All von who d In mititaire Would sport in coat of red, Ami emulate the glfiry rare Of those who've fought and Wed 1 Think bow much pleasantrr twupld be ( Ere you go to t> e SlKunMerM,) To quarter'< 1 be iu pwvcc at hcjtne, Than thus in b'Vttle quarter'dl imiuil> I © OUCC, BOW STREET, THE FALSE ONE.— A little chubby piece of female • mortality, evidently considerably on the wrong side of forty, with a small pug nose, a most awful oVifite in the front of her head, commonly designated a month, and a very considerable squint, appeared before ihe magistrate to charge one Mr. Etekiel Zechariah Orlan- do Crisp, lha decayed remnant of a decayed swell, wlto stated himself to be " a professional gentleman," • with having broken a promise of marriage to her, ealcn sundry breakfaflts, teas, dinners, & c., at her expense, « bBiJ tiaallyiiscamping with ten pounds, which she, the Hat4 PU'uit- nosed, bucket- mouthed, crossed- eyed ludv had lent him on ( ho strength of his purchasing certain necessaries for their union, which had been appointed to take place on the following Sunday. The complainant, who was like Niobe, all tears, with sundry interjections, marginal notes, sobs, inoans, and vituperations, stated the circumstances of the case as follows: COMPLAINANT.— Your worship, please your worship !, — Oh, dear, I am so wiolenfly agitated I don't know vot to do vith myself. That here willain wot stands at ihe bar is th' most perfiderous monster as ever was. Your worship, excuse my emotion, but my feelin's overpowers me ! Eighteen weeks has that here willain Sodged ami hoarded vith me, hindependent of vltich, 1 • rfid all his vashin' an' ironing, and he never giv' me a farden, nnd then arter all to serve me in this here scan- dalous manner ! Oh ! tho wretch ! OEFENDANT.—( Singing.) — € i Pray goody please lo moderate the rancour of thy tongue, Why Hash those sparks of fury from your eyes ?'' COMPLAINANT.— There, your worship, there, you hear tirm ; that's the way he has of doing it;— whenever] jfiv a hint as 1 vanted a little cash, he used to pay me in these sort of notes! DEFENDANT.—- ( Singing.)— " I want money, I want money ! Thinking; makes me very funny !" MAGISTRATE.—- Come sir, remember you are not at a free- and- easy now ; we cannot bave that noise in the court. . Now, my good woman, proceed with your com- plaint, and be as explicit as yon can. COMPLAINANT.— Yes, your worship, only I am so flurried !— Veil then, you must know as I'm a young vidder. DEPENDANT ( Singing.)— I " Nary all single gents I address myself to, In hopes to excite your attention, In the first place, allow me to ask how yon do, And bear well in mind what L mention. My husband's been dead only six weeks, oh dear, Yet " Here the usher of Ihe court nnd two or three police, men, who had been for some lime vainly endeavouring to stop the defendant's harmony, succeeded in putting a atop to the vocal display of Mr. Ezekiel Zechariah Orlando Crisp, and the complainant proceeded. 11 You must know, your worship, as I said before, I am a vidder, and I keeps a ' speclable house in Adam and Eve Court, and takes in single young men lodgers. Veil, your vorship, abont eighteen veeks ago, that wil- lain applied for a lodgiu', an' being taken vith his ap- pearand, an' believin him to be a gemtnan, I let's him my hark huttick, as pretty a little room as any vun need visli tu have, since I have perwented the rain from jiourin' in upon th'bed, and arter he had taken pur- session ho agreed to board vith me as veil, and to pay me quarterly, cos be sed he only had his ' mittances cv'ry quarter. Veil, the first quarter passed away, an' no money, an' precious hearty he eat too, but I didn't think anything of that here, becos' some time before he commenced paying his devours to me. ( Laughter,) MAGISTRATE.— Yes, I think it was paying his de- vours to you, with a vengeance. Yeu mean ( o say that he made love to you ? COMPLAINANT.— Oh, yes, your vorship, quite strong. DEFENDANT.—( Singing.)— " The rose shall cease to blow, The world shall cease to move ; The stream shall ccase to How, Ere 1 will cease to love !" COMPLAINANT.— Oh! Orlando, Orlando, liowcan you Bay so, arter a deceivin' me in the manner you have ? MAGISTRATE.— Anrf under a pretext of marrying y » n, you mean to say that the prisoner wheedled you out of ten pounds, independent ofthe respect he paid to your larder. COMPLAINANT.— Yes, yer vorsbip ; I lent him the ten pottids which I had b » en savin' for five years, and I Trefer seed any more on him, till I met him yesterday and give him into custody. A horrible tumult; with grteat loss tif lift, tbok place at Rome, on the 20th ult. An execution is an uniislii- ll thing ill that city. Three criminals of the name of Ritcozzi, were exccUted on that day,- being a man and his sister, and their nephew. They had got into the house of a rich watchmaker, of the Piazza Colonna, and had murdered his wife and daughter, and then robbed the house. The Gazette dos Tribnnanx gives the following account ofthe execution :—" An immense crowd was assembled at tight o'clock in the morning, but there was no symptom of difsturb& ttcfe ( luring the execution of two of the criminals. When the third, however, was brought upon the scaffold, he uttered the most horrible imprecations against the crowd, and pointing to it, said to the executioner, ' Oh, if I were but amongst them, how I would punish them 1 I regret life only on that account.' As if his words had found an fefcho in the crowd, no sooner had his head fallen, than horrible cries were heard, and thousands, struck with ter- ror, but scarcely knowing why, sought safety in flight. A set of wretches im- mediately took advantage of the flight and disorder, and fell upon the fugitives, tearing the rings out of the ears of the women, and openly snatching the watches ofthe men. In vain did the police attempt to interfere. The thieves and their victims were involved in a general pole- mele with dragoons and infantry, and cries of savage ferocity were mingled with those of distress, whilst the tolling of the church bells drowned the voice of the commanders of the troops, who were endeavouring to rally their men. The tumult was so great, and at one time so alarming, that atgtlie Castle of St. Angelo, the guns were loaded, and the gun- ners stood with their matches lighted in their hands. The panic spread to both banks of the Tiber, the Piazza del Popdlo, And the Capitol, where persons Were running about crylitg for aid. The crowd increased at every instant, and several dragoons were so pressed by it, as to fail from their horses, and he compelled to use their arms in their defence. At length, however, the crowd dispersed, and bodies were seen lying in the streets as. upon a field of battle. At one o'clock in the afternoon, the number of persons killed was ascertained to be 12, and 200 wounded, 50 of thettl severely. The wounded were immediately conveyed to the hospitals. More than 3d0 persons had been ( irrested by the police and the troops." The Augsburg Gazette has a letter from Rome of the 22nd ult., which states the number of persons killed to be 9, and adds, that several thrfew them- selves from the balustrades of the bridge into the Tiber, and were drowned. This letter adds, that some persons ascribe the commencement of the tumult tr the throwing of stones at the heads of the executed criminals, which were stuck upon pikes ; others say, that the populace attempted to get possession of the bodies, to drag them through the streets. The Diario of Rome says, " that it has been proved that the panic was caused by premeditated design to create a tumult, in the midst of which robbers might reap a harvest." The same paper adds, " it will not reply to reports that attribute the event to political or dis- affected motives." The prisoner upon being called upoti for his defence, treated the matter very lightly, declared upon his " honour" that he had not deceived the " old woman,'' and that the only notes he had received were those from the piano, at the concert- room at which be Was engaged. The magistrate remanded him till the following Thursday, to enable the complainant to bring forward a witness, who was present when she lent him the money, and Mr. Ezekiel Zechariah Orlando Crisp, was « s- corted to the lock- up, singing, with stentorian lungs, " Locks, bolts, and bars shall fly asunder '." MARLBOROUGH STREET. ALL A MISTAKE.— Phelim Moriarty, a red headed importation from the Emerald Isle, applied for a war- rant against one Mr. Dennis O'Maloran, for having in- flicted a wound on his napper, under circumstances which came out in the following dialogue :— MAGISTRATE.— Well, my good man, you say you want a warrant ? Against whom ? PHELIM.— Fait an it's agin dat dirty spalpeen Den- nis O'Haloran, yer worship reverance. MAGISTRATF.— And what has Dennis O'Haloran done ? PHELIM. — Mnrfher, your honour's glory. MAGISI RATE.— Whom did lie murder. PHELIM.— Murthar ! och, the divil a crniur but me- self. your excellency. MAGISTRATE, ( Laughing.)— Indeed ! has he really been guilty of that ? PHELIM.— By my sowl he has ! Bad luck to him, he made a hole in my napper big enough to bury a cat in. MAGISTIIATE.— He has not killed you outright, I see. PHELIM.— Och, sure it isn't his fault dat be hasn't, for he intended it, and nothing surer. MAGISTRATE— 1 suppose an assault warrant will suit you ! PHELIM.— He ' saulted me last night about two o'clock this morning, your serene highness! MAGISTRATE.— Did he strike yon with a stick ? PHELIM.— No, my lord, it was a small taste of a poker. MAGISTRATE.— A poker! that's a very murderous weapon. PHELIM.— Arrah ! sure your holiness, it is indeed. MAGISTRATE. — Where were you when this happened? PHELIM — Where was I ? sure, I was in bed. MAGISTRATE,— Asleep or awake ? PHKLIM.— As sound as a roach, your majesty. MAG ISTRATE,— And what provocation had you given him ? PIIELIM.— Divil a provocation at all. How could I, when I was dead drunk asleep f MAGISTRATE— What! do you mean to say he came to your bedside and struck you in this dreadful man- ner without cause f PHELIM.— Yes, yonr mightiness, barrin' he came to his own bedside instead of mine. MAGISTRATE.— His own bedside ! Were yon in his bed P PIIELIM.— Faith, you haye just guessed if, your reverance. MAGISTRATE.— And what brought y » u there ? PHELIM.— That's more than I can tell you, your ho- nour, ban- in' it was ( lie liquor. MAGISTRATE.— Was this all you did to provoke his anger ? PHELIM.— The divil a thing else, by my sowh your honour. MAGISTRATE.— Was there any other person present ? PHELIM.— Not a crature— independent of his wife dat was in bed wid me, your glace. MAGISTRATE.— And dou't you think you deserved what you got? PIIELIM.— Is it me Not I, indeed; it was all a mistake 1 MAGISTRATE.— Mistake! PHELIM.— Yes, I thought it was my own wife) in the dark. I went into the room in ft mistake* MAGISTRATE.— Well, I hope yotl committed no other mistake. You must be careful for the future. I can- not grant you a warrant. PHELIM,— Thank your majesty. If he hils hie agin, it shall go for something. By my s'owl t will give him a crack dat will knoclk hilii into the middlo of next wee. k. So, an liligant good day to your mightiness. Pulling up his unmentionables, lie hopped off in a real Irish trot. It turned out that Phelim went into fhe bed, unconscious of where he was, till Dennis gave him a gentle bint willi Ihe poker, and, fortunately, his skull was thick enough to resist the intended finisher, i The sleeping beauty of Dennis was also awoke by the shock, who gave her tender assistance in larruping the intruder out of the chamber of her lord and master. THE ORPHANS. In a quiet vallev, about a mile from tbevillage ot 15 , in Kent, stood the collage of Mary Bloomfield. It was almost buried in wood ; indeed, it seemed as if a space had been cleared in the copse to make room for it, and the little garden by which it was encircled. It was a small, but trim and snag looking dwelling; its white walls, partially covered wilh sweet briar and honey- suckle, forming an agreeable contrast to the weather- stained and moss- grown thatch. Mary had been early left a widow with two children, a girl and a boy, whom, endeared though they were by ihe memory of their gallant father, who fell in his country's battles on the plains of Egypt, she loved most affectionately for their own sakes; aud whom, by her industry, she bad been enabled to support in respecta- bility sad comfort. Before, however, the elder had attained her eighth year, their riiother was attacked by a c malignant disease, which baffled the pother of medicine, [, and, in six weeks, brought her to the " gates of the grave." It was on a calm and beautiful summer's evening, that r she was reclining upon that bed from which she was t destined never more to rise, A hand of each of ber n little weeping darlings was clasped in tier's, and at her 0 feet, in deep, but silent sorrow, stood her youngest and ^ beloved sister, Hannah. Mary felt that she was dying j yet there played upon her pale features a smile, to Q which the setting sun, as he flung his golden beams t into the chamber, imparled an almost supernatural ^ radiance, as if a foretaste of a blissful eternity bad been j, vouchsafed to smooth her passage from a world to which, i, with all its troubles, she was bound by many a tender c tie of parental and sisterly affectioli. It was a smile of thankfulness and confidence; of thankfulness for the p strength that bad beta given to her in that hour of trial, c and of confidence, for which she bad many a blessed t warrant in ihe book of life, that the great and good r Being would not desert her little ones; when the hands f that had laboured for them, were cold in the dust. Ske , had the further consolation of knowing that her sister . Hannah, who had promised to he a mother to them when . she was gone, would endeavour to bring thein up in tbe path into which it had beeu her ehief care to guide their j infant feet. , The scene soon closed : the last struggle between the j aspirations of tiie soul, and the lingering infirmities of mortality was over, and, In the following week, 1 beheld • the burial- train of Mary Bloomfield wind slowly through * the village church- yard. The simple, but touching , melody of the funeral anthem was floating on the sum- mer breeze, and was, to my ears, infinitely more solemn ( than if it had been chaunted by white- robed choristers, ; over the crave of a conqueror, and echoed by the " long drawn aisles'' of a cathedral. Its allusion to our frail and perishable nature— to our being cut down as the j " grass ot the field," was strikingly illustrated by tbe flowers which were springing tip in the path of the mouruw s, and blossoming upon the very verge of the grave. Her melancholy duty being performed, Hannah re- turned with her adopted children to the cottage, there lo seel: consolation from the holy volume whose light had guided her dear sister through the dark " valley of the shadow of death," to that blessed region where the tear shall be wiped from the cheek of the mourner, " where there shall be no more sorrow nor sighing, neither shall there be any more death." Hannah, at the period of which I am now writing, was scarcely nineteen, with a countenance remarkable only for its expression of modesty and good humour, which well accorded with the delicacy and single- heart- edness that reigned within. These qualities, however, combined with her domestic accomplishments— and they merit the title, as much ? s do the more refined acquire- ments of polished life— procured for her many and very advantageous offers of marriage ; but. friendless though she was, she would listen to nothing that could intsrfssj » . discharge it, and abundantly did she feel rewarded, as well by the consciousness of performing her du.' y, » s py the love of the dear orphans, who were growing tip m the paihs of virtue beneath her eyes. They were child- ren » f good capacities, which 6he did not suffer to re- main unimproved,— affectionate towards each' other, and warmly attached to their aunt Hannah. For three or four years, this exemplary young woman managed, by the most persevering industry, to support herself and young charges; bat, when a season of national distress arrived, aud provisions became deaf, she found herself no longer competent to the task. Things became gradually worse— they were often re- luced to a meal a day, and that meal was a erust; while, m the other hand, the want of proper nourishment endcred lier less capable of exertion, aud she began to look forward to the alternative, from which her mind had ilwavs revolted, of resigning herdarlings to the parish. Still, however, though she mourned over this reverse > f circumstances, she did riot repine ; while the natural! moyancy of youth, co- operating with the contentedness > f their dispositions, kept up the spirits of the children; lor, as they knelt down eaeh mOrn and evening, in united irayer, were their hearts less grateful, than when their • oard was spread with a more bounteous hand. It happened, one day, while theif stairs were in this tnpromising posture, that little George bad been dis- latched to the village on some errand, by his aunt, aud, > s he Was returning, his natural civility and obliging lisposition, prompted him to open a gate for a gentleman in horseback. George, without waiting for thanks, ontinued on his way, rtrhen the horseman, calling nim lack, flung him a sixpence far his trouble ; and, ng the boy to return to the village as soon as he had nade his bow for the present, became somewhat curious o know in what manner he would dispose of it. He iccordingly pulled up his horse, and watched the little ellow into a baker's shop, whence he soon emerged, arrying a loaf under his arm, and was indeed, most velcome, for they hart tasted nothing the whole day. On the following evening, Hannah was sitting at WOIK; n her little kitchen ; George and his sister, the former on . form, and the latter on her knees, were amusing them- elves with a draught- board on the Nad of a barrel, vhich, as a substitute for a table, was placed upright letween them. Their kind aunt, occasionally looking rom her wsrk upon their ljappy countenances, sigliea leeply when she considered of how short duration thei » lappiness was likely to be, and how soon they wotfld hiH ompelled to exchange her roof and care foi the wtfri^ B louse, and, it might be, hard task- masters. On a stuUfl hey beard the tramp of a horse's foot on the smI oad which led up to the cottage, and the next he door was opened by a person whom Geor^ f lized as the donor of the sixpence, and Hatint/^ B uvner of a title and a splendid domain iu tht^ H lourhood. ^^ B With the frankness and urbanity, which, to the 1; ^^ if the British nobility, the majority of them exhibit , heir inferiors, he explaiued to Hannah, that tbe bc- taviour of her nephew, on the day before, had excited lis cariosity, aud led to enquiries which resulted iu his leing made acquainted With her past history, and present : ircuinstances; and that his admiration of her conduct tad determined him in doing all he could to serve them. > fow his lordship, although very wealthy, and generous : veu to lavishness, was a sensible man, and well knew hat the happiness of persons, so far from being pro- noted, is often marred, by tlieir beiilg suddenly lifted > ut of the sphere in which they have bei'n accustomed o move. He, therefore, proposed to Hannah, that, as le was about to go abroad with his establishment for a lonsiderafole period, she should act as housekeeper at Ms nansion, in his absence, and take her little niece with ler ; while he would place George, of whose abilities he lad heard a favourable report, under his steward, promisi- ng him encouragement commensurate with his merits. It Is scarcelv necessary to say, that this proposal was lOyfdlly embraced, and it gives me pleasure to be enabled lo add, that his lordship, when he returned to England, was so well satisfied with the conduct of all ihe objects of his benevolence, that he continued to take care of their fortunes, and so effectnally, that, at the present moment, Hannah has been some years married to a sub- stantial farmer on the nobleman's estate : George has. SHCoeeded te the office of steward, while his sister is high in tbe favour and confidence of his lordship's daughter, as lady's maid. , . 1 am conscious that the sole recommendation of these " short and simple aunals of the poor" is their moral, which, as it must be obvious to ail, will, I trust, be thrown away upou none. Primarily, it illustrates the solemn, yet consolitaiy truth, that a well- gronnded con- fidence in the mercy and providence nf God, has power to make the deaUi- scene of tbe righteous, with all its anticipated bereavements, calm and happy. 1 will teach, also, that if, among the catalogue of Christian virtues, there be one which hath " the promise of this life, it is charity. An extended observation, though, alas! ai limited personal experience, has convinced me that a kind action, however it mav occasionally be met by ingratitude, is never without its reward. Further, let it inculcate the utter worthlessness of the maxim, that " charity begins at home," the plea, ( for reason it is none, of the selfish aud the cold- hearted, winch, how- ever it mav avail them before men, will be no justification before Him who hath commanded us to love our neigh- bour as ourselves. TlIE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE DEATH GRASP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE I SY THE AWTH « R OF " ElA, Till OUTCAST.'" ® * 0' ( Continued from our last> ? The astonishment of Signora Ve>-' ni and I""" daugh- ter at this singular behaviour, ex'< eded a) 1 bounds, and they were considerably alarm'-*- Assistance, however, having been proeured, Mad- rae de Floriville, after the application of such rest<- a< ives as were found neces- sary, quickly recovers-"' and to eager inquiries of Signora Venoni and'ne fair Marceline, as to the occa- sion of her sudde « illness, our heroine's mind was so bewildered tha' sbe could not give any direct answer, neither, for a minute or two, had she any recollection of what had taken place. Henri was as much surprised as the other?, but it was not at the feelings of his mother, tor his eye had en- countered the miniature, and traced instantly the re- markable likeness it bore to his unfortunate and guilty father, and he was at a loss to imagine how the same had come into the possession of her, » . nd how it was that she thus treasured it up with such affectionate care. Bv dared DOt il" k f-' r that my « « ' 7 to be solved which at Resent caused him so much anxiety, con- strained as he was to keep his real name a secret from every one. Signora Venoni and Marceline, having, as we have before stated, succeeded in restoring Madame de Flori- • ville to sensibility, again repeated their inquiries as to the cause of her sudden illness, and, at length, as re- collection suddenly flashed upon her brain, Madame de Floriville, looking eagerly towards Signora Venoni, exclaimed, in accents of terror :— " Ah ! that portrait 1 the likeness of " " Who ?" demanded Signora Venoni, in a voice of extreme agitation. " Of one who " but suddenly checking herself, " after all, it can only be fancy, and— pardon me, Sig- nora,— I am very silly to suffer myself to give way to this weakness. But, tell me, I implore you, whom does that likeness represent ?" Signora Venoni sighed deeply, and did not at first answer, but at length she said: " It is the likeness of one, whom, would to heaven I had never seen ; how many years of bitter sorrow and anguish would it have saved me. But, pray do not question me farther; I cannot— dare not answer you ! — The subject tortures me 1" " It is strange ;" observed Madame de Floriville; " but yet it cannot be 1— So singular a coincidence too; but can another have met with misfortunes equal to mine ?" " Alas! bitter indeed must have been your sorrows, Madame, if they can surpass those I have undergone ;" returned Signnra Venoni; " probably, ere long, I shall reveal to you more minutely the particulars of my me- lancholy life, and you will then, I am convinced, be satisfied that I have Indeed had my share ot affliction," The Signora now changed the subject, and seemed anxious not to return to it again ; and a strange feeling came over our heroine which she found it impossible to shake oft", and which she was equally at a loss to under- stand. The circumstance had very much disconcerted her, and she found. that it had made an impression upon her mind which she felt convinced she could not easily banish. That the miniature which Signora Venoni wore round her neck, was an exact likeness of De Floriville, she was positive, and also that, whoever the said miniature represented, was closely connected with the Signora, she was also positive within her own mind, and the more she endeavoured to faiham it, the more she became involved in a maze of fruitless conjecture. She felt a presentiment of she knew not what, and could not help thinking that something was about to take place to interrupt that tranquillity and compara- tive happiness she had lately enjoyed. She, however, determined to wait with all the patience she could mus- ter, until Signora Venoni might think proper to fulfil the promise she had given her, namely, to make her more intimately acquainted with her history, which would solve all the present doubts. She stated the circumstance to Mr. Wakefield and Mrs. St. Albyn, who were very much astonished, but expressed their firm belief that Madame de Floriville must I. ve been mistaken, but when added to ber testi- mony they had that of Henri, they were convinced that it was not a delusion, and were puzzled to make it out. Tbe day after this event, Signora Venoni complained of being very poorly, and it was easy to be seen that her illness was to be attributed to the former cause, any reference to the miniature exciting in her bosom the most violent agitation, which she seemed to struggle hard, hut in vain, to repress. Madame de Floriville observing this, avoided speak- ing upon the subject, and indulged in secret the various icleas and conflicting thoughts to which the circum- stance had given rise. Henri, however, was determined to elicit by some means or the other, those particulars with which it strongly occurred to him that his mother and himself were in some way connected, and which had excited his interest and curiosity to such a powerful degree. A few days after the occurrence which we have been relating, Henri and Marceline were seated alone'in the gardens of the Villa di Venoni, when the former took the opportunity of referring to it. " And do you not know, dearest Marceline," said Henri, " do you not know who that likeness is intended "> r I" " I do not, Henri," answered his lover, " unless it is of my father ; but my mother has always evinced violent agitation when I have put the question to nd laid such strict injunctions on my not repeating have never ventured to do so since." father!" asked Henri, " but have you no re- e of him, my love ?" whatever,'' returned the latter; " I was infant when, as I have since ascertained, he deserted me and my mother, and I believe he < er been heard of since." ' Tis strange," said Henri, thoughtfully, " and yet that striking resemblance— I cannot drive it from my recollection." " Whom did it strike you that it resembled ?" eagerly asked Marceline. " One whose name I am forbidden to speak;— my father!" replied Henri. " Your father!" repeated Marceline; " oh, it could only have been imagination; or else one of those freaks of nature which we so often see. And why are you forbidden to speak the name of the author of your being, Henri ?" " For fearful reasons which I must not divulge," answered Henri. " Does he still live ?" " 1 know not." " Wonderful 1 that there should be such a similarity in the circumstances of my mother and Madnme Le Sange," remaiked Marceline | " did your father also abandon his wife and child?" " He did not," returned Henri, " but events of a most extraordinary nature, and which I must not reveal, brought about a separation which we imagined would have been for ever. If, however, you would not harrow up my feelings with horror, dear Marcline, you will uot question me farther upon this subject; in a few days, perhaps, the Signora Venoni and my mother may be induced to confide more particularly in each other, and then everything will be explained, although I tremble at the idea of such a step, doubtful of the re- sult which may be c& niequent upon such a revelation. Tell me, Marceline, if you are acquainted with the fact, was your father an Italian 1" " He was not," answered Marceline; " he was a native of France I" " Ah!" ejaculated Henri, with the most unfeigned astonishment, " this is still more remarkable. But his name, it was not Venoni, 1 suspect." " No," returned Marceline, " that name has only been assumed iky my mother, for reasons best known to her. elf, and which 1 have never taken the liberty to in- quire into ; and you will probably be not a little sur- prised when 1 assure you that, with my real name I am entirely unacquainted," this opportunity,— long hath ' my soul panted to unbur- then itself to thee ;— that long wished for moment hath arrived at last, and ^—" She was interrupted by an ^ exclamation of the most unbounded astonishment and confusion from Henri, who, gazing upon her with a feeling indescribable, said,— ( To be continued in our next.) " Is it possible ?" " It is true. U But letTus change'the'subject; for I confess that my thoughts never for a instant revert to it, without my feeling the most acute anguish." " I Will comply with your wishes, dear Marceline, " returned Henri, " although I cannot but candidly own that the curiosity I feel to be made acquainted with every particular is almost intolerable. In spite of all my efforts to shake off such a feeling, the re- cent event has filled my mind with strange fore- bodings, and I am far from being so happy as I was previously ; I feel as if something was about to happen to prevent the consummation of that felicity we have both long looked forward to with the most anxious and sanguine hopes." " Fie, Henri," returned Marceline, " this is a weak- ness I did not think you capable of evincing. But come, let us hasten into the villa ; my mother will feel surprised that we should so long absent ourselves, more especially as she is alone." Henri took the arm of the beauteous girl without making any reply, and led her into the apartment. Sig- nora Venoni was impatiently awaiting their return, and was, on their entrance, just about to hasten to the garden to ascertain the causp of their protracted ab- sence. Nothing particular occtlred that day, fo render it worthy of being recorded in these pages, and they con- versed upon different topics, Henri, at the previous re- quest of Marceline, never venturing so mnch as to hint at the circumstance which had occasioned them so mHch excitement. It was rather late when Henri departed from the Villa di Venoni, and he therefore hurried on towards home at a quicker pace than h » was accustomed to do, fearful that Madame de Floriville, who had not felt disposed to leave home on that day, would feel un- easy. Suddenly, emerging round the corner of a street, he was startled by beholding the shadows of three men upon an oposite wall, and looking up, he saw three persons, who were enveloped in large mantles, j ust turning round the angle of a building, apparently, as if for concealment and the purpose of watching somebody. Henri's suspicions being aroused, he placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword, and kept a strict eye upon tbe spot where the men were endeavouring to conceal themsel ves. They did not appear to take any notice of his action, so he passed on, but he had not proceeded many paces, when a voice exclaimed :— " Ah 1 by hell it is him ! On, on, fellows, and wash your weapons in his heart's blood !" Henri had only just time to draw his sword, and place his back against the wall, when he found himself fiercely attacked by the Duke Monterino, and two bravoes, the former uttering the most fearful maledic- tions all the time. For a short time Henri was enabled to defend himself against the unequal and cowardly attack of the ruffians ; but he was at length overpowered and disarmed, and fell, apparently lifeless, to the earth, bleeding from the severe wounds which he had received in the body. The Duke Monterino and his two murderous creatures, hearing footsteps approaching, and imagining that the young man was dead, hurried from the spot, and were in a moment out of sight. ERNNESTINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE DEATH GRASP," ETC. ( Continued from our last.) CHAPTER XIII. THE BRIGAND'S CAVERN, How long Henri had remained in a state of insen- sibility it was impossible for him to judge; but he awoke to a sense of the most acute pain proceeding from the severity of the wounds he had received from the murderous attack of the Duke Monterino, and the bravos he had hired to assist him; and, looking round, the scene was so different which encountered his eyes to that which he had ever witnessed before, that he was completely bewildered, and for a moment or two all that had recently occurred to hiin was forgotten. " He recovers," said a voice near him; and, looking np, he beheld that it proceeded from a man standing by the side ofthe rude couch on which he was reclin- ing, and who appeared to have been ministering to his wounds. He was habited in tbe garb of a monk, and appeared to be about fifty years of age, with features strongly- marked, but bearing not the least signs of that mild and benevolent character which his dress would imply. This caused Henri to take a more minute though hasty survey of the place in which he was. It was a lofty cavern apparently hewn or formed by nature out of a rock, lighted by a large lamp, suspended by a chain from the roof, and the rays of which were unable lo penetrate to its full extent. From the ob- servations, however* which Henri was enabled so make, it seemed to be fitted up with all the comfort which could he imparted to such a place, although the arti- cles with which it was furnished were of the rudest make, and evidently the work of unskilful artizans. The person to whom the apparent monk had address- ed himself, was a tall mall, of handsome countenance, about the middle age, and whose dress left Henii no reason to doubt his real character;-— he was a bti- ' gfrnd. " Where am I, and what has brought me hither ?" demanded the young man, endeavouring to raise him- self, but weakness not permitting him to do so. " Compose thyself," said the monk, if such he was ; " thou art in safe hands, and no harm is intended thee : but thou must remain still, or the remedies I have appliedsto thy wounds will be of no avail.'* Then beckoning to the brigand, they both quitted the cavern together, leaving Henri alone, and in the utmost stale of astonishment and alarm. When they were gone, he quickly recalled his scat- tered thoughts together ; and the whole of the circum- stances that had occurred to him rushed upon his re collection. He remembered the rencontre he had had wilh the Duke Monterino anil the two ruffians, and having no knowledge of their flight, he could come to no other conclusion than that the brigands held him in their power by the Instructions of the former. This idea was, of course, attended wiih the utmost uneasi- ness, more on account of his mother and his friends, for whose distress at bis disappearance, and probable ignorance of what had befallen him, he felt most acute- ly, and was for some time in such a state of excite- ment as to be unable to reflect with any degree of reason or patience. His wounds were very severe, but they had been very skilfully attended to ; and although the pain pro- ceeding from them was very severe, he was led to suppose that they were not dangerous. The idea of the anguish his mother, and Marceline especially, were doubtless enduring, tortured him more than all, and greatly irritated the agony of his own bodily suf- ferings. In this state, for more than an hour, he remained without interruption, when, suddenly, the rays emitted by the lamp revealed to him thi dark shadow of an approaching form, and the next moment a female form stood by the side of his couch of such exquisite beauty that he had seldom seen anything to equal it. It was a young girl, apparently not more than six- teen, a lovely brunette, whose handsome Roman cast of features were modelled in the most perfect mould, and whose eyes, so brilliant, beamed forth an expres- sion that completely rivetted and entranced the soul. She was attired in an elegant dress of the brigand costume, and Which set off the delightful symmetry of her figure to great advantage ^ and her whole appear- ance was such as must have excited the deepest in- terest and admiration in the bosom of the most insen- sible beholder. Henri was quite thunderstruck, and was unable to speak; whilst the fair visitor stood gazing at him for a few moments in silence, seeming to enjoy his sur- prise, and fixing upou him glances of admiration and affection sufficient to entrance the senses. At length Henri was enabled to speak, and in tones that betrayed his feelings ejaculated,— " Beauteous damsel, who art thou, and for what purpose dost thou visit me ?" ^ iThefemale smiled sweetly, and while crimson blushes suffused her cheeks, she thus replied :— 1 " Henri Le Sange, thou art no stranger to me t thou mayest think me bold, bat long time have I sighed for TO CORRESPONDENTS. Accepted: " THE SMUGGLER'S FATE;" " THE HAPPY RETURN ;" J. CIILM M, Juur., ( Maidstone,) and the communications by G. BAYLEY. " A SPORTSMAN'S ADVENTURE," as well as the whole ef the author's previous communications, are declined. M. P.— We cannot say. The Poetry by W. U. shall be inserted as early as conve- nient. Jt We are much obliged to T. 15., ( Leicester,) for his inti- mation. He will, however, perceive that we noticed the piracy in the number before. S. L. will not suit. Part of the Solutions by P. BAXTER, shall appear; tut " THE MAID OF THE CLEAR WATER- SIDE," will not suit. We do not approve ofthe observations of MARTHA ED WARDS. T. HUBBARD. ( Finsbury.) " THE DEATH GRASP," will shortly appear in weekly numbers ; the other tale will not. The dnswer to W. S., will probably appear. " A POOR AUTHOR."— No. The attention of our numerous Subscribers are respectfully called to " LLOYD'S COMPANION TO THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," in which mrnny communications, which we ctnnot find room for in this pdper, are in- serted, together with THREE CONTINUOUS ROMANCES, by authors ofthe greatest celebrity. THE COMPANION will be found fit for the drawing- room or the cottage, and should be purchased by all lovers of fiction. The em- bellishments are ofthe most elegant description, and, in fact, the work is complete in every department, and su- perior to anything of the kind ever before published. The communications by D. A. ( Glasgow,) are respect- fully declined. Several other correspondents will be answered in our next *** All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High- street, Shoreditch. flg* GRATIS !!! ' E. LLOYD begs respectfully to inform the nu- merous Subscribers of " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE," that every purchaser of the present Number will be en- titled to a copy, GRATIS ! of No. 2 of " Liovfl's COMPANION TO THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," in order that the public may have an opportunity of seeing the vast superiority of that periodical over every other of the present day, and how far it is de- serving of support. No. 1 is now reprinting, and may be had of all Booksellers in the kingdom, containing the follow- ing original romances:— , ord!|° ANSELMO, THE AGCURSED! OR, THE SKELETON HAND. BIANCHES Oft, THE FEARFUL MYSTERY OF THE DOOMED HOUSE THE MILLER'S MAID ! 7 THE DRAMATIC TALE OP DEEDS & DOINGS OF THE DARK HOUSE! OR, SIMPLE BESS OF BILLINGSGATE. In No. 2 wiU be fsund the DRAMATIC TALE of EMILY FIT20RMQND ! Oft, THE DESERTED ONE. Now Performing at THE ROYAL PAVILION THEATRE. THE PENNY PEOPLES' AND POLICE GAZETTE. Ill the " Correspondents," our readers will find a brief notice of a New Journal, the second number of which is published this week, called " LLOYD'S COM- PANION TO THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," but which it may, probably, be necessary to explain more minutely to the general and numerous supporters of tins Pub- lication. We have, for some time past, been requested by a large portion of the subscribers to " THE PENNY SUN- DAY TIMES," to publish two numbers of that paper weekly, thus affording to the public a wider range of rational amusement, and, at the same time, ac- commodating more extensively the vast quantity of persons who communicate with this paper, and many of whom, for the want of space, have been compelled to wait for a considerable time, before their articles were inserted, a circumstance, which we can assure them, was as much a source of regret to us, as it could be a trial of patience to them. This evil we, at length determined, ( with a total disregard of expense,) to obviate; but, upon mature consideration, thinking it might not exactly meet the wishes of all our friends, were we to issue two numbers of the paper, weekly, we hit upon the plan of bringing out a Companion, pub- lished at the same price, got up precisely in the same style, but yet perfectly distinct from this paper; con- sisting entirely of original, and carefully- selected tales and romances of the most sterling merit, from the pens of authors engaged expressly for the work, and the accepted productions of our valued Corre- spondents. The first ami second numbers of this publication are now submitted to the approval of our supporters, and from the unprecedented number of letters we have received from all quarters, eulogizing the effort, we entertain uot the ltast doubt but that it will meet with all the success our utmost ambition can aspire to. We need only to add, that the future numbers of " LLOYD'S COMPANION TO TUB PENNY SUNDAY TIMES," shall equal, if not surpass, those already issued, and that we will use our utmost endeavours to render it one of the most deely- interesting periodicals of the day. The three original and continuous romances, called " BLANCHE; OR, THE FEARFUL MYSTERY OF THE DOOMED HOUSE;" —" THE MILLER'S MAID ;" and " ANSF. LMO, THE AC- CURSED; OR, THE SKF. LETON HAND," have already created an extraordinary sensation among the lovers of fiction, aud will be found as they succeed, to in- crease in interest and effect. It may, perhaps, be necessary to mention, that all articles sentfc) " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES" that are accepted, and do not find their way into that paper, will appear in THE COMPANION, and thus we shall be enabled to give the most prompt attention to all those correspondeuts it is our delight to please. In respcct to a puny attempt to copy our immensely popular paper, " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE," to which our attention has been drawn, we shall only notice it, in order to express our most superlative contempt, confident that those who have hitherto so liberally supported us, will co- operate to render all such endeavours abortive. We have now been seventy- seven weeks before the public, during which time, our exertions to amuse them have been indefatigable; that we have fulfilled every oue of the promises we have made lo our readeis ot this paper, our enormous circulation, is au undoubted proof, and when we say that, we are determined not to relax in our exertions to please them, we can with confi- dence, leave ourselves in their hands. When Lord Raymond and Sir Egbert reached the apartment in which the supposed monk was waiting, he arose, and made his obeisance to the former, but he seemed dissatisfied that he should be accompanied by the knight. His figure was tall and commanding, and there was something in his appearance altogether, which plainly denoted that the character he appeared in was only assumed. He partly raised his cowl, only revealing the upper part of his countenance sufficient, however, to shew that he was a man of about the middle age, handsome, but with a countenance deeply marked with sorrow. His eyes were dark and peculiarly penetrating, and he fixed them earnestly upon Lord Raymond, as though he would read his thoughts, and ascertain whether lie could confide in him. Lord Raymond was Convinced that lie was not the same individual who had appeared to him on a former occasion, which we have described. " Holy Father," said Lord Raymond, " what wouldst thou with me ?'' " My business is with thee," answered the itfan, " aud with thee alone." " Sir Egbert de Conrcy is my friend," said his lord- ship, " aud whatever may be thy business with me, thou need'st not fear to mention it in his presence." " Pardon me, my lord, returnee-! the supposed monk, " but I would rather that what 1 have to communicate, should reach thy ear alone." " I like not the mystery of thy manner," observed Lord Raymond ; " who art thou ?" " Thy friend," answered the stranger. " How am 1 to be satisfied of that ?" demanded Lord Raymond. " My conduct shall prove it. Thou need'st not fear trust me; but, if the knight, Sir Egbert, doth not wi draw, t shall decline to impart that which I came here for the express purpose of doing. I would serve thee." " How?" " Let Sir Egbert retire, and I will inform thee;'* " I repeat that thou mayest trust him." " Probably I may, but I would rather not run the hazard. 1' lie business I have come upon is of the ut- most consequence, aud thou wilt not blame me for the caution 1 have made use of, when thou art acquainted with it." " My presence shall not be any obstacle to the business thou hast come upon, monk, said Sir Egbert, whose curiosity was, however, much excited by the manner of the stranger ;—" I will withdraw." With these words, Sir Egbert de Courcy retired into an adjoining apartment, and Lord Raymond and his mysterious visitor were left alone. " Now, Holy Father, if such thou really art," observed his lordship, " thy business ?" " lam no monk, Lord Raymond," said the stranger, " suffice it to say that 1 am sincerely thy friend, and would assist thee in the accomplishment of a deed which, no doubt, at present, occupies thy thoughts, and. upon which, I presume, that a great portion of thy happiness depends." " What meanest thon ?" " May 1 trust thee ?" " Thou mayest, but why should'st thou doubt me ?" " My lite, and tnat which ought to be as dear to the* as life, depends upon your conduct, and therefore, thou need'st not marvel that I should be so cautious," an- swered the mail. " I pledge thee my honour," observed Lord Raymond, " that, if thy intentions are just, to do all that thou canst wish." " Enough ; 1 will take thy word," said the man. " Who and what art thou ?" repeated Lord Raymond. " It matters uot tor thee to know more than that I have already informed thee," answered the mysterious stranger, " namely, that I am thy friend, aud would serve thee." " Give me, then, the proof," demanded Lord Ray- mond; " I will. The Lady Marguerite, thy fair sister, is at present in the power of the robber- chief, Osmond, the Avenger ?" " True,— what of that?" " Thou would'st rescue her from it, but have not the means?" said the man, " force thou hast tried, but with- out effect, and it is by stratagem thou caust alone hope to accomplish thy designs. To- morrow, it is the in- tention of Osmond to force her to become his bride, and, therefore, there is no time to be lost." " My sister, the bride of tbe robber- chief!" cried Lord Raymond, in a tone of indignation, " by the saints, that shall never be. She must, she shall be saved 1" " She must," repeated the man, " but it can only be effected by mv assistance." " How so ? and why shouldst thou, who art an entire stranger to me, take such an interest in anything which concerns me ?" asked Lord Raymond. " Because I detest the conduct of Osmond, in this instance, and the situation of the Lady Marguerite hath excited my sympathy," auswered the man. " If thou wilt trust to me, 1 will conduct thee and thy friends to- morrow, by a secret passage, known but to few, to the retreat of robbers, where, taking them by surprise, thou mayest succeed in rescuing thy sister from the situation in which she is placed." " Aye! sayest thou so, stranger?" said Lord Ray- mond, in a tone of pleasure, " there then wilt prove thy- self to be indeed my friend ; but art thou siucere ?" de- manded the man ; " wilt thou trust me ?" " 1 will I will;" eagerly returned his lordship; but thy offer is so unexpected, that it completely overwhelms me. 1 fain would know to whom I shall be indebted for this kindness; a service which nothing can ever re- pay." " Aly name I must decline to reveal," said the stranger, " lama man, however, deeply oppressed with care, and have suffered severely from the injustice ot those from whom I had tbe least right to expect it; but 1 yet possess a heart which can sympathise ill the distresses of suffering innocence. But I must begone. Thou wilt, then, avail thyself of the offer I have made to thee." " With the most unbounded pleasure," answered Lord Raymond, speaking sincerely what he felt; " but where, and at what hour shall I meet thee ?" " To- morrow evening, when darkness hath veiled the earth ; in the forest, near the parricide's stone," an- swered tbe man ; " let thy followers be close at hand, and leave the rest to me !" " Stranger, again I thank thee ;" said Lord Raymond, " 1 will do as thou directest me; but thinkest thou that success will attend us ?" " That depends entirely upon the precaution thou usest; thy firmness, promptitude, and determination," answered the stranger, " 1 will conduct thee to the place, as I have promised thee, aud then thou must act as thine own judgment and the circumstances may dic- tate. Farewell, till we meet again." Before Lord Raymond could make any reply, the stranger had quitted the ioom, and hastily retired from the castle, leaving him in a state of astonishment, which may be easily imagined. Sir Egbert de Courcy, when he heard the stranger de- part, hastened to rejoin Lord Raymond, so that he might be made acquainted with the nature of the busi- ness upon which the mysterious stranger had sought an interview with his lordship. When he was informed of what had taken place, the promise which the stranger had made him, his surprise was no less than that of Lord Raymond, and he was at a loss to conceive who the individual could be lo take such an interest in the affair. Sanguine hope, however, was readily admitted to his bosom, and he looked forward to the following evening with the greatest impatience. The joy of Lady Celestine and our heroine, was un- bounded when thev were made acquainted with the cir- cumstance, but, at the same time, they could not help occasionally fearing that treachery was intended ; this apprehension, however, was strongly coinbatted by Lord Raymond, who was convinced from the stranger's uinn- ner, that he was sincere in what he offered, and there was a candour iu his general behaviour, which was suffi- cient to do away with suspicion. The astonishment and indignation of Ernnestine when she heard of the singular behaviour of Gedfrey, upon the application which " sir Egbert and Lord Raymond had made to him, may be imagined without much difficulty, and she was completely at a loss to account for it. Such a refusal seemed so unreasonable, and was in such direct opposition to his general character, that had she been informed of his conduct by any other persons than his lordship and Sir Egbert, she could scarcely have credited it. Resentment at his unfeeling and dishonourable be- haviour, filled her bosom, and she determined, when next she saw him, to dtmvid of him au explanation, aud to upbraid him severely for the remarkable manner in which he had acted. As the reader may, probably hare Messed, the stranger who had visited the castle and offered his services to Lord Raymond, was Ulric, who, unable to couquer bis repugnance to the conduct of Osmond in respect to Lady Marguerite, had come at last to the determination, at all hazards, to assist in effecting her escape from his power. This resolution he kept so secret, that he did not even divulge it to Blanche. In the meantime, the misery and fears of Lady Mar- guerite were mnch augmented, since the defeat which her brother had sustained, and owing to the increasing boldness and importunities of Osmond, and she began to despair of being rescued from the fate with which she was threatened. What added greatly to ber alarm was, the account which Blanche gave her of the arrival of the bandit monks, aud the Archers of Merceywood at tiie castle, and the formidable state of defence it was conse- quently placed in ; and it was with the utmost difficulty that the remonstrances and soothiugs Of Blanche, could have the least effect towards alleviating her agony and terrors. At length, Osmond bade her prepare to become his bride, and fiited the time, when he expressed his de-< termination that the Ceremony should take place, a reso- lution which he publicly announced to his lawless com- panions, who received it with rude shouts of satisfaction. We will not attempt to describe the anguish of Lady Marguerite upon this ; she was* indeed, in it state bat' dering upon distraction, and entirely deaf to the ex- postulations of Blanche, who, it is needless to say, Waai very much affected, knowing, as she did, the determina- tion of Osmond, and that he would not fail to put his threats into execution. Again and again, wi^ plasperf hands, aud a heart tortured to distraction flslrsI) pp I i- cated the protection of Heaven, and implored « fcr death rather than to be doomed to that fate wicht which she iad been threatened. " My poor mother," she exclaimed, " how terrible will be thy sufferings when thou hearest of the unhappy, the dangerous, the degrading situation of thy child ! — And thou, my brother, what can ever appease thlBe anguish. But thou wilt not rest, I am convinced thou wilt not, until thou hast devised some plan to rescue me, and I will not yet entirely despair. No, there is yet f< yom for hope, however small it may be. Little, indeed, was there any canse for hope, and when the morning dawned, which Osmond had informed her must make her his bride, its rays were entirely extin- guished in her bosom, and she gave herself np for lost. She trembled at every footstep she heard, lest it should be the robber- chief coming to put his threat into exe- cution, and at length her feelings were Worked np to such a pitch, that they were almost insupportable, and the en- postulations of Blanche were completely lost upon her. Ill this manner, the morning past away, and Osmond did not make his appearance, but she was convinced from one circumstance, that his ressolution was unaltered. When Blanche entered lief apartments first thing in the morning, she brought with her a beautiful bridal dress, which she informed Lady Marguerite she had been commanded by Osmond to desire hef tci attife herself ill. Marguerite turned from it with a look of disgust, and a feeling of wour. ded pride and modesty which needs no description, and then said :— " Take It away, good Blanche ; never will I coSseti* to assume a dress so contrary to my feelings '.— The bare thought of an union with that fearful man, strikes the most indescribable horror to my heart, and neither force nor anything else shall ever make me yield roy consent to become his bride. No, he shall stretch me a corpse at his feet first." Blanche could not offer anything in reply fo this, but the assurances of her deepest sympathy, aud the time passed on » ntil the afternoon approached. They conld, at intervals, hear a considerable bnstle in tbe place ; persons were passing hastily to and fro along the different corri- dors and galleries, and everything gave alarming note of preparation. In the same manner, the afternoon wore away, and evening sat in, and still the robber- chief, much to the astonishment of Lady Marguerite, did not make his appearance. At length, however, she heard a hasty and heavy foot fall approaching along the gallery, which opened upon the suite of apartments in which she was confined ; hef heart beat violently against her side; a deadly chill fell upon her limbs, and convulsed her whole frame, and she was so violently agitated altogether, that she could with difficulty support herself) she was not long kept in suspense, the room door was thrown open, and the next moment, Osmond, the robber- chief, stood before her. He was very elegantly attired, and his whole appear" ance was so different to what it had previously !> cen, that Lady Marguerite conld scarcely believe it was the same. His tall and comtnandieg figure was shown off to the best advantage, and there was a smile of joyfnl ex- pectation upon his still handsome couutenance, which, under any other circumstances would have created in- terest and admiration. He advanced towards Lady Margurite, who was too much bewildered and agitated to offer any resistance, and taking her hand, pressed it respectfully to his lips, while be said:— " Beauteous Marguerite, Osmond comes to claim hi? bride ; this evening makes thee mine for ever !— But how is this ?— No bridal dress ?— No preparations for the ceremony ?" " Stand off, robber '.— outlaw !— assassin '." cried Mar- guerite, indignantly, and tearing herself from his hold ; —" thy touch ; thy sight is loathsome to me ! Marguerite become thy bride !— Oh, sootier would she die beneath tbe murderer's blade ; rather would she court that death with which thou didst threateu her to her brother; any doom, however horrible, is preferable to a lite of shame and degradation with thee !" " Nay, sweet Marguerite," returned Osmond, in an insinuating tone," niethinks thou art too severe. Thou must not treat me with this freezing coldness, when I swear that thou hast full possession ot my heart, and shall receive every affectionate indulgence and attention which thou canst wish for. It is true, that, in order to stay the effusion of blood which would otherwise have taken place, I did threaten thee with death, unless thy brother did withdraw his forces, but thinkest thou that 1 conld ever have perpetrated the deed?— Oh, no, no;— but, come, the priest awaits us; my impatient feelings will not brook farther procrastinations ; to the chapel! to the chapel '.— Attend us, Blanche !" " Release me, ruffian '." screamed Marguerite, strug- gling violently in his grasp ; but her efforts were all un availing; and at length, overpowered with fear aud emo- tion, the maiden fainted. Osmond then raised her in his arms, aud commanding Blanche to follow to the chapel ofthe castle, he hurried from the place. ( To be continued in our next.) A FRACMENT. Hush 1 again I listen to the child of Imagination, a spell bound me as it were to the spot; and prompted me to tarry longer. Hist 1 she tunes her harp ; and, O 1 Heavens, what magic is there In the sqpud, as she warbled forth a tale ot hopeless passion. Yobng and lovely ss she was, who could believe that despondency lurked in her heart. Gentle reader, pity her woe, and drop a tear to bestow her memory. She was once as gay as the merriest of the throng, but chance introduced a form before her eyes, and blighted her tranquillity. No longer did that soft, bewitching nymph smile, as she was used, ami she permitted her light hair to hang wildly o'er her shoulders. There was something so hea- venly and enchanting in her movements, that my irlef was ba- nished for awhile, and I left In ecstaeies. Poor thing, I shall never erase from my mind that smite of hers. I pitied her anguish, fur site can never hope to aspire so bigh as to the proud being whom she loved. « * « *** I hare seen her again, and conversed with her ; bawltching girl, thy voice still vlbratfs in my ears; there is magic in its sound. Ah, lady, frown not thus coldly upon me; reflect what thy fate Is, and smiie, only oue little ? mlle to cheer me. The world seems as a blank before me; all is dull - darkness. She, too, is proud, haughty; what cao possess her? Surely she delights in torturing her victims. CROSS READINGS. His Royal Highness Prince Albert has several times expressed a wish to— light Deaf Burke for 100 guineas. Bez and Sergeant Talfourd were seen yesterday tveniug under Temple Bar— tossing for two- pennyworth of oysters. The Marquis of Waterford has just returned— from Bedlam, where he has been detained in a state of iusanity for upwards of eight years. Mr. George Robins has just received Instructions to sell, without reserve— the Emperor of China and all his suit. Mr. Forrester, the active Gity police officer, has received orders from the Lord Mayor, to seise immediately tlioBe weU- kuown offenders— the Industrious Fleas. Monsieur Jullien, of Druiy- lane, his been engaged to perform at Vauxhiill— on the mouth organ. The Princess Royal hits several times expressed a desire to eat— the wooden pavement in Oxlord- street. Dan O'Connell lately gave a dinner to his political friends of Kerry, and amongst other delicacies that graced the board wr- re— bread and cheaee aud onions, He afterwards sung ' Jim Along Josey.' TlIE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE ROYAL FAVOURITE. AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE. ( Continual from our last.) CHAPTER XVI. ON being perfectly assured that life had entirely fled, Bahingtou hastened to the vaults, and having pro cured assistance, the body » f Black Will was removed from the nave, and all traces of blood carefullv effaced. Bnbington then proceeded to the Jerusalem Chamber,* where he had ordered Gregory and Essex to await him, and the latter was conducted in silence through several long vanlted passages, until they reached a small cham- ber, cut in the solid wall, and which was lit only by a single lamp. This chamber had formerly been used by the monk", as a place of imprisonment for their frailer brethren, and, wilh its rusty ring- bolts, and damp mouldering walls, brought fearfully to mind lite silver- ings of the many unfortunate victims Who had chantied to incur the dread vertgeartce of the church, and had beert left to linger oil t A miserable existence within its gloomy precincts. Shut out from the light of heaven— deterred front the converse of anv human being, ( for even their gaoler, once perhaps their friend, was not allowed to exchange a word with them)— inhaling the hoxious and pestilential atmosphere of their dungeon, life grew dark nnd wretched, and death appeared to them in a brighter and milder form— as a pitying angel J- eleaslng them from pain and misery, and Welfcortling them to a happier and blisfiil state. " Halt 1" said fiabingtoti, as lie closed the ddor after them. '' It isagainsi my oath to conduct you further, unless you conseHt fo be blindfolded." " And Fof what parpose ?" asked Essex, in surprise. il Am I not one of you ?" 11 In intent you are," returned Babington ; " and the danger in which you stand, through having the anger of the queen, would have been sufficient to have caused rue to plane implicit reliance on your word of honour. Bat my oath to my companions is sacred, and mast Be kept inviolable." " Be it so, then," murmured Esse*; with impatience ; and in the next Instant his head was covered with a thick bahdage, And he felt himself led from the vaulted thamher by a different door from that by which they had erttered. For some time was he led on in silence through innumerable passages, and his patience Was beginning to fail, when the bandage was withdrawn from his eyes, and he found himself In a large room, filled on both sides by riumhers of the conspirators, many of whom he fefcognised, and all well armed. At the tipper end of the room sat six figures, wrapped in dark mantles, and wearing masks, for the purpose of fcbnfcealing their countenances. Not a sound was heard in the whole assembly, anil E « sex stood alone in the middle of the chamber, Babington having left him to take his place among his comrades. w By what name are you called, and for what pur- pose are yon here I" asked a deep- totted voice from among the masked conspirators. " 1 am called Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. My purpose is to join with you in this conspiracy, not from any l » ve 1 bear to your religion, but to seek my bwn private revenge. I came not by my own seeking; so. if mv words please thee not, let me depart whence I came," , V Will you take tbe oath to be faithful to this holy cause, whatever may be the consequences that may follow ?" " I will.". " We are satisfied. Now, behold the fate of one who would have betrayed us." As he spoke, the conspirators removed a cloth from a table before them, and displayed to the astonished gaite of Essex, the body of Black Will, transfixed with innumerable daggers. Essex turned in horror and dis- gust from the bleeding corpse, when another sight, equally horrifying, met his startled gaze. From the vaulted ceiling, almost touching him, sWHng the bodies of Harry the Ranter Mid Walter, the latter bleeding from a fearful wound in the head. Their faces were turned towards him, and their ghastly eyes almost pro- truding from their bloodless sockets, seemed to be bent on him in horrible mockery. Intent on gaining the promised reward, they had lost no opportunity ; n fathoming the mystery involved in the vaults of the abbey, and they soon traced it to its right source. On the following morning, had it not been for the fortunate rencontre of Babinglon with Black Will, the whole of the conspirators would have been in the safe custody of the lieutenant of the Tower. Harry the Ranter and Walter had immediately been pursued by a party ofthe conspirators, and now played their part in the fearfHl initiation of Essex. It was some minutes ere Essex recovered from his surprise, and then he was welcomed by the voice of his friend, Southampton, who, throwing off his mask, now advanced towards him, accompanied by Babing- ton. " Welcome, thrice welcome,' noble Essex,'' said Southampton. " I have long wished for this oppor- tunity, but was deterred from asking you to join us until the loss of Elizabeth's favour should make yon seek us, rather than we seek you." " Mv hopes are all, indeed, at an end at the court," replied Essex, gloomily, his conduct at his last inter- view with the queen reverting to his mind, " and my future fortune must be earned by my sword, at the ex- pense of her who made me what I am." When he ceased speaking, Babington beckoned him to take his seat nt the upper end of the apartment, where he was soon joined by Windsor, Salisbury, Tilney, Tichborne, Gage, Travers, Barnewell, Chas- wick, and several other men of the Catholic party, for the purpose of deciding on instant measures for de- throning Elizabeth, and placing Mary Stuart in her stead. The inferior nctors in this scene retired re spectfully to the other end of the vaults, and awaited in silence the result of the council. Bahington, as the concoctor ofthe conspiracy, in the arrangement of the special parts which each was to perform, assumed for his own share the most romantic nnd least- guilty portion of the enterprise, by under- taking the liberation of Mary from her place of con- finement. Essex, Southampton, nnd Salisbury, were, on the morrow, to assemble their respective retainers ; nnd, in conjunction with the other conspirators and their vassals, were to attempt the possession of the city of London, in which they hoped to be materially assisted by the Roman Catholic inhabitants. Savage bad already undertaken the assassination of the queen for which purpose he had obtained a situation in the court. He was at present absent from the council, bul his arrival waB anxiously looked for, as it was abso' lutely necessary that his part in the conspiracy should be timed as near as possible with that of the rest. All arrangements being completed, a silence reigned throughout the chamber, and eRCh conspirator, awed by the stillness of the place, and the natnre of their pre^ vious proceedings, gave himself up to thought, nnd im patiently awaited the arrival of Savage. An hour passed away in this manner, and still he came not; when they were suddenly alarmed by the sound of the abbey bell, tolling fearfully distinct, and echoing sul- lenly through the vaulted passages. The whole as- sembly started to their feet, as with one accord, and gazed fearfully at each other in anxions wonderment. " Who has done this!" asked Babington, in a stern voice. " What means that bell P" Not a voice replied to his question ; not a sound was heard but the dismal tolling of the bell, which still continued without intermission. " By our Lady I" he continued, in alarm, drawing his sword, " but this noisy bell must be stopped, or we * A, hort anecdote respecting this chamber will not be unln tereatlng to many of our r. atlers. It Is noted for having been the piace where Heniy IV. breathed his last; he hud been selied with a swoon while praylnK bifore the shrine of St. Edmund t and being carried into this room, asked, on recovery, wkere be wai. Heln^ Informed, he answered, to use the words of Shakspere, founded on history,— " Laud he to Cod I— ever here my life mint end. It hath bei'n prophecied to me many years, J ' should not die but In Jeruantem, Which vainly I supposed tha HOLY LAND I" shall have the whole country about our heels ere we can make our escape. Gregory I" he cried to the man who had conducted them to the vaults, " follow me in- stantly, and the false traitor, whoe'er he is, shall re- ceive hisjust reward." But the man hesitated, anJ Babington's angry glance at once perceived that terror had unnerved him. " I pray you go not, sir," said Gregory ; " or if you go, let a sufficient number accompany you. That, bell is tolled by no mortal hand, and it is ominous of bad success to our enterprise." " Silence, poltroon I" exclaimed Babington, furiously, perceiving the elfect this speech had on the more ig- norant of the conspirators. " Stand back, all of ye. If no one will accompany me, I will brave the danger, if there be any, by myseif." " I will bear ydtt company," said Essex, rising from his seat. " Let us be speedy, dr all will be lost." " And I I and I I" echoed seVertil ( if thfe others. " The IJari of fcssei and itusclf will be sufficient," returned Babin^ triti. " Our numbers might betray us." ' l'hey were about to reply, but he impatiently waved his hand, and, beckoning to Essex, rushed from the chamber. They quickly reached the belfry, but, as they entered it, the bell ceased, and a silence, the more deep from the previous sullen intonations of the bell, reigned around. Thu place was apparently empty, an » l, after a strict search, Babington and Essex re- turned to the vaults, their opinions as to the cause being slightly tinged with superstition. The conspirators Were impatiently awaiting their re- turn, ahd anxious and fedrful looks were turned upon tbem as they entered the chamber. " We have been unable to discover the cause of this mystery," said Babington; 41 but, as the bell has ceased, we may yet be safe." Before he had finished speaking, the bell tolled louder than before, and the sonnd of loud voices min- gled with its sullen roar. In an instant the vault was in confusion, and numbers of the conspirators were hastening from the Chambeh " Hold, We are betrayed, and surrounded!" ex- claimed a voice in the passage leading to the vault, and in the next instant Savage, panting with exertion, entered. He was instantly surrounded and besieged with innumerable questions. " Information of our projects was received at the Tower this afternoon, and the queen in stittrm directed that a party of trodps should march at once for the Abbey, and I, in the performance of my duty, was to accompany thein. The tolling of the bell was to be the signal for our approach, and the gates of the western porch were left open for our entrance. I man- aged to escape from them without being noticed; and gaining the abbey before them, closed tho gates, and thus have opposed a barrier to their progress for a short time. But it cannot keep them out many minutes if there are traitors among us. Let a party be de- spatched at once to their defence, while the others climb the toWers, from whenCe the soldiers beneath can be assailed by our calivers and other fire- arms, and kept at bay until assistance can be procured." A party instantly left the vault, and proceeded to the gates, which they fastened as firmly as they could, and a number, ander the direction of Salisbury, hastened to the walls. " My Lord of Southampton," said Babington, " yonr retainers are now in London. You must join them at once; and, by inflaming the minds of the citizens against Elizabeth, raise such a flame as it will be dif- ficult to quench, and hasten to our assistance." " It shall be so," replied Southampton. " But how shall I leave the abbey unobserved ?" " There is a passage leading hence to the water's edge; a small boat will convey you, unobserved, to the bridge, and we will distract the attention of the soldiery from that quarter." " I will accompany my friend," said Essex, inter- rupting him. " Is your lordship already tired of our company P" asked Babington, suspiciously. " I will answer for my friend's fidelity," said South- ampton ; " and his interest with the citizens, who have murmured much at his lale imprisonment in the Tower, will greatly forward my mission." " I am satisfied," replied Babington, opening a massive iron door at the further end of the vault. " This passage leads straight to the water's edge. Be cautious and speedy, and all will yet be well. I will rejoin our comrades, and prepare to give our enemies warm reception." He pressed their hands, and closing the door upon them, hastened to the western gates. The two friends soon gained the termination of the passage, and found the boat, into which they stepped without hesitation. They had just pushed from the shore, when a dark figure appeared in the entrance to the passage they had quitted, and exclaimed, in a deep voice, " Thou flyest in vain from thy fate.— Either road is pregnant with death— the one by the sword, the other by the axe. Farewell I we meet but once again," and he dis- appeared in the darkness. What madman have we here ?" asked Southamp- ton, in astonishment. " Let us put back instantly, and pursue him." Rather let us fly his presence," replied Essex, wilh unconcealed dread, " for nought but danger ever greets his coming. His ways are wrapt in myst- jry and he wears the semblance of one long since num- bered with the dead— my most deadly enemy— and pursues my steps with unrelenting vengeance. He it must have been who has betrayed us— he it was who tolled the bell, the signal for their approach. Let us gain the centre of the stream, fur I cannot feel safe until beyond his influence." Southampton saw the effect that the stranger's words had had on his friend, and complied with his request in silence. The boat gained the middle of the river, and glided rapidly on its way, the shouts and cries of the besieging soldiers, who had commenced their at- tack, calling forth their greatest exertions. On leaving the earls, Babington joined the conspi- rators at the western gates, and found that the soldiers had already made an onset, and attempted to force the gates, but bad been repelled by the party on the sum- mit of the towers, who, sheltered by the battlements, poured forth volley after volley upon them. Some- what daunted by this repulse, they retired to a little distance from the abbey, aud deliberated upon their further proceedings. " Try fire I— try fire!" shouted several voices. Burn the accfrtSed Catholics in their dens." This suggestion was immediately put into execution, and they separated in different directions to proeure combustibles. This was soon obtained, and, with the loss of several men, deposited beneath the great gates. But no one was found hardy enough to fire the heap, for it was certain death to any one who might attempt it. several glistening barrels shewing themselves from the summits of the two towers. Meanwhile the con- spirators were not idle ; large blocks of marble were carried to the gallery which joins the towers, and so placed that the slightest movement would hurl them upon the heads of any who should approach the gates. Buckets were filled with water, for the purpose of ex- tinguishing the flame, in case of their succeeding in lighting the heap, and guards were placed at the other entrancea of the abbey, to prevent treachery from within, those entrances being impregnable without cannon, and they awaited with anxiety the movements of the enemy. Babington went from one part to an- other, encouraging tbe men by words and promises of future reward in case of succcss, and succeeded also in working their feelings up te the highest pitch of re- ligious enthusiasm. At length a shout of triumph rose from the soldiers, and one of them advancing, shot an arrow, tipped with some blazing flax, into the centre of the heap, which instantly burst out in a sheot of flame, but which was us instantaneously extinguished by the buckets of the besieged. Several morn ineffectual attempts were made with the like success, and it was then given up Ladders were then procured, and an attempt was made to gain a footing upon the gallery. No opposition I was marie lo this, until Ihey had nearly reached the top, I nhen the ladders were pushed back by main force, and voted heads. Shrieks of horror and despair resounded through the air, and full one- third of the soldiers lay stretched dead before the gates. Ere they could recover from their confusion, the conspirators, in a body, made a desperate rally from the gates, and succeeded in cutting their way through the bewildered and frightened soldiers. " To Lond « p1 To London I" shouted Babington, and the whole party hastened in that direction, followed slowly by their discomfited enemies. ( To he continued.) [ We beg to apoligize to our Numerous Subscribers for having omitted the 7th Chapter of " THE ROYAL FAVOURITE," in No. 70, but which we now insert as VII.*] I the blocks of marble hurled thundering upon their de- CHAPTER VIL* THE t'IRE— TltE AlitiuCTION, The instant Essex turned his back on the " Fighting Cocks," Walter hastened to the Cockpit, and beckon- ing to several suspicious- looking men who were loiter- ing about the place, told them to follow him. They in- stantly left the pit, and soon found themselves snugly ensconced in the little room previously occupied by Essex. Walter ordered his wife to bria'g a large tankard of Huffcap, and. plying them with plentiful po- tation^ by degrees worked up their feelings to the high- est pitch of good nature. At length one of them e* e1aime « l, surprised at Wai- ter's Unwonted liberality. " You have not toid Us what you wanted us for yet, Walter. I don't suppose We're to have all this good cheer without doing something: fof it?" 6 " You are right, Reginald," replied Walter, " qaite right. As I never do anything without being paid myself, I don't expect it from others.— You will re- member that little affair of the lady that we carried off to Fdthringay Ctistlfe a f » W months ago ? You were well paid for that." " Aye, aye! that was a golden job, indeed," they re- plied with one voice. " Well, then, comrades," said Walter, displaying the purse of gold he had received from the earl. " 1 have just snch another one for you this very night. Only re- collect, as I find the job, I have the greatest share." " Oh I that's but fair I" exclaimed the one whom Wai. ter had addressed as Reginald. " And now let us know what throats we're to cut, or what lady we are to carry off!" As he spoke, he drew his clasp knife gently over the tops of his huge boots, and passed his hand across his throat, as If enjoying the idea by anti- cipation. " No blood must be spilt, if we can help it," said Walter. " But let's to business." And he proceeded at once to explain the matter more clearly to them, with- out, however, mentioning the name or title of their em. ployer. " And now all that We've got to do," he con. tinucd, " Is lo devise some stratagem by which to get possession ofthe lady." " That's very easy done," muttered one of them, an old mart, of such an uncouth, ill- favoured, villanous aspect, that he seemed to have grown grey in iniquity. " Can't we smoke her out like a badger ?" " What does the man mean ?" asked Walter, with an inquiring look to his companions. ' " Black Will never speaks without a meaning," said another, known by the name of Harry, the Ranter. " So speak out, old fellow, and tell us plainly what you pro- pose." " The foul fiend assoilse ye, for a set of lazy loiels," he muttered to himself; " your wit's are always wool- gathering. Well, then, in plainer words, let us fire the house, and escape with the lady in the confusion." " By iny troth !" exclaimed Walter, " but it's a dar- ing enterprise. It will, however, prevent our being pursued, as they will fancy that she has perished in the flames. Now, my roisterers, let's drink this can to the good success of our plans, and then separate to meet again at dusk." They raised their jugs to drink the toast, when a knocking was heard at the door of the. room, and on opening it, the samechild who had fetched Walter from the ' Cockpit' appeared, manifesting great alarm. " Father," she exclaimed, " the officers are over at the * Cockpit'looking for you, and Harry the Ranter; and the gsntleman you took the buckles from, at the " Fortune gardens, is with ' em, too. They'll be here directly." " Rather awkward, if we hadn't been warned in time," he said, turning to Harry the Ranter, who looked rather aghast at this unwelcome intelligence. " Now, girl, run to the door, and, when they knock, keep ' em out as long as you can." The girl hurried away, and Walter, turning to his companions, said,— " Harry and I must run to earth for a short time, like the badger Black Will was talking of smoking ont. When the lags are gone, you'll let ns know." And then, displacing two or three ofthe boards composing the flooring, discovered a small flight of steps, which he descended, followed by H irry. The rest, replacing the planks, continued their carousing as if nothing had hap- pened, until the officers, after an unsuccessful search, left the house. They then liberated Walter, and Harry, and separated to prepare for their evenings en- terprise. We will now return to Gilbert and Effie. When Gilbert reached his father's bouse, hefound old Philip in a state of the greatest anxiety at the prolonged absence ofhis fair charge, and on being informed of the real cir- cumstances ofthe case, insisted Effie should be told who her lover Richard de Vacouleurs, really was, as he was certain that such a proceeding would decidedly prevent a recurrence of the events of the previous day. After some hesitation, Gilbert agreed to the prudence of this proposal, as latent hopes began to revive in his heart, that that love she now lavished on Essex, might one day be bestowed on himself, and, on the following morn- ing, he hastened to the abbey, to release the good old dame from ber charge, and to conduct Effie home. Philip met ihem at the porch, and embraced Effie ten- derly, but did not allude in the slightest degree to what had passed 011 the preceding day. She replied only by tears. " My dear girl," said Gilbert, " yon had better re- tire to your chamber till you recover your composure." Effie thanked him with a look, and was retiring into the house, when a number of people hearing what ap- peared to be the body of a female, attracted her atten- tion. " What bear they there, Gilbert?" she asked in a voice tremulous with emotion. As Gilbert turned in the direction she pointed to, the bearers stopped opposite the door, and set down their burthen. It was apparently the figure of an elderly woman, of respectable appearance, her clothes com- pletely saturated with water, and her face covered with a cloth. " Then his has been foul play here, Master Gilbert," exclaimed a little burly man, who held the responsible situation of Sacristan to Westminster Abbey. " If I mistake not, this is the body of Dame Margaret, Mas- ter Philip's housekeeper." " Aye, aye," exclaimed several others, " and there's a tight ro;. ie round her neck, too." " I have murdered her ! 1 have murdered her !'' shrieked Effie, as rushing forwaid, she threw herself franticly upon the body. " Back, back I all of ye," shouted Gilbert, dashing severnl of the men to the ground, as they closed around the body, some in astonishment, and some with the in- tention of securing the person of Effie, mistaking her words for a self- aceusation as the actual murderer. " You cannot suppose that so young and fair a crea- ture can be guilty of such a heinous crime. Father,'' he continued turning to Pililip, " assist me to carry the poor girl into the house ; while some of these fellows will run for a leech," and as he spoke he threw some silver among the men, several of whom instantly started off in different directions to procure the necessary assis- tance. " They now conveyed Effie to her chamber, and the body of Margaret was deposited in one of Ihe lower rooms. The leech soon arrived, accompanied by a nurse, and to their care was E^ fie confided, while Gil- bert and his father returned to the room where the body was deposited, and where the sacristan was awaiting further orders respecting it. " ' Tis a most mysterious affair," at last said Philip, after a careful examination of the cord which was round the unfortunate woman's neck. *' Where did you find the body P" " A fisherman found it on shore opposite Lambeth Palace, early this morning," replied tbe sacristan, " and brought it to the. Abbey. I fancy I have a clue to the affair, though, for the cord looks very much like the string ofa cross- bow, and, if you recollect, the man who carried her off with the lady, carried one at his saddle, for I was at the fair, and saw the whole concern. They mast have found her cumbersome whep parsneil, and so got rid of her by strangling and throwing her into the Thames." " By Heavens!" exclaimed Gilbert, " it must be so, for she was not with tbeiii in the chapel last night. Oh; that such a man should possess the affections of a soul so pure as that of Effie." " The body had better remain here till the morrow," id iii » uxrt. t. n I' when Master Searchem, the said the sacristan, crowner will arrive. But it will be useless saying that we know anything about the murderer; because, as he is a noble, the only punishment will be a . fine.*' " Well, well, be it so," replied Gilbert. " Now. leave us, and on tbe morrow you can proceed with the inter- ment," The sacristan left the room, and Philip covering the body, went to enquire after the state of EBie, accom- panied by Gilbert, They learned that she had recovered frein her sWoon, but had instantly relapsed, and that the leech would hot. leave ber until she ted partially re- covered. The mdrrow caifle, and with it came the crowner, but, as the sacristan kept his thoughts to himself, no traces of the murderers could be fonitd, and the body was interred in the cemetery of the Abbey* Eflie gradually recovered from her fearful shock, but could not help re- proaching herself deeply for being the cause of the me- lancholy death of poor Margaret. Both Gilbert and bis father found themsel+ es unequal to the task Of impart- ing to her the name of her lover, and the crimes of which he had been guilty,— but they, nevertheless, still adhered firmly to their determination of informing her. On the evening of the day on which Walter was < o make his attempt, Effie was seated at the window ofthe snme room in which we first introduced Gilbert and his father. She was in tears, for Gilbeit, who stood at a little distance from her, had but just imparted to her the intelligence of her lover's faithlessness and guilt. " I could have forgiven his love for the queen— his deception to myself— but I cannot forgive him who led the soldiers to the murder of my father. " Nor the murderer of Margaret," added Gilbert. " You are right, Gilbert," she continued with a sigh. " X loved tiiin as Richard of Vaucouleurs, but I have ceased to love him as Essex. I will strive to forget him as either." " And may Gilbert venture to ask from thee more than a brother's love } u he asked, in a low, tremalous tone. " Oh! Gilbert, spare me for the present, I intreat yon. Time may cause a great alteration In my sentiments and ray gratitude may " Before she could conclude, she uttered a piercing scream, and flew to Gilbert, as if for protection. " What iu the name of Heaven," asked Gilbert taking a petronel from over the mantel, " hast thou seen to alarm thee thus, dear Effie ?" " As I was speaking," she replied, trembling with alarm, " a faint light flashed upon the wall, and, through the ope. n door, I pcrceived the figure of a strange man with a black mask on his face, and a dagger and a lantern in his hand. Directly he saw that I perceived him, he vanished." " Stay you here, Efiie ; I will soon discover what this means." And he rushed out of the room. The outer door closed violently, and the next moment the same stranger she had perceived in the passage, entered the room. She attempted to scream, but fear had completely paralyzed her, and she gazed on him without attempting to move. He advaneed towards her, and seizing her rather roughly by the arm, exclaimed, in a rough voice, " Come, my pretty bird, your gallant's gone out at one door, so we'll e'en go nut at another." Seeing that she did not attem pt to move or cry out, he cooly applied his light to the most inflammable of the furniture, and then, seizing Eflie in his arms, hurried down stairs, at the bottom of which, he met two others. " Here, Walter, take the girl," he exclaimed, " while I and Harry add a little more plunder to the flames." " She's fainted," replied Walter, " so we shall have no squalling ; but we'd better be quick, for the Chaser is breaking open the door." . Blow after blow rapidly followed each other, and the door seemed yielding to their force; added to this the flames had spread so rnpidly that Black Will and Harry relinquished their attempt, and assisted Walter to scale the wall with Eflie— a feat he would have con siderable difficulty of accomplishing without their assis- tance. The flames were now bursting forth from every win- dow, and the old dry beams catching like tinder, the conflagration rapidly extended itself to the other houses. The ruffians, as they descended the wall, could plainly hear the frantic cries of Gilbert, echo, calling loudly in the name of Effie, huiried rapidly from room to roam, at the hazard ofhis life, and filled with the dreadful thought that she had perished in tile Hamei." Elfie, recovering from her insensibility, caught the sound of her name pr. nounced in accentsjof despair, and turned her head in the direction of the flames. She re- cognized the voice, and the dreadful truth flashed npon her ;— and she again relapsed into unconsciousness. The party soon reached the abbey, where they found the horses. Placing Effie on one before Walter, they now set off at full gallop ; when at a little distance from the Abbey, Walter looked back, and his eye caught tbe figure of a man, perched on the topmost pinnacle of one of the Western Towers— he waved his hat as if in triumph, Walter poiuted him out to his companions— it w as Essex. gazed on the scene for a few minutes, or until the withered bougli of a giant oak, that supported me, gave way. The crash of which aroused him from his ado- rations. He started and beheld me above; a gleam o wildness diffused itself throughout his features, and seemed perplexed, Which road to diverge to escape my presence, but I beckoning to him in a welcome manner, he awaited my descent. After a few moments employed in admonishing him on the danger of his situation, which he treated with a contemptuous sneer, I enquired the object that led him to such a spot at so late ah hour, which he answered by relating a short biogra- Ehical sketch of his misfortunes. ( It may be perceived e was no geneoiogisf.) " My parents have long since ran their earthly career, and the sod now covers their beloved bodies. ( A tear started from liiis bright eye, and ran down his manly cheeks, as if wishing to diverge from such a painful task, as he proceeded thus .)— Shortly previous to their death my affections were placed on the daughter of Sir R. M : she was universally admired, and acknow- ledged as a lovely image of perfection— she united all the bodily graces that can be inherited by her sex. On this exquisite descendant of Eve my sincerest regard and affections were displayed. This passion had not predominated long in my heart before 1 determined to venture upon the wide ocean, to dissipate the taunting jealousy I felt, and in hopes of returning at a future period to become her bride. This wish was quickly satisfied by my uncle, under whose protection I had been placed. A situation was procured for me on board the vessel F. K . The night previous to my depar- ture, I engaged to meet my Helen, ( for such was her ap- pellation,) which took place at the margin of yonder river. There our vows of love were plighted— there she swore constancy till my return, and there did I take the last glimpse of her angelic form. " My voyage may be briefly summed up as follows :— I set sail for a foreign clime at a great distance from this place, but ere I arrived there my progress was stayed by a storm— the whole crew perished, saving myself, 1 being lashed to a mast which was carried away by the dashing waves. I became insensible, and when I recovered I found myself on board a vessel, ploughing her way towards my native land. It ap- peared that they had seen a mast floating near, and perceiving a human being lashed too, they sent out the boat aud brought me on board, where, by the use of gentle restoratives, I had recovered. In due time I again placed foot on my native soil. The first object of my euquiry was mv Helen, whom I upheld dearer than life, still judging to find her constant to her vow. Bat what sad dirge meets my ear ?— What— betrothed to another !•— No— never ! The legend appeared too in- credible for belief— 1 doubted the veracity of the person addressing me. Alas ! 1 found it too true— I was for- gotten ! And that upon further euquiry I ascertained that the celebration of the nuptials were to take place in a brief period. I may well quote the poetical effusion of Byron— • And such the change tile heart displays So frail Is early friendship's reign ; A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's, Will view the heart estranged again.' " The tale acted like an electric shock:— at first I became stupified and entranced to the spot, but sud- denly arousing myself, I fled from the town to seek con- solation within the recesses of these solitary mountains. From lhat period I have existed bv the munificence of the neighbouring inhabitants, seeking shelter by night iu yonder tenement," pointing to a lonely barn at a distance. After this brief sketch of his life I entreated him to return with me, assuring him he should have all his Wants supplied, but he appeared to have the greatest inveteracy to entering the town. I still persisted in ad- vising him, but he, turning round, disappeared, with the agility of an antelope. 1 then began to retrace my steps towards my habitation— I retired to rest, and rose at an early hour the following morning, determining to seek out this object of pity. I pursued my journey to- wards the spot I had visited the evening previous- Aurora was just throwing forth her beams— the sun darting her then- feeble carmine tints across the eastern horizon. I pushed on through the town, which I scarcely had quitted when I heard the merry pealing of distant bells resounding through the departed streets, which I ascertained were chiming the union of the fair deceiver and her lover. I had not traced many more steps towards iny intended haunt but my ears were as- sailed by the distant report of fire- arms. I hurried to the spot from whence the echo proceeded, but what did I perceive?—' Twas my new acquaintance, still grasping the weapon of death 1— the blood warmly gushing from the recent wound in his breast. He knew full well the imports ofthe bells. He took one last look of heaven and earth, and plunging wildly in " mid- air," his body dashed from off the rocky eminence, and splashed into the unrippled lake, tinging its element with his life- blood ; a few bubbles started o'er him, and the water lay as placid as before.— Such was the fate of the Victim of Inconstancy. INCONSTANCY. BY W. OAKLKY, JUN. '( An Original Tale for " The Penny Sunday Times.") It was on a night iu May— the moon was riding ma- jestically through the firmament, encircled by a numer- ous host of glittering stars, shedding her luminous rays on the spiring mountains' top, and imparting a silvery tint to the surface of the murmuring waters of the river, I was pursuing my usual solitary walk on the Highlands of the West of Scotland. The unusual se- renity of the evening ( considering the season) had oc- casioned me to prolong my perambulation deeper into the glen than I had intended. It was a delightful night — the nocturnal orb shoue with great splendour, en- livening the produce of Vertumnus, and diffusing her refulgent rays in glittering white upon the trembling boughs of the surrounding trees, just budding forth their first offspring unto h lora. Secluded in this situ- ation from the clamour and bustle of busy man, my thoughts became intensely fixed in contemplating and admiring the surrou 4ding works of Nature. From this lethargic study I w as soon aroused by the echo of a human voice reverbrating through tbe windings of the solitary mountains I stood confounded and surprised — imagining that I might be attacked the next moment by some desperate Baudit. I shrunk aside and again listened— some broken faint sentences of lamentation caught my hearing. Fancying some person was in need of assistance, I cautiously advanced, and climbing up a rugged ascent, 1 reached the height of a craggy pin- nacle. Laying in ambush behind a piece of the pro- jecting rock, I obtained a good view of the objects below.— I beheld a tall and handsome young man, clad MI a shattered attire of his country, whose athletic swar thy limbs seemed shaped in Nature's comeliest muuld his manly countenance expressed the direst tints of grief, itilershaded with a gleam of ferocity— his hands were clasped, aud his eyes fixed s ted lastly upon the moon, as if iu the accents of the greatest supplication, while he ejaculated the most unconnected and inco- herent sentences. He raved, as if the victim uf sup- pressed love— he prayed, and by turns imprecated. 1 RANDOM THOUGHTS ON MY BEAUTIFUL HEATH. My Beautiful Heath I my Beautiful Heath l Not a bramble, or bush, but Is dear to my heart; Albeit thy freedom fraught llfe- glvlng breath, Doth vigour and strength to the drooping impart. Yet ' tis not for that that I love thee— oh, no ! Thou'rt bound up with teelings of hallowed woe. How oft in mute anguish I've shed the tone tear, As I desolate traversal thine unconscious sod; Too stricken, alas! for e* en fricn'lsh'p to cheer, When ray spirit eould only commune with my God! And I fled the pay world— but God— He ivas there, To soothe the lone heart in its silent despair. And thy rough winds, as fiercely they swept o'er my head, With the pitiless fury of Winter's bleak power, And stifled the groans from my soul as they sped * n the agoniz'd throns of bereavement's dark hour. ' feared in their wild rou. r— their unshackled din, Oh! : Close fellowship with those drear feelings within. I felt thy rough surface— thy heather's gay bloom— Thy " gravel- pits hedge- rows— each hillock— each Thy beds of wild thyme, with their od'rous perfume. Commingling their sweets with tbe fragrant harebell, Had a language most eloquent; in theW hushsd tone Were the sympathies wild that could blend with my own. And thy groups of fair houses, all breathing of ease. And thy picturesque spires— 44 Blackheath Church," and uLee"— Thy " Turkish Alms- H ouses "— thy bright clumps of trews — Thy paragon— all— they are lovely to mes Each one has a charm beyond courtly compare, For the spirit of beauty and peace lingers there. And thy wide, open space— and thy far- stretching sky— And thy landscapes!— new beauties thay ever unfold. The' daily I see them, still young to my eye, Comes the charm of their freshness— they ne'er will be old- No— never /— their beauties seem but to begin— They're a link in the chain that is " hidden " within. Yet, dearer than all, is " The Point,*' unto me— ' Tis there I at even* watch Sol sent to restj And in lields of fading light fancy I see ( In shadaw) the lands of the far " fur off" west, With the rivers and lakes ot that vasty shore, And almost ( in thought) hear " Niagara's '' roar. Yes, I love thee, my Point! and thy strange clump of trees, Of mystical number, consisting seven ; And thine angular seat, were, inhaling the breeze, As pure and as fresh as it comes from heaven j— I ( envelop'd in holiest twilight) there Peel apart from the world, and worldly care. And yet there's a blur on thy beauty, my Heath, That thy minstrel in tenderness tain would conceal} But as I progress with this lyrical wreath, Ev'ry feeling and thought must my candour reveal. ' lis cruelty ! sullies thy beauty so fair— ' Tis ruthless brutality taints thy pure air. Tis " the donkey stands/* (' Ah! [ some will say] this is strange.' * Whit \— the minstrel descend to plead vile donkey's cause V Oh. yes I— wool l her powers could effect such a change, As to bend ev'ry heart to humanity's laws. Oh, God! there's such recklessness still in a nation, Who boast of humanity's civilization.) They're the nursery of crime and demoralization, Where vice and brutality stalk hand- in- hand;— They're a blur on humanity— blot on the nation — A*" plague- spot" that still infects England's fair land. « The angel of pity " with grief turns aside Her quivering heart- ache, and tear- drop to hide. ANNA, MINSTREL OP THK HEATH. A young- couple at Parrs lately going to the Mayor, to have the civil ceremony of marriage performed, the young lady, in stepping out of the carriage, entangled her lace dress in the step, and tore it. " How stupid," exclaimed the gentleman. The lady took no notice of this ungallant expression, and the party went into the hotel of the Mayor. But . upon being asked whether she consented to take the gentleman present for her husband, she replied, " Not so stupid," which was the only answer that could be obtaiaed from her. TlIE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. fcljeatm. T " GovEttt GAlthEN.— Madame Vestris has commenced with every prospect of success, although we must say that we did expect something iu the shape of novelty. The Midsummer Night's Dream, and Beauty and the Meast, occupied the greater part of last season; but « s the theatre is well and fashionably filled every even- ing, we do not know that we have any cause to com- plain, and most assuredly Madame has not. The com- pany has undergone some change. Miss Murray. Mrs. " Glover, Mr. W. Lacy, Oxberry, four performers from the Liverpool theatre, and Mr. Clement White ( a tenor singer of great promise), are engaged; whilst Keeley, Anderson, and Moore, have seceded from the establish- ment. The part selected for the dehut of Miss Adelaide . Kemble, we are informed, is Norma, the celebrated Italian opera of that name having been translated into English, and the music arranged expressly for the Ocea- nian. HAYMARKET.- s- Mr. Bernard's new farce called The Hoarding Sc/ iooijhas, as we prognosticated, made a de- cided hit; and we hasten to redeem a pledge made in « Mtr last, by giving a sketch of the plot. Three cavalry officers, Messrs. Webster, Vining, and Webster, are tiearly expiring of ennui from the monstrous routine of a military life, and, as their good luck would have it, they find out a boarding school. The doors of this school, from the unsettled state of the country, have been closed for some time, and the three officers have not been able to obtain a glimpse of the inmates, but have wasted their time by serenading the fair ones. Fortune, at last, favours them, for the schoolmistress has determined upon a walk, and on the return of the young ladies, who make their entrance on the stage in " r!" ik and file," the officers have an opportunity of Interchanging looks, nods, and other little expressions « f sympathy with the boarding- school Miss whom each has individually picked out of the throng as the object of his adoration. But how to communicate with these ladies, or to get a personal interview with them, they are at a loss to conceive. At the moment of their wa- String about who should gain his lady first, a serjeant tomes in, and announces that the incendiaries in the " county are busily at work, and that two fires are blaz- ing in the horizon. These officers are of different ranks, and one of them takes advantage of Iiis captaincy to order his brothers in arms to attend to these fires, in order that, in the absence of the two, he may win his bet the more easily, and obtain his lady whilst they are attending to their duties many miles off. The captain now dresses up as an old applewoman, and gains ad- mission into the sanctum sanctorum — the play- ground of the seminary. After pressing and kissing the hands of the different occupants of tbe school, under the suppo- aition that he was an applewoman, he is obliged to throw off lus disguise, and throw himself, in his real character at the feet of bis inamorata, for the nknn is raised that the mistress of the school is approaching. At this cri- tical moment, however, hi. ' urother officebls havi neg. lecled their duty m ex|.. nguisM„ ( he flam(( s afar * ff f* r 1h » rrw » r< » nttmof; ° ° _ GISELLE; cm THE NI GilT t> A N C E R S. [ Founded on the Popular Drama of that name, as performed at the Theatre Jtbyal, Sadler's Welts, xeith unbounded applause.) This place, too, has be'ea the scene of my happy childhood, and • ad would be the moment thfit ieeS Sr> eternal Separation from It." " Your separation would not bi etCTftffl," Exclaimed Aloise i " you might frequently visit It, and meet those from whom you express so mueh unwillingness to part." " True," she replied, " but that would depend upon the dis- tance to which I might be removed." " It ii riot very faf," believe me." " And ere you lisve this place yon will make me your wife?" " Not before tfe lears," he replied, " but aa icon a> possible afterwards. You can trust to my honour, Giselle, and, rely upon It, no consideration in ihe world should et'ef Induce me to act the part of a villain." " I do believe you," answered tbe Confiding girl, " and to- morrow I will be prepared to gWe you! a reply to the proposition you haVe ftsde." ,,„„., " The villain seeks bu t to bMrny you," exclaimed Hllaridn, ad- vancing trom the place where be Had overheard tbe preceding con- versation!—" beware of him, Giselle, or bitterly will you rue the hour when Ms false tongue deceived you." " And who art thou?" cried Aloise, fiercely, " who hast thus dated to play the part of an eavesdropper?" " One Who has discovered your treachery, and would save an Innocent girl from ruin," answered Hllal- ion. " You have come hither In an assumed character, and would bring guilt where you foun^ l nought but innocence and peace, " Hah 1— who dost thou talte roe for ?" " That 1 Snow not at present,'; replied the other; " bat I have Just come frotti your cottage, where I found this coat, decorated with the order of the nigheii rank. It Mlongs to you, I believe, LLOYD'S LIST OF POPULAR WORKS SIXTY- FIVE HUMOUKOUS ENGRAVINGS BY AN EMINENT ARTIST, AND TEN NEW COMIC SONGS ( BY PREST) FOR ONE PENNY! ! 1 " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES GALLERY OF COMICALITIES," CONTAINS THK FOU. OWINO TFRIFTLNAL COMLT" BONOS, WRITTEN BXPRBSSLY FOH WORK :— The Contented Man', My Saraft and Me. Domestic Economy. Brandy and Sal1?. Population) or, i* tys al1 oWisl? to the Family OlfttMe*!!*, the more attracts own elsewher' e prospect of making/ omes of their , enter the garden, and after vowing and , U. nvi ILIV ^ UIUCII, Bwearinjr seyeral affections to the young ladies, off at the entrance of the mistress of Ilia school. ** next scene brings us to the school- room, where *. atas, forms and desks are the only furniture, and " where the yonng scholars go through courses of instruc- tion, and write, nnd read, unknown to their teacher, love letters for these three gallant sons of Mars. The author has made this a very humourous scene. The love- letters, although condemning ihe conduct of the Iftlc intruders, all end in fhe most encouraging manner. The next appearance of the three is in the disguised cha- racters of teachers, one being a dancing. master. They are now comfortably located, and instruct their pupils much to their delight, and obtain Ihe letters which fliey - had written. They are obliged to decamp notwith- standing, for the mistress finds out the roguery that has heen practised upon her. Eventually, the officers es- cape tho house, after many peculiar and perplexing situations, and appear in their proper characters, un suspected by the matron, but known in their preseitt garb by tils young ladies. They take occasion litre to praise the manner in which the school is conducted, and appealing to the audience, the young ladies, officers, hhd all, are excluded by the fall of the cut tain from our sight, but whether they obtained the ladies, or were eventually discovered by the sober- looking matron is left to the imagination, ENGLISH OPERA.— The speculation at this theatre has not turned out so well as might have been cxpccted from the Services of Mrs. Warner nnd Phelps. tOe ( swallo- w does not make a summer, and even these no meritorious performers have not drawn full houses. But the fame of Martinuzzi is, we fear, on the decline i it does not receive such rapturous applause as we heard from a packed house on the first night of its perform- ance. It is more a drema of the fancv than of history, for the author has distorted facts, and has left no trace of evenls but the names of the characters. The Car- dinal, Martinuzzi, was stabbed by three assassins, and in Ihe play, he falls a victim to the resentment of the Queen- Mother. By a second visit to this theatre, the drama does not improve in the estimation of the au- dience. The characters are all overdrawn, and ihe language is inflated and unnatural. It is a great pity that Mr. Stephens should ever have allowed himself to he led away by tile vain hope of reaping laurels by e, is representation. " The Council" ought to carry ^ li1 . their object, to have taken the theatre for a long and produced works of vaiious authors, and Ij. tve given encouragement to dramatic writers. ( Id he furthering their professed object; but to ^ uthors, Mr. Stephens excepted, there is no of their ever remembering the " Dramatic Au- ' heatre." I'MPIC.— We are happy to see that this theatre is considerably better since the appearance of Wild and Sloan, and we trust that the public will bear in mind the cause, and continue its support. STRAND.— A new burletta called The Bump « r Benevolence, lias excited considerable laughter at this most succcssful. theatre since our last. The other en- tertainments continue to attract. SADLER'S WELLS.— The new grand romantic spec- tacle of Giselle; or, the Night Dancers, elicits shouts of admiration from crowded audiences every evening of its representation. It certainly is a most gorgeous affair, and is worthy of any management. The success- ful drama Temptation ; or, the Progress of Crime, has been revived, with all its original success. CITY.— The new drama produced on the opening, nnd entitled the Pirate of the Seas, from the pen of Mr. " Webb, has established itself in public favour, and will, Ave predict, be fa. vourabiy received for some time to come. The Idiot Girl, by the same author, is a very interesting piece. The theatre fills every evening. PAVILION. — The celebrated fate, publishing in Meekly penny numbers and monthly parts at the office of this paper, under the title of Emily Fitzormond ; or, the Deserted One, has furnished Mrs. Deuvil material for another successful and deeply interestiii^ drama, which was produced on her benefit on Monday the 6th ( and which we were glad to see was a bumper), with great eclat, has been played every every evening since, and most enthusiastically received. Susan Hop- ley increases nightly in attraction. SURREY.— JMazeppa, the Scenes in the Circle, and Turpin's Ride to York, have been the entertainments since our last, and we need not say that they have been honoured by crowded houses. VICTORIA.— A new drama has been produce*! at this iheatre, called The Life of James Dawson, who was exe- cuted on Kennington Common for high treason, during ihe rebellion of 1745. The incidents are well worked out, and highly effective, and it contains many pas. sages of the deepest pathos. It has been very well re- ceived, most deservedly so. WHITE CONDU IT.— These long celebrated gardens are now op- ened o n a scale of magnificence never before known, aud under the management of Mr. Saker the popular comedian A new saloon has been erected, capa » > le of accommodating 4,000 persona, anil the amuse- ments provided, and the co npaay engaged, are hiffhlv deserving of suppo rt. " b J O'er wild and o'er waste, when the moon glimmers bright, From our tombs do we haste, to dance through the lone night. Theft gladly we bound while the nightingale sings, Spreading day all around with the light of our wings j We the wanderer tune in the dance till he joins, Of our victim still Sure, when with us he entwines; Through bush and through brake, he is whirled o'er thfe heath, Till in the coJ. d lake we consign him to doath. SONG OF THE WILIS. IN a village sltuateii near the forest of Thurtngia, there stood, many year£ since, the cottage of Dame Bertha, an aged widow, WhXJ, by industry and care, had managed to support herself and her grand- daughter, Giselle, in a degree of comfort and respectability, that is, unfortunately, but seldom witnessed amongst persons of her humble class. The orphan Giselle, too, lent her willing aid towards mantaining themaelves in the happy station tfcey en- joyed, and possessing as « he did an uncommon share of'beahty and cheerfulness, it may readily be imagined that she had many loVets anxious to secure so inestimable a ptifce. But amon*? these, her choice seemed to have fallen' on young Hilarion, the principal gamekeeper to Duke Albert, and whose devotion lo the fair mistress of his heart was as sincere as it was honourable. It was, in fact, looked upon as a mutch that was certain to take place, and gra- dually the other claimants to her hand ceased their importunities, when it was seen that Hllarion's attentions were received with m. ore favour than their own. Rut in the midst of this happiness, a youthful hunter named Aloise arrived in the neighbourhood, and chancing to meet with Giselle, was so struck with her beauty, that his heart was imme- diately captivated, and pretending tl at business would detail j im some time In the forest of Thuri ogia, he took possession of a small cottage where he: might, have frequent opportunities of seeing the maiden whose extreme beauty had captivated his heart. From that tifne lie often met Giselle in secret, but their stolen interviews were at length discovered, and, when too late, the once happy Hllarion found ' hat a rival had robbed him of the prise he had fondly Im- agined was Wl'hin his reach. It WAS in vain that he remonstrated with hsr, for she turned a deaf ear to his complaints, and by the coldness of her behaviour gave him but too much reason to believe that h! s future visits would be anything but agreeable. This was a severe oleW to him, yet suspecting that Aloise was some wealthy libertine in disguise lie resolved to watch him narrowly, and thus, if possible, rescue Giselle from the snares of a seducer. ItAvasthe last day of the vintage, and according to custom a rustic fete was to be given in the evening to ce'ebrate the termina- tion of ihe autumnal labours. Giselle had long looked forward to this period, ft r she ha- l been eho en the vintage que T, ?. nd it waB a triumph that many other maidens besides herself could not have thought of without pride. In truth, it was with a light heart that she rose, on the morning of this eventful day, and descending to the lower part. of the cottage, she found her grandmother already diligently occupied at the spinning wheel. The old lady rose joy- fully at. her approach, and warmly pressing the little favourite to bee boaom congratulated her on the arrival of a day which had been long looked forward to with all the Impatience of youthful ardour. " At length,' my dear Giselle,*' said Dame Bertha, " the period of your brief sovereignty baa arrived. This night will be dedicated to rur/ » l festivity, and in the dance, you will, of ceurse, chce Hila-. r on. But you do not answer me,' Giselle,- and I almost fear there is some truth in the report of your having east off; a devoted lover fir the stranger,' who has lately taken up his residence in our neigh- i bourhood." " And even if it were so, grandmother, answered the blushing girl, " you wfitild cease to wonder at it were you to see - the rival Hilario'n is so jealous of." " But he may not possess so good a heart as Hilarlon," cried Dame Bertha, " nor may his- intentions he so honourable as those of your former lover. Beware how you trust too much to appear- ances, my love ; for deceit often lies concealed in a heart that seevis to be all frankness." Surely;'' exclaimed' Giselle, " you do not think Aloise can ever be treacherous!" ' VI certainly should be sorry to assert such a thing," replied the'dame'; " but experience has taught me to place litlle reliance In the words of a stranger ; and, in the present Instance, I should ba glad were you once more to receive Hilarion into favour." At this moment, a strain of unearthly music was heard, and the effect was Immediately visible upon Giselle, for her soul seemed inspired by it; and at first moving with slow and measured steps, she at length became more and more inspired by ii, till her move- ments became rapid in ihe extreme, and she whirled round the room in all the fantastic, yet graceful evolutions of the mazy waltz. Dame Bertha gazed upon her with wonder, and entreated her to desist, but her wdrds Were unheeded by her granddaughter, who continued the dan'ce until fairly worn out with exertion. " Forbear,, my child !— forbear, I entreat you," exclaim'ed the dame, anxiously. " I know that music well, and never is it heard but s>-> rne unfortunate beikg is drawn into the snares of those fear- ful being? called Wilis." • " Ami pray, grandmother, what are these Wills that you speak about?" . " They are evil spirits, my child," answered the dame; " the Wilis, or Night. Dancers, as they are sometimes called, are maidens who die before the day of marriage, without having fully satisfied the r love of dancing. These young affianced ones cannot rest iu their graves; at the hour of midnight they rise, and as- semble in troop3 near the highways, and woe to the young man that meets them ! They rush on him and make him, dance till he dies. They have crowns of flowers on their heads, aud sparkling rings on their lingers; their fates; though white as snow, still preserve the freshness of youth. Dressed in their marriage gar- ments, and sporting like elves in the bright moonlight, they have an air so winning, a grace so seductive, smiles so perfidious, that these brides of death are irresistible. It. is in vain their unhappy Victims would fly them; the> vfoilow, atfd own in death their fatal fascination.'' " Now, really, all this is very terrible," exclaimed Giselle, with an arch smile;—" the story is enough to frieze up one's very blood, and yat, for all that, dear grandmother, I don't believe a single word of it.'' " Pray heaven you may never experience its truth," cried Dame Bertha, earnestly; " but'' how now. child!'' she continued, as Giselle was putting on her bonnet, " are you going to leave me ?"' " Not for long," she replied;—" I am merely going to my god- father, the good hermit of St. Walburg, that I may confess to him aud obtain his blessing." " Father Christophe is a pious man, and his words may sink deep into your heart," answered Dame Bertha. " Go to him, my child, and heed the counsel he gives you, for it is founded on age and experience." Upon this Giselle bounded from the house with the activity of a fawn, and directing, her way towards the hermit's humble cell, passe; i the cottage occupied by Aloise the Hunter ; near this place she was met by Father Christophe, who, greeting her with the usual salutation, enquired what had brought her from home at that early hour in the morning. 441 came to ask your blessing, holy father," she replied, meekly. " Thou hast it, my child," he exclaimed, with tenderness; "' and now, Giselle, as thy godfather, I will bestow upon thee the gift I have so often promised ,— it is this cross of the good St. Walburg, and whilst thou dost continue to wear it, the evil ma- chinations of thine enemies will never prevail." " Will it protect me against the wicked Wilis that ray grand- mother has bean telling me about ?" asked Giselle. " It will not prevent you falling into their tolls," answered the hermit; " but whilst you retain possession Of the sacred relic, they will not be able to make you one of, their number. But come, my child, we will enter my humble caVe, where I will hear your confession, and minister to you the sacred rites of our religion." Obedient to this suggestion, the maiden accompanied him to the retreat, and scaroely" had they left the place when Hilarien, who had teen watching Giselle, advauced from his place of ron- cealment. He was speedily followed by Peterkin, who was an attendant upon Aloise, the Hunter, and whose opinions of his master were pretty fully drawn foith by the sk'ril with whieh the other put his questions; from this conversation he learnt that Peterkin suspected his master's intentions towards Giselle, and that from certain circumstances which had come under his own observation, there was good reason to believe he was not of so humble an origin as he wished to make it appear. This was ex- act'y what Hilarlon had himself suspected, and Ending that Peterkin was willing enough to assist, he at once engaged htm in his behalf, proposing him a rew ardli} case he could bring forward any proof to show that his rival was otherwise than he had repre- sented himself to the unsuspecting village maiden. Upon this understanding they parted-^- Peterkin enteiingthe cottage, and the other seeking a filaCe of concealment, where he might observe Gisel} fe on hfer cjuittihg the hermit's cate. I^ or did he remain lohg in tiiicertainty; foi- presently afterwarfJS sHe carrie fofth, and Was met by Aloiste, who greeted hei- With all ihi » frefriotii of an ac- cepted lover. The maiden, too, seemed overjoyed at seeing him again, and the cheerfulnesa with which she greeted lihn, proved but the more painfully to Hilarlon, that his fears were but too well founded, and that he had, indeed, lost the beauteous prize he had once regarded as his own. He listened, and their words con- firmed his worst anticipations. " Dearest Giselle," exc'almed her lover, " this meeting affords me a degree of happiness that nothing else in the world could bestow; your absence had made me melancholy, but no sooner do yoii appfear, than jo? again Visits triy heirt, and all sorrows flee aw'ay.'" " And do you really love me as mti6h as yOti sajr you do ?" asked the maiden, earnestly. " I cannot express half the love I bear for you," replied Aloise; " but why do you ask a question which I had hoped mi^ ht have been much better answered by your own heart?" " Because people tell me that I ought not to place confidence in the words of a stranger," she replied; " they tell me no one knows who you are, or where you come from, and that I may be throwing myself In the power of a man who Is utterly un- worthy of my lore." " And do you believe them t'. he asked, tenderly. " I do not " she replied; " yet I think it would, be better If we knew more about yott." " And so you shall In good time," answered Aloise;—-" at pre- sent, however) you must know me only in the character 1 have as-, sumed till circumstances shall enable me to reveal myself to you more fully." " And in the mean time I may regard your Intentions towards me as strictly honourable.?'* " I have given you no reason to think differently of me," re- plied her lover;— 44hitherto you have known me only as Aloiae the Hunter, but when my real name and station is declared, I trust you will see no reason to distrust One who loves you too well ever to deceive you." " And yet," replied Giselle, " It is seldom that a great man falls in love with a woman of humble birth and fortune." " Do you still distrust me I" " Pardon me if I have done so," she replied; " but there Pie many who regard your presence here with suspicion, and I would fain convince them that you have been wronged. I will not, how- ever, urge this mibjfct any furthsr at present, for this is our village- fete day, and I wOtild neither say or do anything that might mar the happiness of an enemy, much more one whom 1 regard so dearly.' . 4< Have patience but a little longer and you shall know all," ex- claimed Aloise. 44 That.. my motives are honourable, you may rest satisfied, and when the explanation has taken place, even my worst enemifg will acknowledge that they have wronged rae by their harsh thoughts." " You will join us at the festival this evening!" " I will, dearest Gipelle," he replied; " and since you are to be there, you shall find that no one will be present at the festive scene with a lighter h<- art than I shall have. With you as my partner in the dance, there wilt be an enchanting happiness that even a monarch might envy. So come, Giselle, let us try the waltz that. I have so often seen danced by the peasantry of this neighbourhood." " It; is the Night Dance of the Wilis," > he replied, " and my grandmother has the greatest horror of it. However, as itd- s your wish, I will try, for it is my favourite waltz, and often do I dance, even by myself, in spite of the evils they say happen to those who practise it." And with this they setoff in the giddy round, going through all the intricacies of the step, and performing the various portions of the dance with agiaceand lightness of motion that might have met with applause even in the courtly saloons of Vienna. At length they paused, and waving her hand playfully to the young hunter, Giselle bounded off. and in another minute or two was lost amidst the intricacies. of the forest. Upon arriving within sight of home, our hetoine found Balllle Otto V on Fustenwig, the landeinann of Duke Albert, bustling at the head of a numerous body of peasants, and bowing and cring- ing to a stranger and his daughter, who had just arrived there for the purpose of hunting over the duke's grounds, and who; it turned out, wer? no less personages . than the Prince of Courland and his daughter Bathilde, who, it was said, had been betrothed to Duke Albert. It also appeared that these Illustrious persons had arrived a little before their attendants, and that, conse- quently, no lodging had yet been procured for them. Under the* e circumstances, Giselle ventured to offer them tbe use of her grand- mother's cottage till a more suitable residence could be found for persons of th< sr rank, an offer that was accepted wilh many ex- press'!, ns of gratitude, and immediately afterwards they set out on their way tt wards the cottage of Dame Bertha, where they were received with a kindly welcome. When the evening arrived, the usual place of festivity was decorated with garlands; and beneath the shade of the trees were assembled the villagers, who were about to make merry alter the labours of the preceding vintage. All were dressed in their holi- day attire, and, with light hearts, they participated in the amuse- ments of the day. The Prince of Courland and his daughter occupied st ats that had been prepared for them; and when they had taken their places, music and dancing succeeded among the young people, whilst the more aged sat by, and watched with delight the enjoyment of those whose youth enabled them to take a more active part in the festivities of the season. Among other dances, the Wilis waltz was not forgotten, but its fatal effect was that night manifested according to the story that had been related by Dame Bertrand. The victim on this occasion was Lotta, a young village maiden, affianced to a youth named Caspar, and whose nuptials wore to have taken place a few days afterwards. These two were engaged in the much- dreaded mystic dance, when, of a sudden, tiie'female was observed to pause, as If from ex haustion, and in another moment she fell fainting into the arms of some of her companions. Immediately upon tills she was carried away, followed by the horror- stricken Caspar, but all efforts to restore animation were In vain; the vital spark had fled, and the story was spread about that Lotta had perished, In con- sequence of her having danced the prohibited waltz of the Wilis. Be tikis as It may, however, the affair threw a damp upon the entertainments, and quitting the scene of the maiden's death, a great portion of the company adjourned to the house of Dame Bertha, where they were provided with ample cheer ; but Giselle could not banish from her mind the memory of the sad event that had occurred to mar the p'easures of the day ; and having looked in vain for the appearance of Aloise, according to the promise he had given, she walked out to see if he had yet arrived. A few steps from the cottage served to appease her fears on his account, for scarcely had she left the house before she saw him advancing towards her, and the smile which lit up his counte- nance assured her that he still loved as fondly and with as much devotion as ever. " Dearest Giselle," he cried, " you must not believe that my absence from the festival was occasioned by any coolness on my part. Circumstances have detained me, but I have now come to pass the remainder of the evening in your society." " You are ever most welcome, Aloise," she replied j " but to speak the truth, I am not sorry you were absent just now when an event took place, which has served to throw a gloom upon us all. We have lost one of the fairest among our village maidens, and, ' tis said, she died in consequence of having engaged in the Night Dane* of the Wilis." "' Hs but a foolish superstition," exclaimed the young lover, " and as such, should receire no faith from you. However, I came to say that I have thought of leaving this neighbourhood almost immediately, and I would know whether you would ac- company me to the place where I am about to settle }" " As your wife I might," answered Giselle, " though it would not be easy to part from the many kind friends I possess among those by whom we are surrounded." " Yet It frequently happens," replied the other, " th » t young people are obliged to separate from their dearest connexions, when they settle in life. It is, In fact, necessary to do so, and, therefore, should be endured without repining." " It is easy to talk about the duty of resignation, M answered Gisellei " but bow difficult is It to part from those we to** and there can be no doubt of the ftttttidut Intentions that brought you to this place," , _ . . " Wretchexclaimed the other, " I dare you to tK6 proof." " In that case I will soon convinoe this mistaken gtfl of jour perfidy. There are many persons from the court just arrived ilefe, and Some of thetti will, no doubt, recognize in the humble Aloise a pefsOn Of somft rank iti society/* With this he fais£ d tbe btfgle to his lips, and sounded a note of alarm, that WJJS speedily anstvefed by another horn at no great distance off. This evidently afarffied Aloise, who Instantly sought to effect his es'caM; but thiA wai patented by his rival and Im- mediately afterwards the Prince of Courland, accompanied by hl « daughter, made their appe* raf) 6e, with a number of their fol- lowers. From this moment Aloise £ ave himself up to a fate that CGuld no longer be avoided, and advancing a pnee or 1* 0, be was hailed by all the courtiers present as DuSe of 1 huringla. At this discovery despair took possession heart, tor she saw that she bad been docelved, and that had the secret been discovered but a short time longer, she must have been sacrificed to the arts of a libertine. In the madness produced by this thought, she snatched up a dagger, and would have commuted suicide, but the weapon was happily snatched from her hand ere the desperaJe act was accomplished; and whilst she yet stood stupified with horror, and almost unconscious of where she was, a strain of rnuiiic fell upon h « r ears, and again she felt herselt under th* powet of the Wills. For a few moments she paused; then her limbs, slowlf, at first, bnt gradually increasing in ac- tMty, till at length she once iriore went through the latal waltz. In a short time, hotVevef, it became evident that exhaustion was overpowering her; her lirrib « tOttefed, it dtrfdl? paleness spread Itself over her countenance, and she itfll, apparently dead, into the arms of Hilarlon. _ , .' . . _ . , For many hours Giselle remained In this death- like it tilicV and every one believed that her gentle spirit had for ever takeft leave of lis earthly tenement. Hilarlon was Inconsolable at his loss, aiid tib lildufcemertt covlld prevail Upon him to leave the house which contnlned all thai his soul held dearest in the world. Anxious to relieve Dame Berth*, he offered to sit up that night to keep watch; and scarcely had she fitted to rfist, tfhen an in- tense light was seen issuing from the chamber of fleatft, and, as the door opsned, Giselle, with pale and corpse like featorta, ad- vanced slowly into the room. It was a moment of terror, bilt he could perceive by her expressive action that she was still thinking of the deception that had been practised on her, and he watched, with deep anxiety, the too certain signs that she had become the WCtim of a broken heart. At length, however, she moved to re- trace her itepS towards the chamber she had just left, and as she did thin, thfe window wag suddenly thrown open by some invisible agency, and a riurtiber of death- like figtffes, advanced, who he at once knew to be the much dreaded Wills. Giselle at first shrunk from them as If in terror; but when they began their mystic dance, she could no longer resist thei* powerful influence, and following them from the house, iJlie * o'on lost to the gaze of her lover. Hilarlon lost no time in afousing Dame Bertha; and having, in a few hurried words, informed hef of what had taken place, he followed them with a determination either to rescue GiseUe, or perish with her. In the meantime our heroine had accompanied her unearthly guides towards the chapel of St. Walburg, where they paused to go through the ceremony of her initiation, and which was scarcely completed, when they were lollowed by Hilarion, whom no sense of personal danger could deter from the task he had undetaken. Upon blin they next tried their magic Influence - t but no sooner had the waltz commenced, th in clinging to the ancient stone cross which stood before the chapel, he bade defiance to the power they had so successfully exerted upon others. Upon this they suddenly departed, taking Giselle with them, and he was abont to follow in pursuit, when he was met by Father Christophe, the hermit, to whom he related the mysterious events that had taken place. The holy man, however, bade him be of good heart, and all would yet be well. He told him of the cross which he had hung round her neck, and which, he said, would effectually pre- serve her from the power of the evil ones, into whose hands she had unhappily fallem This afforded some consolation to the almost distracted Hilarlon, and thanking the hermit for the. hope with which he had inspired him, he was about to resume the errand he had undertaken, and the other presented him with a rosary, with which, if he touched the mjstlc branch that was usually carried by the Queen of the Wills, her power Would be destroyed, and the release of Giselle be rendered certain. Ea- gerly accepting this invaluable gift, Hilarion fervently thanked the holy father for the assistance he had given In so good a cause, and bidding him a hasty adieu, he hurried away to prosecute the ta* k be had undertaken. In the meantime Giselle had been borne by her unearthly guides to their abode beneath the lake; and having thus far se cured her, tbey sought by every means in their power to prevail upon her to give up the. cross of St. Walburg, which h » d hitherto preserved her life, -- ut Giselle was resolute in keeping posses- sion of it, In spite of every effort that was made to induce her to give it Up; and finding their threats and entreaties were equally unavailing, they wer « > about tO deprive her of it by loice, when Hilarion rushed forward to her aldr and by the aid of the rosary he brought with him, destroyed the terrible Influence of the Wills, and broke the enchantment, which had enabled them to exercise so pernicious an influence. ' I his done, he bore her once more to the upper regions of the earth, and from thcnce conveying her to the cottage of Dame Bertha, he, with the assistance of the good old lady, succeeded in reviving her from the trance into which she had fallen after the fatal Night Dance. It now only remains to add, that Duke Albert deeply repented the means he had taken to deceive an ^ nnocent and unsuspect- ing glri, and that on her marriage with ' his humble rival a short time afterwards, he presented them with a sum of money, which raised them from their lowly station to one cf comparative afflu- ence. A Private Still. Happy Land— a Sad Lot. Poor Jack— Please Re- Mem- ber Jack. John ttelf— In His Cups. Hard- Up ; Of, shocking Ex- tremities. AND AliSO TH « FOttaWlfTO GRAPHIC SKBTCHKS: — The Maid of the Mill.— A General Rising.— Physical Force.—* Bringing Him too ( Two).— A P/ lack Fast.— Ladies of the Court.— His Wind is on the flack.— Settling a[ c] Courtt; Double Entry.— Friar Bacon.— Giving Hittftelf ( H) a1rS.— Contracting? an Acquaint- ance.— A Heavy Swell.— A Good Bite.— Hodge's Best.— Sedan tery Occupation.— Currant Jam ; a Friendly Squeeze.— A l^ eali Tuttr* Out.— A Votary of the Nine.— TaXrng the Pledge.- Warlike Guise ( Guys).— Food for Reflection.— Cellfng WhaekS * a Bel- freV'. — A Promising Child.— A Boy in a Fit.— Gi- Hng up the Ghost : Cabriolet Society.— Pleasures of " Fancy.'*— Btfst London Porter. ! — A Baok Settler.— Going by the Post; General Delivery.— Com< s of Age.— Cutting Him to the Quick.— Breaking CdWr.— Sauce ( Source) Of the Nlggfif ( Niger).— A Dey's Pleasure.— A 8*< T Plight. — A Belly Full' of Grapes^— The Changeless One.— A Private Box. — Taken Wi AEOfeat. — The Lively Smack j Looking for Squalls.— fie& re# Melodies.— A Funny Pair.— A Good Callings A Shocking Stlcfc.-^- Tbe Pot- boy.— SuBimnt Short.— Detachmen' of Cavalry.— Deprived ot the Use of their Organs.— Neat as Im- ported.— A Free- Booter.— flamy Fair.— At a Stand- Sti/ l.— An Un- happy Attachment — Coming It Slap. THE EMBELLISHMENTS HAVE BEEN ENGRAVE AT THE ENORMOUS EXPENSE 0> F 1,000 GUINEAS I \ In Weekly Numbers at Id., and Monthly Farts at 4d., the New and Highly Interesting Romance of KATHLEEN! OR, THE SECRET MARRIAGE. *** The First Number, containing Eight closely- printed Pages, Two Splendid Engravings on separate paper, and a mo » ! Magnifi- cent Wrapper, presented GRATIS with No. 54 of " THU P*?? JRT SUNDAY TIMES, AND PKOPLK'S POLICE GAZETTE." Now Publishing in Weekly Numbers at Id., and Monthly Parts at 4d., EMILY FITZORMOND 3 OR, THE DESERTED ONE. With No. 1, i » presented GRATIS, Two MagntBwnt Platci and & Wrapper, Now Publishing, In Number, at One Pen » 7, . nd Feur- pcnn, Monthly Parti, ERNNESTINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. With No. 1, 1 « presented « HAT IS, Two Splendid Enfre- rtne. ou separate paper, and a Wrapper. Price Is. 6d., Elegantly Bound, containing 92 pages of closely printed letter- pr. su, illustrated with 12 Superior Engratlngs, MASTER HUMPHRIES' CLOCK. BOS,' 1 MAKER. A MI6CBLT. ANY OF STRIKING 1NTERXST. Price 3s., Neatl? Boflnd in cloth and lettered In gold, containing spirited Engravings, and closely printed pages, HAINSFORTH'S CELEBRATED ROMANCE, ENTITLED A LEGEND OF THE TOWER OF LONDON. Price 3s. Sd., Neatly Bound In cloth arid lettered, containing 252 pagea of closely printed matter, Illustrated with 32 Engravings, VALENTINE VAUX ! on TflK TRICKS OF A VENTRILOQUIST. Price Ss.( Mestly Bound In cloth and lettered, containing 188 pagea of closely printed letter press, illustrated with 25 Elegant Engravings, the Nautical Romance of POOR LITTLE JACK. BY E. F. MARRIOTT. " There's a sweet little cherub that sits un aloft, To keep watch fbr the life » f Poor Jack." Complete in 18 Numbers at One Penny each, or Neatly Bound, price Two Shillings. GALLANT TOM I OR, THE PERILS OF A SAILOR ASHORE AND AFLOAT. INTKRSPKRSKD WITH AKKCOOTBS, TOCOH TARNS, PTC. CHEAP AND E L 15 61 AN T BOOKBINDING. OFFICE OF " TIIE PEN NX SUNDAY TIMES.' CHARADES. ANSWER TO TNE CHARADE ADDRESSED TO J. DILLON, DUBLIN) IN NO. 78. Choice spirits of THK TIMES, whose plaudits oft Have caused my giddy muse to soar aloft; White, Freeman, charming Anna of the Heath, With Morgan, Grant, and fair Elizabeth : I fain would render you ray hearty thanks, And with life's lottery ne'er may yield y « blanks. Some partial friend has sent nie a charade, If I mistake not, ' twas in London made; In days of old I've made my sister squall, By breaking the proboscis off her doll. Alas ! although my trunk can boxst a lid, But little treasure lies beneath it hid ; And gn at, indeed, must be the lover's woe, Who pops the question, and is answered no. The true solution I have tried my skill on, And cannot make it more or less lhan DILLON. E. LLOYD, T> cgs to inform the public that he undertakes - L* Bookbinding in all its branches. Demy 8vo., same size as " Ela, the Outcast," *' Hebrew Maiden," " Gallant Tom," & c , Bound with coloured Leather Backs, Orname » tal Cloth Sides, and neatly Lettered in Gold, at the extraordinary Low Price of ONE SHILLING each volume, and all others equally low. * » * A LIBERA!, ALLOWANCE TO TBE THADE. Salisbury. KIDDLES. There was a man of Adtnn's race. Who had a certain dwelling place— A house compact, well cover'd o er, Where noue llv'd since, nor yet before. It not of wood or stone was made. Nor In ihe building brick was laid , Yet, so contrived and put together, As to secure It from all weather, Twas not In heaven, earth, nor hell— Prey tell me where this man could dwell? II. One time, on earth, there lived one, As Scripture doth record, Whom God, In Providence, sais'd up. To speak his holy word. To speak his words— sin to reprove, Tnto him licence gave; He llv'd and died without sin, And then laid in his grave. Yet he shall not, for all he has done, In Heaven's palace reign, Nor ever enter that blest place, Where happy sainta remain. I. L. TILLY RIDDLES BT J. DILLON. I. The first I fancy Is not yours or mine, Hers, onri. or theirs— pray ( lo not take me wrong; TIs simply the possessive masculine, A pronoun, stating to whom things belong. Tile second Is the basest of all knaves, Nnmcd by an Iriili term, which means a savage; Who alms to make a free- born people slaves, Anil wishes famine in their ranks to ravage. Py reading my entire, we learn each deed Our ancestors have done in time's past stages j And should our country by our hands be freed, It will transmit our fame to future ages. II. My first Is a form we to D- eflWne give— ' ris likewise to strip and to plunder; My second's compo. ed of the years that men give, And the greatness ot Paiis caused much wonder. Both joined will express th: last sense of my first— You'll gu « ts It if you are sharp- witted; TIs what Tories have shamelessly done when they attwt. And will soon do again, if permitted. Phlbsborough Road, near Dublin, MORE TESTIMONIALS OF THE BENEFICIAL EFFECTS OF PARR'S LIFE PILLS, IN LEICESTER, AND TUB NEIGHBOURHOOD. THE following facts have been mentioned to Mr. J. F. WlisKS, Wholesale Agent for PARR'S PILLS, in Leicester, who has preserved the name and residence of each ox the parties, which he is ready to produce :— A person in Oxford- street, Leicester, aged 44, had been ill two years of a kind ot influenza. The club surgeon said lie was in a consumption, and would never recover. He began to take these Pills three months ago. previous to which, he had bees confined to bis bed six months. The Pills first brought away a great deal of offensive matter, and then he gradually recovered. Can now walk about without a stick, and thought it his duty to make It known. He called again afterwards, and begged his name might not be published, as it might offend the club doctor. The wife © f Mr. Brown, in Fleet- street, has been In a low way for same time; she took the Pills regularly, and soon found her spirits more cheerful, and her sight and hearing, which had besn affected, were improved. She said they were pleasant to take, not causing a sickly feeling or giving the least pain. Miss Evans, Chatham- street, is a mender, In a warehouse; had been much afflicted for several years, and not able to do more than two hours work in a day; she took the Pills, and soon was im- proved In health, and could see much better. She now works her regular hours. Mr. Henahaw, of Bagworth, has baen long subject to palpitation of the heart, and could not walk up hill. Had the advice of an emineut physician in Leicester, but was no beKer till hs took these t Ills, but now is quite recovered. The wife of Mr. J. Frost, at the same place, was so tormented with a cough that she cOuld not sleep. She had taken the Pllhs which had done her, her husband said, a " world of good." Mr. R. Vann, of Belgrave, had been ill five yeirs of palpitation of the heart. Had beeu in the Infirmary, and i n ler several phy- sicians and surgeons. H as been gradually Improving since he took these PJIIS and Is now able to work. Mrs. Turner, of Whetstone, had found them very beneficial for the scrofula. Many other cases have b<? en mentioned by persons who have purchased the Pills. Indeed, the very extensive and increasing sale. of this useful medicine, is the best proof that can be desired how highly it is appreciated. I shall be happy to answer enquiries. J. F. WINK8, 20th March, 1841. Bookseller, Leicester. The following extraordinary case of cure has been communicated to the Wholesale Agent for PARR'S LIFE PILLS, at Notting- ham :— Mrs. JOSEPH SIMPSON, Church Hill Close, Old Lenton, near Nottingham, has been severely afflicted for the last thirty years with a violent Cough and difficulty of Breathing. Th • affliction has been so severe that she could not follow her usual ot cupations. She took cold when only fifteen Tears old, and the cc jgh never left her till she took Parr's Life Pills. Sh ® had tried ain ost every kind of medicine, but nothing afforded relief, and she also had taken Lauthmum in large quantities. She heard of Parr's Pills about, last Christmas, and as soon as she had taken about half a box; she fbund herself i ompletely cured, and has never been affecteid In the slightest man- er during the severe weather that followed, and is now better In h alth Ulan she has ever been in her life. She will be happy to answer any inquiries, by personal Inquiries or letter. Mrs. JOSEPH SIMPSON, Old Lentoa, near Nottingham. The above case, and hundreds of others, shewing the wondeitiil efficacy of Parr's Life Pills needs no comment,— they at enow the UNIVERSAL MEDICINE and restorer to health. Sold by most respectable Medicine Vendors, In Boxes, at Is. ljd., Dec. 18, 1840,— Iu order to proteet the publle Irom imitations, the Hon. Commissioners of Stamps have ordered " PARRS LIFE PILLS'" to be engraved on the Government Stamp attached to each box, without which none are genuine. London :— Print* l and Published by E. LLO'S D, 231, High Street, Shoreditch; and at 44, tfolyio€ ll~ shcet> Strand.