LONDON:— SUNDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1841 ONE OF THE LITTER EIGHTY! AWFUL SITUATION OF M. DE JOUttNAY Time out of mind's a common phrase, Whose use time hath defied ; But here in aged madness see The same exemplified. ilolitt, Had Hogg been living, well might he, sHetcli 0f thee have taken ; Nor would' vou 11 sut) jec,; had have been For the ,' anf ''" d Earned Bacon 1 patience and resignation ; and at times I subdued my bodily pain with my mind's energy, but alas! such pe- riods were only of momentary duration. Drowsiness generally accompanied tiie cessation of pain, but it was oniy to make me start from hideous visions and tantalising dreams. It seemed as if no recollections of my past life— no images but such as would distress me to the utmost, nt such a moment, were ever recalled , such as they were, they appeared horribly vivid and true, torturing me like fiends, and rendering my mind an instrument of pain horrible as that where the worm dieth not, and the tire is not quenched. • The absolute weakness which is the fruit of inanition in general, did not come over me for some days. It is true I had no opportunity of trying my strength; and I knew not what effect my recent accident might have had on my frame, in rendering it less or more capable of resistance to the approach of hunger. My mind seemed to me first susceptible of the advance of suffer- ing, for my memory was very quickly impaired. AH my recollections seemed in disconnected links, or united with what had not the remotest affinity to each or either, as is often the case in a fevered dream. Almost intole- rable restlessness of spirit at first accompanied my bodily torment, ending in deep depression of mind, and sighing; I poured forth my prayers to God incessantly, but they seemed to give little or no consolation. In- stead of being followed by resignation ( I am speaking of tbe early partof my suffering), L felt inclined to mur- mur the more at my destiny, and to task the justice of the Almighty in predestinating me to such a doom. Theo my feelings would be converted into keen regret, or rather torment, for my murmuring. The prospect of death added weight to my mental anguish, and suddenly summoned before me, enlarged darkly in bulk, the sins of my past life, until they arose to be inaccessible bar- riers to the hope of eternal glory when my miserable existence on earth should have closed, I always rate Ihe mental torment I endured on this occasion as equal to the bodily, during the time tho body preserved the consistency of its functions. Afterwards the mind sunk down with it into a species of apathy no apprehension could rouse. In that dreadful state I demanded of Heaven if my terrible sufferings would not propitiate my sins— whether Heaven, that had so permitted agony to be heaped npon my head, would not balance it against my offences towards its majesty 1 Titus I prayed or murmured. Reason seldom aided me. I was the victim of suffering's impulses, and was oast upon wild fancies, enjoying no repose. This stage of my trial soon had its end ; I had no mode of computing time, for the hands of my watch were invisible from the darkness $ I knew that it con- cluded just after I had finished the last drop of my water. The absence of this beverage, though 1 had made it last me as long as I could, produced a rapid change in my sensations ; this I well recollect. I began to feel fainter and more weak, and my limbs grew pain- fully cold. Shiverings now and then came over me ; and my mind, contrary to what had happened before, seemed to have by far the advantage of the body. I was conscious of delirium at times, and of demoniacal dreams, but at intervals was more composed, and suf- fered little pain, but inexorable debility. The viscera seemed to me diminished, and all energy in them extinct, feeling like a dead mass, and as if those of a dead dis- embowelled animal had been placed within me instead of my own. My giddiness of head increased, together with the spasms and fa- intness. I am certain too, that about this time I became totally blind, at least such is my firm impression. I found, too, that in my parox- isms of delirium I had attempted to gnaw my arms, but the laceration was not deep, simply from the want of physical power to penetrate the muscle wilh my relaxed jaws. " When, O God! will my agonies end i" was my frequent sigh, for I was too weak for an articulate ejaculation. 1 seemed to have forgotten words, even to myself, as I found when I tried to pray ; I could no connect what I would say, I can well remember. A1 A WELL- DOER. — A father wished to dissuade his daughter from marrying, said to her, " She who marries does well— but she who remains single does better." " My dear father," she answered meekly, " I am content with doing well; let her do better who can." MR. MB MRS. TipFS — A little circumscribed whip- per- snipper looking individual, with a pug nose, and attired in a seedy black coat, buttoned up to the chin, and trousers, that reached about two inches below his knees, rushed into the ofli: e in great haste, and making his way to the mrjgUtv'ale, said ! - Please vq « , r Worship, my name's Tipps." MAGisyftVrE— Well, Mr. Tipps, and pray whit is Jour .-.' jsioesi here i APPLICANT.— Josiali Tipps is my name, Josiali Tipps, your worship, and I'm a tailor. MAGISTRATE.— Well, my jood man, but you musl state the nature of yonr business here ; we cannot have tbe court occupied in this manner. What is it you warn P APPLICANT ^ ith a most rueful visage, and looking towards the door ofthe office as if in dread of the ap- pearance of some person).— Please your worship, I Wants a warrant. MAGISTRATE.— What for, and against whom ? APPLICANT.— \ gin my wife, Mrs. Susannah Tipps, your vorship, for brutally ill- treating me : and I'm informed as 1 can get van granted under Mister Mar- tin's act, for cruelty t.- j animals. Ve'ie all animals, you know ( a laugh.'',. MAGISTRATE.-. Well, hut my good man, you have tiot mentioned th « particulars oif your grievance. Does your w lfe beat you ; APPLICANT.— Beat me, your worship ! Lor bless you, she has volloped me until I haven't scarcely a Bound place about me. She thinks nothing of lifting me up by the hair of fhe head, and dropping me on the floor again like a hot potato, and she threatens to smash me like a bug, your worship ( a laugh). Oh, she is sich a wixen, there's no bearing with her, and without I have your protection, I do really think, she'll be the death of me. MAGISTRATE— What is the reason she ill- treats you ? APPLICANT.— AU because she is so dreadfully jea- lous of me,' your worship. Lor bless yon, I cannot even look at another woman but she is jealous, and calls me a wicked , seducer. God knows how many scrapes she has got me into with the neighbours, all because I'm wery fond of children, and if I just speaks te ' em, or give ' em a cake or a sugar plum, she's sure to say as they are the very picter o' me, and that I must be more intimately acquainted wilh their mothers than I ought to be, when the Lord knows I'm as binnocent of any- thing of that here as one of the sweet little babbies themselves, 1 should like to ask you now, your wor- ship, whether, in your opinion, I look like a seducer 1 The magistrate, without any hesitation, replied in ihe negative to the phantom tailor. APPLICANT— To be sure I do not, and, therefore, just to satisfy lier, I wants to take my half- a- davy to that effect. MAGISTRATE.— We cannot take the oath of any per- son upon so delicate a subject as that. APPLICANT.— I am very sorry for that, your worship. She is so precious jealous that I can't move, look, or speak, aud the neighbours knowing lhat, tcanes me dreadfully about it. Only last year they sent me no less than fifty wolentines, and for eveiy one of them she gave me a whacking. MAGISTRATE.— But why do yon not muster up spirit sufficient, and become master of your own place i APPLICANT.— Master of my own place!— If you was to see my wife you wouldn't say that 5 she is Here Mr. Josiali Tipps paused suddenly in his Speech, as a stentorian voice was heard to exclaim within the precincts of the court,— " Vhere's th' warmint f — vhere's the wretch 1— let Ine get at him!— I'll sarve bim out for this!" " There she is ; that's her," stammered out poor Mr. Josiah Tipps, turning very pale, comprising himself into Ihe smallest possible compass, and endeavouriug to hide himself behind the usher of the court. It was, however, alj to no purpose. Mrs. Susannah Tipps, a regular strapper, with a shoulder of mutton fist, a rubicund countenance, aud fiery eyes, rushed into the office, and elbowing her way up to the unhappy appli- cant, lugged bim up by the ear, the same as she would do a puppy, and would, 110 doubt, have committed a most desperate outrage upon him, had not Mr. Tipps bawled out most lusiily for help, and two or three policemen flew lo his rescue. MRS. TIPPS.— You wile, seducinatin' warmint, I'll teach you to apply for a varrant agin nie, a poor in- jured. weak ' oman, I will. You shall suffer for this. APPLICANT ( fearfully).— Now, my love . MRS. TIPPS ( fiercely) Don't my love me, you little, insignificant, thirty- sixth part of a man. Where's the two children as you pays four shillings a week for, eh ! you blackguard ? APPLICANT.— They warn't mine, tho' they makes me pay for them. But, my love, you know you have no cause to grumble, for don't 1 keep them here couple of twinBas you had only three mouths after ve vos married ? Upon this shameless expose the indignation of Mrs. Susannah Tipps knew no bounds ; the fury of Vesuvius raged within her face her body swelled to twice its size ; her eyes rolled frightfully , she doubled her fists, and was making a rush towards the thirty- sixth part of a man, evidently with a full determination to annihilate him, when she was withheld by the policemen, and being placed at the bar, Mr. Tipps being surrounded by an efficient body guard, the magistrate bound her over to keep I lie peace, when Bhe was suffered to de- part, Mr. Josiah Tipps, at his own request, being suf- fered to remain in the office until it was ascertained that she had quitted the neighbourhood, when he skulked fearfully out of the office, declaring that he must be- come a hopeless wanderer, as he could not venture to : return home, dreading that his amiable partner would put the threat she had so often uttered info execution, : namely, to " smash liim like a bug."^ FAMINE DURING A SIEGE. THE siege of Manheitn, by the French, took PLACE early in the last war, and live relator Of the circum- stances was lately alive at Frankfort, in which city he had been for many years a resident. The narrative is given, as nearly as possible, in his own words. Ile was an agreeable lively man, fond of anecdote : and lie di- verted his friends W illi matty interesting circumstances which occurred during the investment and after the capture of his native place. He told us that the boy Ernest, mentioned in the narrative, possessed the fa- cully of Bfaing the shells in the air after their projection from the French batteries, and that he was accustomed to call out, that people in the streets might take care of their descent; this warning, however, was useless, as until a missile had reached the ground, no one knew which way to run to avoid it. There were several individuals who were equally acute in vision among the besieged at the same time. But to the subject. The siege had commenced, and the firing hud begun to wax warm, so that the inhabitants were glad to avail themselves of any adequalo shelter from its terrible effects. The batteries en recochet enfiladed every street, and ihe cellars of tha houses became the only secure places of refuge. Thither most persons betook them- selves, with what stock of provisions they could muster. These cellars were strongly arched over, and it was a rare circumstance that a bomb, after forcing through the roof and strong floors of a house in succession, had power enough left to penetrate the arches which co- vered them. An unfortunate accident prevented my affording any aid to the garrison in the defence, having broken my leg by a fall from the ramparts a day or two after the city was invested. I lived in a tolerably broad street, but much exposed to the enemy's shot, which frequently plunged along its whole range from end to end. Now and then a shell had fallen within a few yards from my door, and it became evident that it was no longer safe to remain above ground. I, there- fore, caused a mattress or two to bo removed into my cellars, together wilh a small quantity of food, some candles, necessaries, and a few books, aud took up my abode there. There were two cellars, each situated at the end of a vaulted passage. The second was occupied by my two female domestics; a lad named Ernest, about fourteen years of age, lived in one or the other, and ran back- wards or forwards as circumstances or his own inclina- tions disposed him. About the centre of the arched passage, on the right hand side, was a flight of stone stairs, which led toJhe kitchen above. The boy Er- nest was of a lively, fearless disposition, and would frequently get weary of our subterranean residence, and run up to look out at the street door, and sometimes venture towards Ihe ramparts, whence he would con- trive to bring us news of the state of affairs, and mention what houses were ruined by the firing. Matters bad proceeded in the foregoing manner for a week or two after we had lived in our subterraneous apaitments, when, one morning, the firing seemed to rage with redoubled violence, both within and without the defences. The earth around and above me shook with the explosions from the batteries, and I concluded some decisive attack was about to take place. My helpless situation, stretched upon my mattress or sitting up and supported with pillows, became doubly painful. At such a moment to be powerless and inert was peculiarly afflicting; and my reflections were not of the most agreeable character. Ernest came to the door of the cellar about ten o'clock in the morning, for the last time, and told me he should go up and learn what the terrible loudness of the fire indicated. He left mc and mounted to the kitchen above, which I could scarcely imagine he had crossed, before a noise and crash, loud as the loudest thunder, involved me at once in dust and darkness. I was at the corner of the cellar furthest frem the entrance, aud a load of rubbish choked up the doorway, extending some feat within the entrance of my abode. — t immediately conjectured the cause; namely, that a ' sheli had fallen upon the house and ex- ploded on or broken through the arched passage at the entrance of the cellar, making me a prisoner. When I had a little recovered from my surprise, I found the entrance hermetically sealed against ingress or egress j equally dreadful, a tinder- box, candles, and a little storb of provisions, which were just without the cellar door in an excavation in the wail of the passage, were lost to me. 1 might have crawled thither from my mattress and secured them, but the masses of stone piled on each other forbade the most distant prospect of hope from any exertion of my own. I threw myself back in an agony of despair. In the confusion which reigned without, I must retiiain forgotten ! All the hor- ror of my situation came upon me at once, and my heart died within me. To add to my misfurtune my candle was nearly burnt out— with what feelings did 1 watch its glimmering in the socket! Its last flash was like the arrow of dealt passing through my heart. 1 now wept like a woman amid the darkness of my unseen abode, that was, as far as I could judge, to be my chat nel- vault. Death from hunger was before me, with all ils keenness of suffering. The dull, and as it were remote, sound of the guns from without; so different in intensity from what ii had lately been, told ine that the mass interposed between rilyself and the upper world must be very considerable. I felt my heart shrink up at the discovery of my situation. The hours lingered into ages; but it was long before the feeling of hunger affected me— so much was the mind occupied with ap- prehensions for the future, and filled with hopes and fears in continual ebb and flow. In groping around me 1 fOlind two stale crusts of bread, and some water yet remained in a vessel by the side of my mattress. Both I used avariciously, yet at every mouthful my appre- hension for the future increased, and a hundred times did [ in vain feel around carefully for some other relic of food: I had, I then thought, no alternative but to die. Why should I fear to do so ?— hundreds, per- haps thousands, wefe at the same moment dying above, but a short distance from me, in the violence of angry passions, and with horrible lacerations. I should go out from life like a taper ; and most probably the pains of such a death had been greatly exaggerated. Such were my self comforts— refuges from despair. I sooil found a sensation of emptiness come ofcer me, bordering upon faintness, similar to what many people feel who delay a meal lo a very late hour. It appeared to me that my eyes were weak, and I fancied if I had had light near me that still 1 could have seen nothing distinctly. This sensation was accompanied by a tre- mor of the eyelids and a swimming ill the head. I tried to relieve myself by giving way to sleep, tbe in- clination for which came at times very strongly over nie, but I could not gain more refreshment than a rest- less doze imparts, and this was always cut short by some horrible vision that prevented its affording me the least benefit. Now, I thought I was seated at a splen- did feast, where ail that could attract the palate and delight the senses was before me. 1 was touching the richest viands— nay, actually lifting the envied morsel till it touched my mouth, and its flavour was in my nos- trils, when I was awoke by some hideous phantom snatching the untasted morsel from my sbriveiled lips and dashing it away. Sometimes I found myself in a delicious island, where the finest fruits giew in Nature's utmost prodigality ; but, on tasting them, they were nauseous and sickening, mere soot aud ashes; and if I sought to relieve my thirst from the pure limpid streams that ran in crystal among the luxurious scenery, I found them changed into bitter bloed. Everything seemed to combine to mock my sufferings and edge my tortures. I was much afflicted by spasms and twitching sensations internally, as if the viscera were drawn together and expanded too suddenly. Hollow, aching, gnawing pains, as if my vitals were torn with pincers, frequently assailed me, but seemed to diminish in force from repe- tition, X strove ^ yith all my might to bear up with lengih the reposs which seemed the forerunner of speedy death came upon me, though still sensible, buJ power- less as a corpse. I looked for my dnliveiance by o^ atti with unconcern, I have an impression lhat, while lytsg ! in this slate I heard the sound of artillery, but I cannot be certain, any more than I can tell how long it was before I became wholly insefis'.' ble. My next recollection of myself a most painful one. I was I could not guess where, grange voices were around me, and I could not see the spe.^ e£ 8 from utter want of vision. The horrible debility 1 > elt in body, combined with the activity of my mind durii,'? my resus- citation, was unspeakably painful— so much s>? ' hat the recollection almost overpowers me at times evei? D° w. It appeared that Ernest had escaped the effects ff a thirfeen- inch shell, whieli burst over the passage to tl.' e cellar and broke in the arch. The siege grew warmer, and the city was taken. When matters were a little quiet, the faithful lad did not fail to implore all he met in my behalf. A humane French officer ordered a search to be made, and I was found, apparently lifeless, stretched on my mattress. To the care of a French surgeon I also owe my recovery, and the power of now- relating my Bufferings. That recovery was slow. J. had endured a fasting of nine entire days. I atO six feet high, and proportionably stout; when found, boy could have carried me on his back, and I seemed shrunk to the lowest stature, a mere cage of bone and skin. Nothing of inconvenience remains to me now from this my severe trial, save now and then a dream of horrible vividness, which conjes upon me whenever I suffer from feverishness or indigestion, and fearfully recals the past, DON CASPER AND THE PARRICIDE DAUGHTER. On it bflsht summer's day at the end of July, a numerous bridal train slowly proceeded up one ot the principal streets ot Madrid, leading to a large public square: the siii- ery sounds of the lute, wa/ ted en the hot breeze, mingled with the joyous laogh and glad- some voices j silken banners ofa gaudy hue waved on high, antl the richly Bceated tresses ofthe damseli shed the.!"' perfume around: liveried menials walked on either side, vainly striving to keep off the admiring crowd, as they eagerly pressed forwaru gaze,.° Jl the lovely Donna Gabrlella dl Eorma, who was now to - , u°! e? to the handsomest noble In the land, Don Gaspar. The b< rv. rothc^ pair heeded the procession mounted on two snowy steeds, whit., ever and anon champing their goklen bits, tossed their small heads In pride, and made the silver bells, closely studded on the reins, tinkle almost to the nleaaure of music. The luxuriant locks of Qabrlelle were thickly plaited with pearls; here and there thej were looped up with rubies and diamonds, a wreath of which gems encircled ber brow; her robe was of satin embroidered with pearls ; her slender and delicate waist was confined by a cordelicre of bril- liants f the small hand which held the rein, and checked the . ardour of her praudng steed, was encased In a white glove embroidered with silver, whilst the other held a large fan composed of coloured featfiirs for the purpose of shading her lovely visage from the sua. The radiant smiles slie lavished ou her bridegroom were unheeded as pale and melancholy he rode, bearing bis plumed beaver lnjgfl hand, and the thiek dark curls almost shading his care- worfcl|^ M The two families followed, nobly mounted, and decked u^ H splendour. ^^ H Suddenly the tones Of the muffled dram were heard, j^ M opening of a side street, a procession of soldiers min^^ H bridal cortege. A man followed clothed In bliu^ H holding a hatchet in his hand ; then came s^ H female habited In white, her feet bare, amUfl entirely covering her form, reached blanched, aud her alight marked eyeUg^ H but not a tear glistened on theAi^ H crowd retreated. Some excl^^ f clde daughter !*' whilst otheii^ H on to the execution— let hj^ H Suddenly a scream wjfl clinging, with enehaine^ H • Save s. iVi^^^^^^^^^^ HBHj guilty. Dear Gaspar, hi^ H^^^^^^^^ HH^ Pi-^^ wu^ VI on whom she called of his bosom alone pourtrayed his feelings v^ Wfftue. " Oh, Gaspar I as yoa hope for mercy hereafter, show some now to me. Oh, God I must I then die t Gaspar, you can save me I" and the distracted girl had . early sprung upon his horse, when two guards seized her and lifting her in their armi, bore her to tbe place she escaped from, " One word," said Juana, " and I will otier no resistance,— a few moments and I shall cease to exist. Gaspar, if the prayers ofa guilty wretch can avail with Him above, thy life wttl be a happy one;— but In the midst of joy, tat not the recollection of the miser's daughter be entirely effaced; a few short moments, and this face on which thou hast so often gazed and pressed to thy lips, will be cast into the mire, and therein trampled on;— a few moments and this broken heart will no more ache, grief will then repose, tears will thin cease to flow, aud Juana's name will be linked with that of Parricide ! — But this weakness Is now of no avail— Gaspar, art thou happy ?— Does your fair dame possess thy heart whole aud untouched ?"— Gaspar bowed his head— the Spanish girl, meekly folding her hands on her throbbing breast, while her tears flowed many and fast, added,—" Then Heaven be my witness I die con- tent. Gaspar, dear idol of my fervent adoration, thou art happy? ' TIs well— it is not tit that I should live ! — my sight would blast thy peace. Farewell for ever ! X die content!" and murmuring aa inward prayer, Juana joined the escort, and proceeded to the scaf- fold, which was erected in the square. The bridal party maintained a solemn silence— a tear glistened In the blue eye of the noble Donna Gabrielle, as she vainly essayed to unravel from Gaspar's look this mystery. The rolling of the drum ceased,— the bridal train advanced to the square— Gabrielle hid her face in her hands and wept. A shout arose, and a black mass was seen coming towards Gas- par 1 for a minute the Boft breeze suspended the floating mass over ills head. The mob pressed forward to behold Juana. Violent hootlngs, shouts, and execrations on the parricide daughter alarmed the steeds; Gaspar's became unmanageable, aud as It tried to break forth, the floating mass fell on the rider. It was Juana's hair, which had been cut from her small head and throwu to the crowd. Shrieks ware heard, mingled with confused sounds of hooting and despair; and at the erame moment that Juana had ceased to exist, by means of the executioner's axe, Gabrielle was bending over the lifeless foim of Gaspar;— he had been thrown from hi, horse and killed. THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE DEATH GMSP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE! BY THK AUTHCR * F " ELA, THE OBXCAST," ETC. ( Continued from our last.) r When they had recovered from the first burst of transport occasioned by this unexpected announce- ment, they threw themselves at the feet of Ricardo, and clasping his knees, looked up in his face with an ex- pression of the most unbounded gratitude. " Oh, sir," exclaimed Florian, while tear**, of delight flowed down his cheeks: " this kindness is overwhelm- ing; how shall we ever be able t- 0 expressour full sense of gratitude for your goodi>/ e8s P » ;',(? h;- n0: iue.^ 11 5ever indeed be able . aid Julio, " but, ' tie added, after a pause," you are not joking, are vou?" 1 since'rHy ° "" 8 ® d lhem' and he sPok ® in a voice of . " JPVing, my poor lads, no, I am not used to sport- ing, with the feelings of any person after that fashion ;" < said Ricardo ; " but your gratitude is not due to me; rather bless the name of the noble founder of the Parity. But come, this point's settled; and look ye, yonder'' a my cottage ; enter there at once, and pnt down your oundle, and as you appear to be tired and hungry, ail yourselves and welcome, of the fare it contains. Vou will find a brown loaf and half a bottle of wine on the table, regale yourselves, and we will rejoin you presently." " Thanks, thanks, dear, kind sir," said Julio, " in truth we are very hungry, so we shall not lose any time in despatching the fare you are so generous as to offer us, depend upon it." With these words Julio and his brother entered the cottage of Ricardo, and quickly commenced their re- past, which they ate with that relish long fasting had given to their appetites; while Ricardo, Clotilde, and the other members of the wedding party, hied away to the church. Having finished their meal, Julio and Florian left the cottage, and went forth to meet the wedding party on its return. They met Ricardo and Clotilde a short dis- tance from the cottage, who had preceded the bride and bridegroom and their friends, to prepare for their re- ception, and to see how the two poor lads were faring. " Here you are then, my lads," said Ricardo, a smile of kindness beaming in his benevoleut countenance ; " and I hope you have stowed all safe." " Oh, yes, sir," replied Julio, " ^ e have stowed all safe, thanks to your hospitalityour bundle it, a cupboard ; the brownbread a0<| wine in our stomachs." But, said Florian, there i, one thing we forgot to tell you, and - j( 1„ have been so kind to us, that we ou£ h' not to conceal anything from you." True, brother," observed JHHO, " but what have got to tell? I do not remember anything." " The little box, Julio, that poor mother gave us on her death bed;" returned Floriam " And what may the said box contain, my boys?" inquired Ricaido. " Ofthatweare as ignorant as yourself, sir an- " wered Julio, " i, ut show the box, Florian;. mother conhded it to tbe care of Florian, sir, for though he's the youngest, y^ t mother always said he was the steady one." J Florie. n took a small casket from his bosom, which was curiously wrought and sealed, and presentad it to • Rttardo, who took it with some surprise, the more so, Vhen he saw inscribed upon it the following words :— " To Florian and Julio.— Never open this till Florian has attained his eighteenth year," " This is very mysterious I" said Ricardo, examining the casket more minutely • « and you say that you know nothing of the contents of this, my lads ?" ' Nothing whatever, sir," replied Florian; " it is three years to come before I shall be eighteen, and neither of us would open the box for all the world be- fore the time our dear mother has mentioned." " And did she say anything when she gave it you *" « 5,* ed Ricardo. " When she gave it to us," said Florian, the tears rushing to his eyes, and appearing altogether deeply affected i " oh, we would rather not talk of that." " I can fully appreciate and sympathise with your feelings, my poor boy," observed Ricardo, " but I must request you to answer the question ; it may be of con- sequence." " True, it may be," coincided Julio," and, therefore, I will give you the information you require, sir. Well, then, ' My dear children,' she said,— we were at her bed- side,— she was dying,— oh !" " Come, come, cheer up, my good lad," said Ri- cardo, compassionately. '" Take this box,' she said, continued Julio; ' be sure to keep It safely ; the happiness of your lives de- pends upon it, and " ' " Hush, Julio," interposed Florian, " there is some- body coming." At this moment Geraldo, the steward ofthe baroness entered, and Ricardo hastily thrust the casket in his bosom. " V thought we could not be long without being in- terrupted," remarked Ricardo; " it is the impertinent and hateful steward of the baroness." " Who is the gentleman, sir ?" interrogated Julio. " Mr. Geraldo, the steward from the castle, who tomes no doubt with a message from his mistress ;" wered Ricardo. h, hang that castle 1" said Julio aside ; " I can't idy that belongs to it." now advanced, and glanced at the boys lthough he evidently did not wish Ricardo otice the closeness of his scrutiny. Ricardo," he observed, with an " Clotiide, my ancient dame, I met the procession on the jou returning; do not let ^ respects sullenly, rwe did not expect," " Well, well, he perhaps did not mean anything by it," said Geraldo, " and, therefore, you must forget it; I have reprimanded him for it, and you must therefore forgiveTiis arrogance, and I trust you will more readily do so, when I inform you that he is deaf. Ricardo, the baroness must see them, and to show you, boys, that you have nothing to fear, I will conduct you to her myself." Ricard. o could not lielp plainly evincing his dis. pleasure at this proposition; Geraldo noticed it, but said nothing in allusion to it, having good reason to believe th » . t he was no favorite with the old man. " You'll be delighted to go, won't you, my lads ?" interrogated Geraldo. " No thank you, sir," said Florian, dejectedly. " Egad!" cried Julio, " somehow or the other, I should like to talk to a baroness ; I don't think I ever saw one in the whole course of my life." " Well, then, attend me ; no time must be lost;" said Geraldo, hastily. " I must disguise my fears," said Ricardo, aside. He then added aloud,—" I am ready to attend you with them directly." " Psha!" exclaimed Geraldo; " you forget that your company will be required by the wedding party. As soon as her ladyship lias seen them, I'll bring them to you in the^ olive field. Come, my lads, bid good bye for a short time, to your protector." " Good bye, sir," said Julio to Ricardo; " we shan't be gone long." " Good bye, kind, worthy sir," said Florian, with fervour ; and then suddenly seeming to recollect him- self, he remarked:—" but I had like to have forgot— the little box, sir, if you please." " Hush, not a word about it," replied Ricardo, aside, cautiously to Florian. Geraldo had, however, heard what the latter had said, and turning hastily to Ricardo, he enquired I— " A box, say you ; a box! Where is it ? ES, Master Ricardo, pded Geraldo. wonder, sil^^ WBPITn t cheer your heart a little oftener," remarked Ricardo, sarcastically ; " I know there is some mischief a- foot," said Ricardo, aside ; " I can always tell it by his being so devilish civil.'' " These are two pretty boys," said the steward; " whose are they, pray J" " They are mine," replied Ricardo. " Yoars!" " Yes, and mine too, sir;" said Clotilde, hastily. ! " Aud yours!" reiterated Geraldo, with a look of astonishment; " why, Ricardo,— Clotilde, would you bring scandal on yourselves ?" " Scandal, sir," re- echoed Clotilde; " I defy any one to bring scandal on me;— they belong to all the hamlet." " In fact," added Ricardo," they are orphans, newly arrived on the feast day, and adopted by me, wilh the consent of all the neighbours." " Oh, according to the Count Altenburg's charter ;" said Geraldo., " True," replied Ricardo; " and, according to that charter they are under my care and protection." " Certain I am, my friends," remarked the steward, " they cannot be under better. How old are you, my lads?" " Oh, Julio," said Florian, ( iinidly, " do you speak? I am so frightened." " Frightened," responded Julio, " pho!" and ad- vailing boldly to Geraldo, he added; " I am fifteen, sir, my brother was fourteen last Monday." " Fine little follows for your years," said Geraldo, " Ricardo, why haven't you introduced them at the castle ?" " Oh, tkankyou, sir," answered Julio, pertly,—" we have hai » nough of the castle already." " Are tkese the same boys that I have been told the porter drove away from the gate last night ?" inquired Geraldo. " Yes, Sir, we are the same," replied Florian, " and very crifetty ke used us too." " A pretty casket,— a mere toy that— I'm going to lock it up directly;" answered Ricardo, confused. " Oh, no, no, I won't give you that trouble, my good sir ;" returned Florian, eagerly. Geraldo fixed a searching look upon the boys, and observing the eagerness of their manner, bis suspicions were excited, and he was anxious to know what the box contained. " What are the contents of the box vou speak of?" demanded Geraldo, " They tell me that it merely contains some trifles belonging to their deceased mother," replied Ricardo. " Trifling to you, no doubt," observed the steward; " to them, however, a treasure. Why detain it ? Their anxiety to keep it in their own possession is very natural." " Besides," said Florian, " mother bade us never to part with it.' 1 Ricardo reluctantly pulled the casket from his bosoin, and placing it in Florian's hand, said, " There, then, boy; aud mind you do take very great care of it." " I can tell you, my dear sir," remarked Julio, with a smile, " you have no occasion to be afraid of the steady one. And now, sir, we are ready to accompany you" ^ " No doubt" we shall be at the olive field as soon as you," said Geraldo, speaking to Ricardo. Ricardo and Clotilde now embraced the boys affec- tionately, and they then, attended by the steward, made their way towards the Castle of Altenburg. On their way thither, Geraldo endeavoured to amuse them with a glowing description of the beauties of the castle, and it was very evident that he took a peculiar interest in the boys, an interest which was unaccountable, con- sidering they were strangers to him. On entering the court yard, they saw the old deaf porter, Gaspard, by whom they had been so roughly treated the night before, but he seemed not at first to notice them. " So, this is the castle, is it?" said Julie, looking round him ; " well, it is mighty grand and dismal, to be sure.'/ " Shall we not soon return, sir ?" inquired Florian. " Aye, ay, presently," replied Geraldo, impatiently ; " I am going to inquire of the baroness when it will be her pleasure to receive you ? Gaspard !" The old porter seemed not to hear him, but walked nearer to the boys. Geraldo again called to him in a louder tone than before; but still he appeared not to hear him, and took not the least notice whatever. Julio now approached him, and bawling as loud as he could in his ear, he said :— " Sir, there's Mr. Geraldo talking to you,— can't you hear ?" Gaspard now turned towards Geraldo, who looked sternly at him, and made signs to him to withdraw. Gaspaid fixed a peculiar look upon the boys, and bowing, obefed. " Stay where you are, my lads," said the steward, as he retired ; " I will soon return." " Why, Julio," said Florian, when Geraldo had gone ; " the old man looked quite good- natured at us just now." " Yes, he did indeed; and his behaviour altogether was so different, that I could not help noticing it;" said Julio. " And how cross Mr, Geraldo is to him;" remarked Florian. " Yes," said Julio, " he is indeed ; " but I suppose that's merely to shew his consequence as the great lady's great man. Oh, 1 find that it's very easy to be a great man. ' Tis only to stamp your foot;— be pom- pous, and pretend to more consequence than you have a right to." " Dear me, I am all in a twitter, Julio, till we see this great lady," observed Florian. What shall we say to her ?" " I must confess, Florian," replied his brother, " that puzzles me a little bit. But don't you remember that Blaize, the carrier, who used to travel to Geneva, told us that all your great folks there talk so flourishing— they have always the honour to see each other, and hang me, Florian, if I don't try something after that fashion. But here she comes, I declare." At this moment the baroness entered, and fixing her eyes piercingly npon the countenances of the two boys, she started, and evinced considerable emo'. en. She was something very forbidding and repulsive in her appear- ance and demeanour. Her eyes, which were very dark, were peculiarly penetrating, and looked as though they could peruse the thoughts of those they fixed themselves upon, in a moment. " Ah 1" she muttered to herself; " those lineaments ; do then Altenburg's sons still lire ; or has my con- science conjured up a likeness?" She struggled with the feelings these thoughts created for a few moments, and then in] a voice] of forced calmness, and atl'ected kinduess, she greeted them, and bade them welcome to the castle. Julio took upon him- self the office of spokesman, which he did in rather an awkward and confused manner, a circumstance which might have been expected, considering that the society he had hitherto mingled amongst, had been most humble, " Your head gentleman, Mr. Geraldo," said he, " told us you would be flattered by a visit from us ; and so we flattered ourselves that we shouldn't do you the honour to refuse you, and — and — so here we are, madam." " They talk like cottage iboys," said the baroness, aside, " yet witli intelligence that proves a noble origin ; and their air, how graceful; how commanding ; their countenances seem to say, disperse our dawn of ignor- ance, that we may shine in kingly courts two stars of chivalry. Geraldo informs me," she added, aloud, " that you are adopted in Altenburg by virtue of the established charter." " Yes, madam,' said the boys, bowing very low. " Wure the noble Count Altenburg here," resumed the baroness;—" alas! I fear he lives not, and hourly do I mourn his loss; 1 think that his unerring judge- ment would discover iu your appearance, my young friends, something » i » ve those peasants for whom bis bounty was designed." " Oh, madam," said Julio, " you are too kind— too condescending." " It is a great ptjMUure," returned the baroness, " it is a great pleasured me to act as I supposa he would were he present: I must therefore supersede tbe worthy Geraldo's charge, and take you under my own protec- tion." " Oh, dear lady," Julio and Florian exclaimed in a breath, " indeed we don't deserve it." " Nay," remarked the baroness, " I am confident my hopes in you will be fulfilled; you must receive through me, my amiable young friends, an education suited to the qualities with which I perceive par- tial nature has gifted you. You shall'lay aside your coarse apparel, and to- morrow appear in habits proper for tha condition in which I mean to place you." " Oh, thank you, thank you, dear rnadatn," said Julio, " from this momsfit yuu and ,1 are two little gentlemen, Florian,*' Overwhelmed with joy, fiey rushed into each others arms, and embraced fervently, when the casket escaped from Florian's bosom, and fell to the ground. At that moment, Geraldo re- appeared, and his eye immediately beholding the casket, he whispered hastily to the baroness :— " Quick! secure the casket; ' tis that I told you of." The baroness stooped eagerly fcnd picked it up. * * » * * By the time Marceline had arrived at this part of the narrative, il was broad daylight, and so interested had she been by the romantic nature of the story that she had taken no notice of tbe rapid ( light of time. She was, however, aroused by hearing the sound of an ap- proaching footstep on the stairs, and shortly afterwards the ro « m door was opened, and Jacquelina entered. " Why, I declare," exclaimed the old woman, look- ing at the couch, " you have not been to bed all night, although you must have been very tired after your journey ; well— well— it surprises me how you young people can do without sleep. Ah I I see you have been reading, and so 1 do not wonder so much, for that is'a very curious asd interesting book. It belongs to rne, but I have read it through above a dozen times, and so has Marco, and, th^ fore, if you like it, accept it; it may serve to amuse you in a dull moment.'' Marceline thanked the old woman, and gladly ac- cepted the gift, for she was anxious to know the termi- nation of the Castle of Altenburg, and the fate of the two orphan brothers. " It is only just five o'clock," said Jacquelina, " but ' he vehicle is all ready, and the duke is anxious to re- sume the journey as quickly as possible." Will you attend me, if you please ?" Marceline arose, and having put the book in her bosom, with a heavy heart she accompanied Jacquelina down stairs, and entered the room, in which the detested Monterino was awaiting her arrival. He greeted her with an assumption of kindness, but Marceline made him no reply, and turned from him with a feeling of dis- gust, she found it impossible to suppress. Jacqnelina had spread a repast upon the table, but Marceline could not eat, and Monterino having slightly partaken of it, he arose, and proceeded; to conduct Mar- celiue from the room to the court yard, where the carriage was waiting. Monterino handed her in, and then followed himself; the same fellows that had at- tended them the other part of the journey, resumed their places on the outside ofthe vehicle, and it was driven hastily away. \_ To be continued in our next.'] TO CORRESPONDENTS. B. C., and W. C. DOWDELL, are ac• " ALEXANDER cepted. Y. Z.—" THE HEBREW MAIDEN" will be completed in 104 numbers. T. C., ( Ayr,) arrived too late. X. Y. ( Aberdeen.) " THE CONFESSIONS OF A PATRI- CIDE," has been in type several weeks, but press of matter has caused its delay. We regret that the communication of PATRICK FEN- NELLY, will not exactly suit our columns. T. E. GRAHAM is thanked. Our opinion of the tale by E. BROWNE, is best expressed by the prompt insertion we ' gave it. We shall be most happy to hear from him as frequently as convenient. T. 8.— The celebrated Romance of " THE DEATH GRASP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE," is now publishing in Penny weekly numbers, and monthly parts, price Fourpence. E. B.— We have several agents in Ireland, and all parts ofthe United Kingdom. The songs by E. GREEN, are under consideration. Declined :— J. HOLLIS. A. W. FISHER'S answer reached us too late. " A CONSTANT CONTRIBUTOR," ( Leeds,) can, of course, do as he pleases. " To THE LOVELY MARY ANN SUMMERS,' 1 will not suit. J. SINCLAIR. ( Walworth.) We are sorry that, our ar- rangements being complete, we cannot hold out any pro- mise of the hind; we should, however, be glad to re ceive your communications, and would give them prompt attention. Accepted : — " THE SAILOR'S RETURN," " CROSS- READINGS," and " PENCILLINGS," by E. LEWIS, ( Birmingham); " THE MINSTREL;" Enigmas by W. C. DOWDELL, J. F. W., and HERBERT. A. B.— We cannot insert any tale until we have the com- pletion of it. " THE COTTAGE BOY," shall receive immediate insertion either in this paper or " THE COMPANION." " THE DESERTED LOVER," will not suit. " THE BRIDAL OF ALNWICK,'' is suited to our columns, and if the author will favour us with the conclusion, il shall appear. ' " MOLIMEN" shall be attended to as early as possible. The completion of the Dramatic Tale of" JACK KETCH," is unavoidably postponed till our next, in consequence of the indisposition of the author. All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High street, Shoreditch. story was written originally in Spanish, says Pope ( whence, probably, Howel had translated it in prose, and put it in one of his letters)." Sounlni savs that SAVARY published two volumes of Travels in Upper Egypt, without travelling a single foot in it. He extracted from Herodotus, Strabo, Dio- dorus Siculus, and otiiers, aud out of them made a very pleasant book, which— sold. What STERNE plagiarised, let Dr. Ferriar tell. Sterne, who made free with Burton, with Rabelais, with Mon- taigne, Bayle, embellished all. Jackson, of Exeter, makes him guilty of literary thievery '.— Sterne's seventh posthumous sermon is, in a creat part, cribbed word for Word from Walter Leigitenhouse's Sermons, printed 1697 ; aud heuce Mr. Jackson, of Exeter, observes s— " These are pretty strong instances of the liberties tliat one preacher takes with another; and it ought to make publishers of posthumous sermons a little careful, lest, j instead of their friend's compositions, they may only re- publish what has been alfeady printed. However, after all this, the plagiarism of a fool is never excused, be- cause no one can return the compliment; but we pardon a genius, because, if he takes, he is qualified to give in return. SPENSER and MILTON both borrowed from the Ita- lians. " The whole of TASSO'S Armida," says Mickle, " is evidently Copied from Camoen's Island of Venus." Among other instances, we find that the novel of Blanche, or he Marriage de la Vengeance, in Gil Bias, the origin of Thomson's Tancred and Sigismunda, is taken from a Spanish play, " Casarse par Vengarse," of Dan Francisco de Roxas. DAN HEW. This celebrated story, resembling that of the Little Hunchback, is to be found in the Bodleian Papers, vol. 1, p. 120. We meet with it also in the fourth volume of the British Bibliographer; in Hey- wood's History ot Women, 4to. 1624, p. 253 ; in Bloom- field's Norfolk, vol. 3, p. 047 ; and, at length, in George Colman's Broad Grins. So that a good story is a great traveller, aud must be made the most of. The story of GriseMa is borrowed from tbe Deca- meron of Chaucer; as is the Knight's Tale ( Palamon and Arcite) from his poem of the Theseid. In the work, " Momus Triumphant," published 1688, was exposed the plagiaries of the English stage, wherein the writers of our comedies borrowed or stole their plots. Critics, of all people, are the least scrupulous in breaking the eighth commandment, iu the literary sense. To wind up. " Plagiarism has been dignified with the name of classical imitation. Richesource published his Mask of Orators, or the manner of disguising with ease all kinds of composition, briefs, sermons, pane- gyrics, fuueral orations, dedications, speeches, letters, passages. His book is an instruction how to manage plagiarism. Eschylus stole from Homer, Sophocles from both, and Virgil from everybody. Sterne siole wholesale from Bajle s Dictionary, and, indeed, Bishop Warburton says, in this respect, he and Blackmore were alike; and both Sterne and Dr. Johnson, from Burton's Anatomy ; Shakspere and Chaucer from Boc- cacio ; Sterne's story of the whiskers may be found in the article Margaret de Valois, in a book called a New Voyage into Terra Australis, by James Sadew ) from Ihe same work Defoe aud Addison also stole.— Prior stole from Montaigne; half of Joe Miller may be trae'ed to Athens and Bagdad; Thevenot's two folio volumes of Voyages aud Travels were collected from the mate- terials of travellers, for he was never out of Europe; Carreri wrote a Voyage round the World, which was performed in his chamber; Duhalde's History of China, so much looked up to, was compiled from the Memoirs of the Missionaries, for he was never thirty miles out of Paris in his life ; the origin of Parnell's Hermit is to be found in a scarce Tract of 1652; besides, La Bruyere himself tells us, all is said, aud we are too late."— [ Prodigious!!! or, Childe Padtlie in Londo? i, 3vols. 12mo.) ERNNESTINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. BY THK AUTHOR « F " ELA, THA OUTCAST," BTC. ( Continued from our last. J " Alas"!" ejaculated onr heroine, after THE PENNY PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. PLAGIARISM. According to our promise, we this week agaiu resume the interesting article upon plagiarism, which details many curious facts that have never before been inquired into POPE'S delightful Ode, " The Dying Christian to his Soul," is not only an imitation of Hadrian, but, say the editors oi Pope ( vol. 1, p. 188), " a palpable plagiarism from Fiatman," an obscure rhymer of Charles the Se- cond's time! — Pope's line: " Every woman is at heait a rake," strangely corresponds with a verse of Clopinel, sometimes called John of Mehuti, iu the Roman de la Rose, which justly offended the female sex :— Toutes etes, serez, ou fates De fait ou de volonte, pules; Et qil blen vou a ch reheroit Toutes putes vous trouveroit. The coarseness of the expression was thought nothing of in those days.— Mauy of Pope's expressions, in his Essay on Man, are taken from Milton.— The several editors have amused themselves in shewing where their author borrowed or sold. It was very severe of Lady Wortley Montague to say, " I admired Mr. P. ipe's Essay on Criticism at fir- t very much, because 1 had not then read any of the ancient critics, and did not know that it was stolen." ( Spence.) To be sure such a judgment might have been expected from the lady who says, " 1 have got fifty or sixty of Mr. Pope's letters by me ; you shall see what a goddess he made of me in them, though he makes such a devil of me in his writings afterwards." The fme moral poem of the Hermit, by PARNELL, is taken from Martin Lutlier's Tale of the Hermit, who murmured against the decrees of God's providence.— Hear Speuce, " Parnell's Pilgrim is very good : the would that 1 had nerer been made acquainted with this secret, what anxiety would it have saved me. Parents! oh, they were unworthy of the name,— or they never could have abandoned me in so heartless a mwner." " Say not so, Ernnestine," observed Hubert Clensham, " judge them not too harshly ;— stern necessity may alone have driven them to such a course." " Oh, what necessity could be so stern as to induce them to desert their offspring?" sighed Ernnestine. " Perhaps, thy life was sought." " Oh, no, no," returned our heroine, hastily ; " thou sayest I did not appear to be more than eighteen months old when I was left so mysteriously to thy care, aud who could be monster enough to seek the life ot such an in- fant ?" " Ernnestine," replied Hubert, " there are mon- sters in the world, whom motives of interest will urge to the perpetration of any crime." " Ah I thine observations, dear Hubert, have suggested an ideai to my mind, which did not occur to it before ;" said Ernnestine; " the letter, too, that was left with thee, also, thou sayest, stated that I was ot noble origin ? — Hast thou that letter still in thy possession ?" eagerly inquired our heroine. " 1 have, my child," answered old Hubert,—" for so must I still continue to call thee;— 1 have preserved it with the utmost care, thinking it might some day or other be the means of bringing about a discovery of thy birth." " Oh. pray let me then see it;"— said Ernnestine, iu a tone of impatience. " 1 will," answered the old man ; and he hastened to a little box which he had placed in his own private cabinet and carefully locked, and taking out the letter, presented it to the anxious maiden. She glanced over it with a look of the utmost curiosity aud the deepest interest, and then proceeded to peruse the contents aloud ;— " The child entrusted to thy care is of noble origin, but by a strange chain of events, which time, may, perhaps, reveil, she is placed in thy charge, with a hope that thou wilt acquit thyself fairly, ( which thou art enjoined to do,) or thou inayest repent thy refusal when too late. Mark ; — the writer of this hath power to injure as well as to aid thee ; he is disposed to do the latter,' and, for thy service receive the purse of gold left behind. A like sum shall al- so be forwarded thee on the same day of the month, every year, for the trouble thou mayest be at. Thou art re- quested to bring her up with the most studious care and affection, and do not let her know but that she is thine own relation, until such time as circumstances may ren- der it necessary, or thou mavest receive instructions as to the same. Thou mayest call her Erunestine. Remember these injunctions, and obey." " This letter throws not any light upon the subject," said our heroine, afler shehad two or three times read it; " the characters are written in a male hand evidently, and the commanding tone in which it is couched, pleases me not. Thou sayest the stranger who brought me to thy house, was noble and commanding ?" " He was," replied Hubert, " and a more handsome countenance I have seldom gazed upon; but his features were impressed with a deep melancholy." " Thitikest thou, that thon should'st know him again, dear Hubert?" " I cannot say that I should, my child;" replied the old man; " forso manyyeais have elapsed since the mys- terious circumstance took place. But, I had almost for- gotten to tell thee that which strengthens my belief that it was only to save thee from some terrible fate, that thy parents were induced to take the step they did " " nil. tpll me. easerlv inauire " I received the same snm the following year;— it was left for me in this very parlour ;— it was the last." " Strange," ejaculated Ernnestine ; " but yet doth that make it appear that ray parents entertained no care for me, after they had once got me off their hands." " Oh, no, misfortune may have rendered them inca- pable of fulfilling their promise, my dear child !" " Or death," solemnly observed our heroine, and tears, which she was unable to restrain, rushed to her eyes, Hubert again snatched her affectionately to his bosom. " Dear, dear Ernnestine," lie exclaimed, " weep not, weep not; should Providence ordain that tbe mystery of thy birth should never be unravelled, in myself, Maud, Edith, all thou wilt ever find the same fond friends that we have hitherto been to thee ; and when tbe cold grave shall receive this aged form, thank Heaveu I have where- with to " " Oh, cease, cease, dear Hubert," sobbed the deeply- affected girl;—" long, long may it be ere that melancholy time arrives. But Lord Raymond " " Thou lovest him?" " I do; but," and the maiden hid her blu'shes in the old roan's bosom. " But, as thou didst love the unfortunate Godfrey ?" " On, no, no," cried Ernnestine, weeping bitterly at the remembrance of that headstrong and ill- fated youth who had wholly possessed her heart; " not as 1 loved liini — but with a different feeling;— a feeling I cannot de- scribe, yet equally powertul! But, alas !— how hard is my fate '.— Every hope— every prospect that my fond ima- gination cherished, blighted ;— what is there for which I should wish to live ?" Ernnestiue sunk in a chair, and covering her face with her hands, gave way to the violence of the grief which distracted her bosom. Hubert gazed at her for a few minutes with an expression of the deepest sympathy, then paced the room, apparently wrapped in profound thought. At length, turning to our heroine, he took her hand gently, and said:— " Ernnestine, my love, thou seest from the letter which 1 have shewn thee, how I am restricted from dis-? posing of thy hand." " 1 do;— 1 do," eagerly replied our heroine, " but surely the long silence ot those who, probably have a claim upon me, ought to be sufficient to do away with all such scruples, and " " I know what thou wouldst say," interrupted Hu- bert, " and have been seriously thinking on the subject; say Ernnestine, wilt thou agree to a proposal that 1 have to make to thee ?" " Anything, my more than parent," replied our heroine, her eyes sparkling with renewed hope, " anything thou canst propose to me, 1 feel it is my duty to comply with. Nay, should'st thou command me to bid Lord Raymond despair, sooner than I would cause thee any unhappi- ness,— painful as it would be to me, I will yield without a murmur to the decree." " Good, kind girl;" cried the old man, embracing her with the utmost tenderness, and kissing her cheeks ; —" but no, my love, I will not exact any such a promise from thee ; it is a cruelty which I feel, whatever may be the consequence of my conduct to myself, i pould not inflict upon thee. I would ask thee to wait for one , vear only betore thou again requesteth me to bestow thinC hand upon Lord Raymond, and if before that period no one appears to claim thee, I promise thee that I will no longer withold my consent." " Promise thee, dear old man," sobbed the delighted Ernnestine, returning Hubert's warm caresses with equal ardour, " there is nothing that I could refuse thee!— Oh, what a weight of sorrow hast thou removed from my heart. Strictly, cheerfully will I obey thy wishes !" " 1 knew thou wouldst, my child," said Hubert, " my gentle Ernnestine, I was certain could never refuse any- thing to that being, to whom, by the will of Providence, she was in infancy consigned. Enough, enough ; wipe the tears from thine eyes, aud endeavour to be happy." Ernnestine looked up in Hubert's venerable coun- tenance with a sweet smile of affection beaming through her tears, and there was more expressed in that one look, than a volume of words could have described. " And yet there is one thing more that 1 would request of thee, Ernnestine," said Hubert, after a brief pause. " Name it, dear Hubert," she demanded, anxiously, " thou hast but to speak thy wishes to command obe- dience." pause, < i When thou mentionest this interview to Lord Ray- mond, as doubtless, thou wilt," replied Hubert, " I must beg of thee to enjoin him strictly to keep it » secret confined to his own breast, until the allotted time hath expired, when all may be explained." " I will do so," returned our heroine, " and fear not but that his lordship will faithfully comply." At this moment, Maud and Edith made their appear- ance, and the conversation dropped, Ernnestine con- quering her emotion, so that she might not attract their attention, aBd thus occasion any further conversation upon the subject for the present. Old Hubert, however, made them acquainted with it at another opportunity, aud likewise the resolution he had come to, of which they expressed their approbation, although, at the same time, a paog of the most intense sorrow and regret, shot through the heart of Edith when she thought of her son, and the ardent affection which she knew had existed between him and the gentle maiden whom fate seemed to have ordained, should become the bride of another. The next day Lord Raymond hastened OR the wings of anxiety to meet Ernnestine at their usual trysting place, impatient to hear the result of her interview with Hubert Clensham. Our heroine recounted to him every par- ticular, exactly as it had occurred, aud the promise which Hubert had exacted from her. We shall not detain our readers by attempting to describe the feelings of Lord Raymond as he listened to her, and his joy was equally powerful when he heard the reasonable request which Hubert lmd made. The despair which had previously began to settle on his heart was banished, and hope and happiness once more shed their influence over him. " Yes, dearest, loveliest girl!" he cried pressing her fervently to his heart, " thou wilt be mine. Kind hope whispers to me that nothing will interpose to prevent our fates being united together!" A loud laugh of derision made them both start wilh astonishment, and Ernnestine clung to Lord Raymond with terror. He looked round, and beheld peering between the foliage at their back, the head of the mysterious monk who had before alarmed them; his cowl being drawn nearly close, concealing all his features, but just suffering his dark and piercing eyes to be seen, which were fixed upon Lord Raymond with a look of the most mysterious meaning. It was but a moment only, and, with auother loud laugh, it vanished. " Again, mysterious being, dost thou appear to me !" exclaimed Lord Raymond, hastily drawing his sword ;— " stay, I command thee. 1 will know who aud what thou art, and thy purpose with me !" He lushed behind the trees, sword in hand, as he spoke; hut the monk was gone, and he ieturned hastily to Ernnestine, who was so much alarmed at the circum- stance that she could scarcely support herself. Lord Ray- mond endeavoured to calm her fears, and immediately conducted her towards home ; where, after some dis- course upon the singular event, they separated, and he directed his steps towards the castle, indulgiug in the. reflections to which it was naturally calculated to give rise. Oh, tell me, what was that ?" eagerly inquired Ern- nestine. " After I had admitted the stranger, and 1 saw the smiling and be. iuteous little innocent he had with him," said Hubert, " myself and Maud naturally evinced con- siderable surprise ; which heperceiving, informed us that thon wert the victim of tyranny and cruelty, aud that lie was endeavouring to save thee from a terrible fate." " Ah I"— ejaculated Ernnestine, " that doth, indeed, seem to confirm thy surmises;— the melancholy appear- ance of the stranger, too ;— should he have been my father 1" aud at the thought, her bosom heaved with a sensation she had never before experienced, and her eyes lighted up with au expression of mingled de'ight and sorrow. " It might have been," observed Hubert, but still something seems to whisper to « ne that he was not." " But hast thou never seen the stranger since that night ?" anxiously inquired our heroine. " Never," answered Hubert. » " Aud the money which was promised to be remitted to thee yearly for my support ?" CHAPTER XX. " No one his face had seen, a veil Of mystery hung upon his actions, Dark, and unfathomable I" THE CHIEFTAIN. ABOUT this period a great sensation was caused in that part of the country iu consequence of the actions of a mysterious individual, who had received the appellation of the White Knight, ou account of his always appearing in white armour, and mounted on a milk white charger. His figure was tall aud powerful, but no one had seen his face, always appearing with his visor down. His name, residence, and real character were equally unknown ; yet he was met with in all situations, and at all hours, and kad been known to perform deeds of prowess that would seem to give him almost a supernatural power, and the skill with which he wielded his glittering falchion never failed to defeat those whom he encountered. At tilt or tournament the White Knight was always sure to appear, and he never tailed to surpass every other competitor in the chivalrous sports. He ever appeared in a good cause ; he had once saved the life of the kiug when attacked by robbers; and wherever any outrage was endeavoured to be committed, he was almost always sure to make his appearance to protect the injured party. This mysterious being had caused the utmost curiosity, and many were tbe conjectures that were formed about him; but all endeavours to discover his real character had hitherto failed. ( To be oontixutd in our next.) \ I i r TETE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE ROYAL FAVOURITE. AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE. ( Continued from our last.) The under lieutenant here whispered something in his superior's ear, who immediately asked to whom had Gilbert delivered them, promising that if he found what he stated to be correct he should he liberated im- mediately. " I cannotanswer lliatquestion, my lord," he replied, unwilling to make known the visit of Jane ; " but this I feel myself at liberty lo stale, I had them in my pos- session when 1 entered the Tower," " We will soon ascertain their present possessor," exclaimed Lord Stair. " Go instantly to the goaler," he added, turning to one of the officials, " and bring him before us." The man disappeared, and the interval was passed in silence by all, Even the active figure of the tor- mentor ' flfld relapsed into quietness, and, drawn by his curiosity, he had placed himself near the stranger; and Gilbert, w hi le looking on his features, apparently des- titute of every virtue that tends to raise Ihe human race above the scale of the brute creation, felt an in- voluntary shudder pass through his frame as he con- templated the possibility of being subjected to his ten- der mercies. The stranger, hardened as he appeared lo be, shrunk in disgust as his cloak touched him in passing, and the man seemed to know and exult in his power. The sound of footsteps was soon heard reverberating through t[ ie vaulted passages, and tbe official entered, accompanied by One goaler, who, with downcast looks, approached, i'ae ( able. " Who has entered the prisoner's chamber, sirrah," Hsked Stair, " since he has occupied it }" The man hesitated, appeared confused, and did not reply. " Speak, knave !" thundered Ihe lieutenant, " or the thumbscrew shall test your power of endurance to ( he uttermost." " No one, as I am a living man," he exclaimed at length, trembling with terror, and the big drops of perspiration rolling from his forehead. " By heavens ! you shall never swear hy thy life again," said Stair, rising from his seat, and motioning to ihe tormentor, who glided round, and> with the aid of his assistants, secured the trembling goaler. " We know some one has been there; and if yoa do not reveal their name, you shall not leave this place alive." " Mercy! mercy !" almost shrieked the unfortunate man. " Release me, and 1 will tell all." " Oh! my lord," exclaimed Gilbert, throwing him- self at his feet, 1 inlreat you not to persist in asking the na^ r, ® of the person to w hom L confided them. They are of no importance but to myself, and " " Silence, I will hear no more. Release him," he continued, beckoning to the men, who immediately freed the gonler from their grasp, much to his satisfac- lion. " Now say who has tempted you to forget your duty i" " 1 pray you, my lord, forgive me ; but she was so handsome, and she did weep so, and spoke so piteously, that I could not bring my heart to refuse her." " How, knave! was it a woman then?" asked the lieutenant, in surprise, whilst Gilbert bit his lips in vexation. " Indeed it was, my lord j and one who right well loves yon handsome youth, if I he not much mistaken, and no less a one either than the Lady Jane, Conntess of Shrewsbury." " The Lady jane," murmured the stranger, starting, as if in surprise, at this unlooked- for announcement; " then she has alrsady learned to hate my name." " What mean you by those words ?" asked Gilbert, in ai', ouisl. ment : " what cause can the Lady Jane have tor hating one like you ?" " No matter, it was but a passing thought," and he relapsed into his former quietness of manner. " I am satisfied," said Lord Stair, addressing Gilbert, " 1 have heard of your attachment to this young lady, and 1 can believe that you are innocent of this mur- der." Then, turning to the stranger, he added. " there is but one course left to obtain the truth, and that is by the torture. Speak, are you guilty ?" I The stranger replied only by a scornful smile. " Then take the punishment of your obstinacy," ex- claimed the lieutenant, waving his hand to ( he torturer, He was instantly seised, and hurried within the recess, ono of the men first asking, " What shall we begin with, my lord ?" " Try the boot; and Crampford," he continued, turning to the surgeon, " see that they go not too far." Gilbert turned away his bead, and unconsciously stopped his ears, as if expecting to hear the agonized scream of tile unfortunate victim. Hut the blows of the heavy mallet resounded through the vnulls, unac- companied by any cry of anguish, and their efforts lo force a confession were in vain. The stranger was on the point of fainting, when the machine was removed by the order of the surgeon, the leg carefully rubbed, und a glass of wine administered. His stiengfh having somewhat returned, the question was again put, but with the same result as before. " Try the wheel," said ( he lieutenant, " nnd, if that does not succeed, the pendulum* shall work its way slowly through his brain, until death alone shall release him." The officials obeyed wilh alacrity, and the stranger was bound to the wheel without a struggle. Every muscle was strained to its utmost tension— every joint was stretched till it appeared as if parting from the body, but not a sound escaped the sufferer's lips, and he appeared rather to court death ( han to avoid it. He would not answer a single question ; and Stair, boiling wi( h rage, order them to use greater force. Again, the bars of iron were raised, and again brought clashing to Ihe ground— but tbe stranger felt not the additional pangs they brought— he had fainted, and the blood flowed copiously from his nose and mouth. " Release him instantly," said the surgeon, " or he will expire ; and bring hither a light." The men looked at Lord Stair, as if to receive con- firmation of litis order, and then haslened to obey him. Gilbert now gathered courage to advance Inwards the body, and look upon ( he dreadful spectaclp. The limbs, when released from the cords which hound them to the wheel, dropped limp and lifeless, nnd the ribs seemed almost torn asunder. One of the men brought ihe lamp, and as its pale rays fell on the now exposed countenance ofthe stranger, Gilbert beheld a sight that seemed to bereave him of existence, and change his whole frame to marble. In the inanimate form that now lay at his feet, covered with blood, and unconscious to all that was passing aiound, he recognized the features of the stranger of ihe Eleemosynary — Ihe father of his beloved Jane — the destroyer ol his parents — Lord Talbot, who, long since, had been supposed to have been numbered wilh the dead. " Hold!" he exclaimed, forgetting the injuries he had sustained from his hands, and thinking only of the agony Jane would experience on hearing of her father's mysterious return and dread- ful fate, " hold, I intreat you. Let this unfortunate man be removed to another apartment, and receive the assistance his fearful condition requires. Look on his features, my lord, and say if you cannot recognise in them those ofa man once well knovtn to you." As he uttered these words, he kneeled down, and carefully raised ( he head of the stranger upon his knee, while the assistants stood by in mute astonishment, and the surgeon employed himself in chafing the lifeless limbs. " What fresh madness is this ?" asked Lord Stair, growing impatient at this delay. " As lJ live, my lord," interrupted the under- lieute- nant, whjo, on Gilbert's exclamation, had closely ex- amined ( the features of the stranger, " this unfortunate man i^ frongly resembles Ihe late Lord Talbot— he, who fell while opposing the accession of our gracious Eiza- beth." " By heaven 1" exclaimed Stair, as he bent over the still insensible body, and gazed on the pallid features, " he not only resembles, but is, indeed, that unfortu- nate noble." Then, turning to the officials, he added, " raise hyy carefully from the ground, und bear him to my chamber ; and Crampford, see that every remedy be tried to restore him : we will investigate this mys- tery hereafter." The men iasianiiy obeyed him, and assisicid hy Gil- bert, they raised the body from the floor; then placing it upon a litter formed of , tloaks spl ead upoil their hal- berts, they were hasiehing to Idavc Ihe glodniy vault, when lite tloor flew open, and the Lady Jane, bearing iu her hand a sealed paper, and followed by a number of guards carrying torches, rushed in, anxiety and alarm strongly depicted in her countenance. " God be praised!" she exclaimed, as her eyes fell on the form of Gilbert, " I am not too late !" and she fell fainting into his extended arms. " A way, away! quick!" he cried, waving his hand lo the men who supported the body of Talbot " If her senses return, and she should behold her father thus, heaven alone knows what may be the conse- quence !" He was obeyed, and he returned his attention to the recovery of Jane. In a few momenls her eyes gently opened, and starting suddeuly from his* arms, she threw herself at the feet of Lord Slair, holding up the paper which she had brought with her. " Here, my lord," she exclaimed, " here is the order ftlr Gilbert's release, signed by Elizabeth herself. 1 entreat that you see it obeyed immediately, for this gloomy dungeon is no place for stu b as him." " It gives me the greatest pleasure, fair lady, to comply with your request," he replied, after perusing the order. " He is free to depart at any lime lie chooses." " My most heartfelt thanks are yours, my lord," she said, rising from the ground, and turning to Gilbert, who stood half bewildered at the complication of events, which had passed so rapidly before him. " Come, Gil- bert, let us leave this place. Though 1 never can become your wife ( and I love you the better for your determination, since 1 have learned ihe wrongs you have sustained at the hands of my father), 1 could not see you perish, and not put forth a helping hand lo save you. 1 hastened to the queen, nnd imparted to her the secret of your birth. The Earl of Arundel had been of service to her royal father Henry, and she did not forget it. She instantly signed the order for your liberation, and has commanded that Ihe restoration of your title and estates shall immediately follow. 5li ! wilh what joy I left her presence, nnd, accompaniod by a few guards, flew along these passages, the bearer of your pardon,— yet almost fearing that your agonized cries would every instant strike upon my ear." " Jane, dearest Jana, how can I thank you for ( his ? But what are titles and estates without thee ! 1 thought myself man enough to beat a separation from thee for ever. Alas! I knew not then the extent of thy love, nor the sacrifices wtiich you are capable of making for my sake. My father, could he look down upon us now, would not frown upon our love— the spirit of my mother would bless our union with an angelic smile. The daughter could not have been included in the oath of vengeance. I am resolved ; we part no more, Jane." She replied only by a quiet, placid smile— her heart was too full of joy for utterance, lie took her hand, and, followed by Lord Stair and the under- lieutenant, who with the gaoler were all that remained in the tor- ture chamber, left the place. • harp knife, suspended over the face of tbe victim, and wording like the pendulum of a clock, ft approached closer at evefry vibration, and slowly cuts Its way through the head. It was the! most painful nude of torture ever used. CHAPTER XXI. TTLE CONCLUSION. TitE unfortunate Talbot was conveyed to the chamber of the lieutenant, and it was some time before his ex- hausted frame recovered sufficient strength to enable him to ascertain the change in his position. But it was fully apparent to all, that he could not survive many hours, so fearful had been the lorture to which he had been subjected, and the wretched man seemed himself well aware of the fact. He did not utter a sound, either of agony or complaint; but his mental pain seemed far to exceed that of his body, and he lay mo- tionless on his couch, his hands clenched, his mouth closed, and his eyes fixed fearfully on vacancy, as if gazing on forms long since bereft of life— the phantoms of those who had received injuries from his hands. Every remedy that could be procured had been ap- plied, but nothing seemed to give him ease, and, one hy one, his uttendalils had left him, to seek for thai comfort that is not to be found in a sick chamber. But one still remained to watch the lonely, wretched sufferer, to tend his wants like a ministering angel— lo smooth his pillow, and moisten his parched lips. Her form would glide noiselessly round his bed, carefully arranging the curtains to keep off Ihe chill night air, and listening anxiously to the self- accusing sentences that now fell from his lips, for conscience, the sure and dreadful attendant on the wretch whose repentance comes too late, had commenced her work, and was con- juring up her horrors, and driving him to madness. If was his daughter— the Lady Jane. Gilbert had im- parted to her the fearful news, and, gaining the per- mission of Elizabeth, she had flown to her father's bed- side, to render him that attention which his condition rendered so necessary. Tears, hot and scalding tears, chased each other ra- pidly down her pale cheeks, as she reclined feebly in a chair by the side of Ihe bed, listening lo her father's ravings; und she trembled for the fate of his soul as she thought of his treachery to the parents of Gilbert. She knelt on the floor, and, with uplifted hands, pas. ( innately implored the Almighty to bring him t « repent- ance— to lead htm to ask forgiveness for his many siri « . As she rose from her suppliant posture, and looked around the gloomy chamber, illumined only by a small lamp, a feeling of dread and loneliness came over ber, which she had not experienced since the death of her mother. But the form of Gilbert flitted across her mind, and thoughts of joy and sorrow were strangely mingled, A deep reverie had Ihrown its spell around lier like a cloud, and she was lost in the mazes of thought, when sleep, that sweet refresher of exhausted nature began to shed its gentle influence over her, wafting her pure spirit, in the fairy flights of wanton imagination, to regions of unreal bliss, soon to be broken aBd destroyed on her return to consciousness. " Jane ! Jane !" shouted Talbot, starting up convul- sively in the bad. " Why does she leave her father ?— these wretches are tearing out my heuri!" jane awoke with a shudder, and withdrawing the curtains stood before her father. The pale light fell on her beautiful features, and her white dress, brought out by the dark shadows around, made her resemble k bright seraph—' one of Heaven's own band watching over the welfare of a son of earth. Her father gazed at her for some minutes in silence, and then, in delirious accents exclaimed, " Turn away those piercing eyes— they scorch me with their fire ! Why do you glare 011 me thus? I did not murder thee!" and grasping the covering furiously, he hid himself under the clothes. " Be not so alarmed, dear father," said Jane, sooth- ingly. " It is I— Jane— your daughter!" " It is false I they have torn her away, and now they seek my life! But they shall be disappointed!" he shouted with a triumphant shriek. " 1 will cheat them of their prey !" and with a supernatural exertion, he raised himself up in the bed, aud struggled violently, as if wilh some unseen opponent. Jane, almost de- prived of her senses with affright, called loudly for for assistance, but, before any one could reach the room, Talbot, exhausted by the violent exertion, fell back senseless on his bed with his mouth covered with foam. Ill this condition he continued for some time, only re- covering to undergo Iresh attacks of delirium, and then relapsing again into a stale of insensibility. At last, completely worn out with exhaustion, he sank into a deep sleep, from which be did not awake until long after ( he morning had dawned. Jane was still at the side of his couch, from which she bad not stirred for hours, and she hailed with thankfulness the quiet tone in which he pronounced her name, and the calmness which had spread itself over bis features, betokening returning reason. " Jane," he said, as she approached the bed in obe- dience to his summons, " I feel ( hat my time on earth is but { short, ; and that much must be done in that time. Nay, shed not those tears forfme," he added, as the weeping girl buried her face in the curtains, to hide from him the excess of her grief, " for X deserve them not. I would have sacrificed the dearest hopes of your future life to satisfy my craving for an unjust revenge. I have much lo answer for, and my time for repentance is but short, Had I dared, I would have asked far your forgiveness— for your prayers— for prayers from one so pure and innocent would indeed ascend to ( he very seal of tins Almighty." " Oh ! father," she exclaimed, pressing his hand ear- nestly to her lips, " you have had my prayers— through the livelong night I have been unceasing in my entrea- ties that you might yet be spared, and by your future actions atone for your past sins." " All Is of no avail, dear Jane," he replied, his voice growing fainter; " 1 feel the pangs of death stealing through my tortured body, and ere many hours have passed, I must stand before my Maker. Father Nicolo Albert!, who accompanied the Venetian em- bassy, is now a prisoner id the Tower. I would see him before I die, and, in holy confession, confide to him the many sins wilh which my guilty breast is bur- dened.'' " The lieutenant will r. fuse you nothing, father," she replied, and, gently kissing his pale forehead, she hastily left the room. As she said, the lieutenant instahlly gave his consent to the visit of the monk, and a guard was sent to con- duct him to the chamber of the sick man, Jane remaining wilh Lady Stair, during the interview. It was not of long duration, for a meiraetiger, bringing a request that she would hasten to her father, soon after arrived. She found Talbot much calmer, and listening eagerly to the discourse of the priest, who was a man of the most venerable aspect and benevolent countenance, but whose frame seemed almost worn away through rigid penance and abstinence. He slowly rose as she en- tered and would have left the room, but the Earl beck- oned him to remain, and he resumed his seat by the bedside. " I am much changed within the last few hours, Jane;" said Talbot, turning to his daughter, " and the advice'of this holy man has confirmed me in a determi- nation I had formed. The short remains of a guilty life must be spent in rendering justice to those I have injured. I would see Gilbert, ere it is too late,— I dare not hope for his forgiveness, but I may atone in some slight degree for the sufferings 1 have caused him to undergo. I would, alsd, leaVei lo his protection the only being for whom I would wish to live, and for whose sake I have risked so much." He ceased, and Jane turned away her head to hide the blush that overspread her pale countenance. " I will be youf messenger, father," she said, " and prepare Gilbert for this sad interview." As she turned to close the door, on leaving the room, she beheld her father in close communion with the monk, who had fallen on Ills knees by the side of the sufferer, and tears of heart- felt thankfulness started from her eyes, as she beheld this welcome sight. It was w ith feelings of mingled indignation nnd pity that Gilbert entered the sick man's chamber. His love for Jane had suppressed his thirst for revenge for the death of his parents, and the subdued calmness With which he met the faltering gaze of the Earl filled him wilh admiration and surprise. ( To be concluded in our next.) MEMOIRS OF MADAME LAFARGE, WRITTEN BY HERSELF. TRANSLATED fROM THE FRENCH EXPRESSLY FOB THIS W3ftft. ( Continued from our last.) At this moment, when speakingof Christmas, I remem- ber the rejoicings that take place at that epoch in the an- cient Alsatian city. A few days previous, the square of the cathedral is covered with booths, furnished with every description of toys and sweetmeats calculated to excite the desires of childhood, as well as costlier wares for children of larger growth. The parents assume a mysterious air, the chil- dren try to keep quite steadv, and to write out their Christmas pieces without a blot, they know that the good little Jesus is going to rise again, and that through him their brightest dreams are about being realized. They uo longer sleep, they count the hours, the minutes; when the grand night arrives, three or four generations express their joy, exchange congratulations; a signal is given, a door opens, and they stand lost in joyoiis astonishment. In the centre of avast hall rises " a fir tree, the foot planted iu an enormous cake, and the top reaching to the ceiling. A thousand little tapers sparkle between itsspikv foliage, a thousand bon- bons reflect them in the tempting chrvsialsof their sugar candies; lovely little cherubims, good to eat, seem to float amidst the branches of the mira- culous tree, and wave their ribbons with evangelical and wise devices over the little wondering faces below, which contemplate him with all their eyes. Around the tree are ranged tables, lit up with as mauy tapers as the owner reckons years, and set out with the agreeable surprises that have been prepared for him. There are dolls, toys, and bon- bons; here spectacles, bibles, the portrait of an absent friend ; 011 the left, a fowl- ing piece antl a riding- whip; on the right, pledges of friendship, ribbons, and flowers; everywhere joy, thanks, kisses, without 1 nd. Amongst tny father's friends, the best of whom was Major Coger, an excellent man, who still wept for his deceased wife, who brought up his canaries, and loved us with all bis heart. We sometimes went to take a lunch with him, surrounded by five- aud- twenty canaries', which enjoyed their liberty in the saloon. Some of those which had young ones seemed quite uneasy, and Bpread their wings over theirnests, if we only looked at them. There were grave patriarchs singing in the sun's rays ; coquettish young hens disdainfully cracking a grain ot millet, and dipping their poiuted heaks in a drop of pure water; lastly, fat canary birds— artists, who feigned to be dead when you touched them with a blade of grass, gave little taps upon the time- piece when yon asked what it was o'clock, dragged their wing along as if wounded, flew on their master's shoulder ami bijsed him. We also sometimes saw Colonel Lechestie and his wife, good, indulgent; thev had children nearly of our own age, and were, as well as two nephews of my father, non- commissioned officers in his regiment; always at our orders, aud watching to anticipate our most trifling de- sires. Eugene and Prosper came in the evening to give us lessons 111 writing, and those lessons were passed in fenc- ing, ti Ding stories to Antouine, or else playing at cha- rades, which Ursule always admired without ever guessing them. CHAPTER VI. SPKINCI. saw us return to Villers- Hellon. It was there 1 was to make my first communion, so that my time was much more seriously employed than usual. 1 went often to church— 1 learnt my catechism, the sacred history, the gospels; my mother made me visit the cottages of the poor, where assistance in food or money was to be given aud sorrows to be alleviated. My grandfather confided to me tbe distribution ofhis alms, and I was quite happy at being beloved'; blessed in his name. The day oi the f'tke- Dien was fixed for my first commu- nion, tor that great act about to change the child into a young uiaidvn, which was going to initiate me in the mysteries of Hearen, before opening to me the gates of life! Already approaches the hour of duty— perhaps,( hat of seduction ; the heart beats quicker, elevates itself still higher; the Christian virgin must have an egis, and the reflgiou which has cradled her infancy, takes her feeble and pure soul, there deposits its truths, its laws, and gives her a lefuge against the joys and sufferings of this world, which is going to claim her. How radiant was the son— how profound was my eniO' tion on tbe morning of that solemn initiation ! My uio^ ther herself clothed me in the white robe of the commu- nicants, placed iu ray hair a sprig of jasmine, symbol of the thoughts of innocence and faith the priest had on the previous day infused into mv soul; then, before the voice of the church bells had called us to receive the benedic- tion from on High, I, knelt before my mother, and, weep- ing, she blessed me. The church had been ornamented with foliage ; the altar was hid between tufts of lilacs, acacias, and labur- nums ; garlands of blue- bells and White roses enlaced with their odoriferous chains the burning tapers of the tabernacle; and tbe youthful communicants, trembling beneath their veils, satrg the praises of the Lord. 1 cottld not express the mysterious trouble that seized me when the priest elevated the chalice over our heads; and when cloiitls of incense and flowers saluted the Re- deemer of the work!! My knees bent— a mist came over my eyes— and, at the moment, when by the communion God entered the sanctuary of iny heart, it seemed to tne that an angel touched rue with the end of his wing, aud that I was going to die. . That great act of my life has remained engraved, m characters of fire, within the deepest recesses of my recollections, accompanied by the form of the good and indulgent cur£ of Villers- Hellon. Still young, he had the toleration of experience and virtue. He did not combat the somewhat Voltarian dissertations of my grandfather with words, but by his actions he nude him love religion, respect its ministers, and 111 some little degree, forget the incredulous thoughts of the eighteenth century. About the month of October, Charles X. was to pass through Alsace, and my father, by letter, intimated his desire that we should be present with him at that epoch. 1' he ffites offered to the king were magnificent. The rich Alsatian peasants, attired in their graceful costumes, mounted on their little mountain horses, galloped round the royal carriage. Their wives and daughters, set off with all their laces, and with all their smiles, with their full blue eyes, their long flaxen tresses, followed, in light cars, while the cannon, at intervals, mingled its hoarse voice with the pious sounds of the church- bells and the huzzas of tlie people. At the gate of the palace attain of young gins presented to the king, with vows and flowers, the keys of his good city of Strasbourg. Then, in the evening, there was a magnificent ball ; the cathedtal illuminated its granite fretwork, and the Vosges made the dark battlements of their feudal ruins blaze with airgrettes of fire. Every- where enthusiasm and love— everywhere eyes brilliant with eternal devotion. Enjoy, O my princes ! hasten to enjoy those popular adulations. When the hour of exile and misfortune shall souud, in vain will yon seek for the smokeof that intense, one regret upon those features, one tear iu those eyes ! My aunt Garat came to pass ?. week with us on leaving the camp of Luneville. It was a week of festival and joy, for my father adored his all- lovely sister; he wished to surround her with pleasures, with ffites, and with ad- mirers. The elegance, tbe beauty, the frank gaiety of my aunt, revolutionized all the unoccupied hearts of Alsace, aud, at her departure, she left behind her— regrets, de- ceptions, and unfortunates'. My aunt's visit brought us acquainted with a pretty little body, who had just married M. C. G. She was a graceful doll of red and white wax, opening and shutting her eyes, saying " papa, mamma," even venturing, when her husband pressed the main springs of her intelligence, a few very sweet and very amiable phrases that had no pretension to mean anything, but which showed the doci- lity of the married automaton. Never have I seen the love of order reign so despoti - cally as in that youug wife. Madame G. had delicious apartments ; but not daring to walk upon her carpets— to recline upon her divaus— to turn over a leaf of her books, bound in silk aud gold, she covered all this internal and comfortable luxury with gauze, pasteboard, passed her days iu het dressing- room, seated ou a straw bot- tomed chair, and reading some greavy novels from a cir- culating library. Dancing tumbled her light dress, she renounced dancing; emotions might, wrinkle her fore- head, fade her complexion ; she threw from her both emotions and thought. In short, surrounded with all the joys of life, she placed ber pride aud felicity iu preserving them from dust and the ravages of time, and she would have been perfectly happy if it had been possible for her to put her husband and her children under glass. We went to pass the last fine days of autumn in the country wilh M. de T , who had a small pavilion si- tuate on the edge of the island, and in which Hie passed away hospitable and joyous. We sometimes returned to Strasbourg for oar lesfous, and my father cattle every evening to forget with ns the solitude of his day. 1 would wait for him hours together by the road side. He would leave his horse with the servant, and we returned on foot, I hanging upon his arm; I would embrace him a thousand times to keep him the longer all to myself, to delay his arrival always too soon according to my heart. One day, alas! I waited for him in vain ; his servant came alone; he had come for my mother, she went away pale and without embracing us. The whole of that night 1 never slept; in the morning a carriage came for my sister and me, we were told that our father was rather unwell, and wished to see us; at last, by little aud little, Ursule, weeping, acquainted us that he had been out shooting, that his fowling piece had burst in his hand, and that he was severely wounded. On reaching home, I wept with such desjfair, 1 was forced lo remain au hour at the bed- room door to stifle my sobs. My poor father heard me, called to me, and I threw myself upon my kness by his bed- side. " Marie, my child, you deprive me of my strength hy making me doubt your courage," lie said to inc. He leant his bead over mine ; 1 felt a tear, I compre- hended that tear was a farewell, and my heart was break- ing. I kHow nothing of what took place afterwards. When I returned to life 1 found myself lying 011 Madame de T ' s bed,— I wished to rise, to return to my father; the emotion had been too strong— the physician had inter- dicted tny presence. Oh ! how ditl I curse the powerless- ness of my reason over my despair! 1 was far away from the so dearly beloved sufferer, and through my own fault! Two days were pas « ed in this anguish ; on the third, we were carried, in the middle of ttie night, to my mother's bed— all was over! My God! what deep affliction for a first affliction ! why tear from me so young my strength aud my guide, when you were preparing for nte such rude trials? Why? did you fear that with hiin earth bad too many charms for me ? Have you placed him in heaven that. 1 may direct my thoughts aud my hopes towards it ? Oh, Lord, 1 will not fathom the abyss of your designs; but, for pity, if I have not failed beneath the burthen of my cross, restore to me my father in your eternity. CHAPTER VII. AFTER my misfortuue, a dark cloud came over my thoughts; everything presented me with the innge of death ! What 1 had loved with my father, antl by my father, had become to me subjects of mourning and af- fliction ; my eyes sought for his eyes; every door that opened made me start as in the time when I was expect- ing him, and my tears were mj sole consolation. When I found myself alone, I repassed in my heart tha words, the counsels of my father; I promised him to be worthy of him ; strong, though a woman,— to remain above the petty vanities and narrow exigencies of society ; I pro- mised him to be great and noble, not according to the proportions of the world, but according to his ideas, according to his sovereign will, which became my con- science ; and for device— 1 kept his device: " Do what you ought, happen wiiat may." I sometimes resumed courage— 1 studied— I tried to combat the weak or bad points of my character; then my grief would all at ouce return upon me, and I was indig- nant at seeing so many existeucies moving around me, now that he was dead (— dead! — he whom 1 30 much loved! M. Collard, my uncle, came immediately to confer with my mother; he was to take us back to Villers- Hellou,— but owing to some pecuniary arrangements dependent on the death of our father, it was decided we should remain at Strasbourg till spring. 1 was very fond of Marie and Jenny; all the T—- family were very good to us, yet I was afflicted at this decision; the plices where I had been happy with my father were insupportable to me. When any oue spoke to me of him, tny heart was fit to burst; when they drove off the remembrance of him, 1 was re- volted with their oblivion. The only person who felt like myself was Major Coger; he had beeu named our second guardian,— and when we looked at each other, when he embraced me, 1 comprehended that the dear regretted man lived betwe « n us, in our looks, aud in our kisses. However, my life did not pass away entirely in tears; time stays but little, despite ourselves it varies our im- pressions, and in its continual march it made days suc- ceed to days, brought back old habits, duties, studies. My grief more collected had made itself a sanctuary in my heart, and the smile of youth already re- appeared upon my lips. How mauy times did 1 bitterly reproach myself with having given way to a sudden burst of mirth, and I would then weep over him and over myself, and I. despised that oblivious possibility of our poor human species. The sight of the regiment gave me pain, and the sounds ot the military band seemed to me a cruel irony that trppbled the repose of my deai father's tomb. My uncle, Maurice, remained with us two months; they warned to make him marry Cecile de T , he found her amiable ; but to put off the horror of a decision, be asked for time that he might learn to love her by learning to know her. My uncle passed- his days at Madame de T—-' s, and when he had been for some time following friend Cecile amongst the stars, he came to play with us like a schoolboy who has finished his task. Desirous of lowering the pride of his intended, my uncle Maurice paid particular attention to Jenny, embraced her by force- stole her cards from her— plagued her to death ; in short, he began to love her so well and Cecile so ill, that the marriage was naturally broken off— and there were two eyes sadly red for a very iong time. All our lessons were taken in common ; for our master of history and style we had a youug Protestant minister, extremely indulgent, aud possessed of great talent; I still remember some of M. Schmidt's good lessons, his gravity during our employment, and his complaisance when the hour of departure and liberty had struck. My mother never went out; we, very seldom; 1 did 1106 desire it: and if I met one of our artillery- men iu the stieet, who sorrowfully put his hand to his schako, my tears flowed despite myself, and I was ashamed of thus publicly displaying my emotion. About, this time I remarked amongst the visitors re- ceived by mother, an elegant, handsome, amiable young man, full of chivalric spirit, aud who transformed the man of our epoch into the hero of the middle age. M. de Coehorn had so much strength and heroism in his imagi- nation, that he remained above or beneath the level of positive life, and disdained to confine the impulses of his heart to the petty standard of modern prejudices. Judging of him by his actions, he might be believed forgetful, weak, and egotistical; bat, by his thoughts, he was lull of energy, love, and self denial; he quite spoiled Antouine, was amiable and attentive to me when I came in for a minute during the hour of his visits; and I had divined that he was enamoured of Cecile, that a marriage would stifle a souvenir. The same evening M. de Coehorn cameto passthe even- ing at Madame de T ' s. We were seated round a work- table, M. de Coehorn began writing upon some visiting cards, he then passed them to Cecile, who gave them to my mother, and then took back the answer. This action, which the day before would have seemed so simple to me, at this moment appeared decisive ; 1 turned pale, and ran out of the room to conceal my tears. Madame de T—• came to me, took me in her arms and embraced me a long time without speaking When my sobs had somewhat relieved my poor heart, she told me she com- prehended my grief, that she had been the sincere friend of my lather, aad suffered equally with myself to see him forgotten; that my mother was wrong, biit we must par- don her, for she was carried away by her heir'- ' con- fessed my discovery, my presentiments, my fears to Ma- dame de T ; she was so kind, so indulgent, tii. at I went to sleep, praying to God for her and for myself. On the nexS day I went with my good Ursule to the old regimental abbe, who loved me as if I had been his daughter, he pitied my sufferings, but blaming me for daring to judge my mother, he said to me, " that my good father woold be dissatisfied with my presumption, that it was my duty to be resigned, and to hide even my tears." On returning home, and as I was going to throw myself into tny mother's arms to demand of her the truth, and implore her to grant me her confidence, I was stopped in the anti- chamber by hearing my name pronounced by Ma- dame de T ; she was saying to my mother— " Marie is in despair, she don't like Eugene; her pride revolts against her marriage; you will ouly subdue her character by sending her away from you." " It would greatly afflict me to come to a separation," rtplied my mother. " Well, then, my dear Caroline, believe me, the love of your young huskand will not resist those two liviug re- membrances of the past." I could hear 110 more— the world revealed itself to me, I comprehended in that language of the friend of my father, all the falsehood and egotism contained in society, and I resolved to hide my sufferings from it. Not daring to speak to my mother, unable to live under that weight of grief and malice, I expressed all my thoughts to writing; she came to me, told me she loved me— that she always would love me— that she had told M. de Coehorn all about it, who had declared he would not consent to my being put into a boarding- school, and that he hoped to be one day, not my father, but my best friend. He himself spoke openly to me ofthe approach- ing event; I avowed to him all that I felt, he was not offended at it, assured me that, on tbe contrary, I had gained in his esteem, and asked me to call hitn Eugene, to prevent a comparison that would give me pain, and to avoid the cold aad formal word, monsieur, which made him melancholy. I have entered minutely into these events, for they have been decisive of my life, in forming, by their bitter- ness, my character and my creeds. The death of my be- loved father had taught me what is grief; from Madame de T 1 had learned what is society. 1 felt myself alone in the midst of the world ; affection and duty made it a law for me to conceal the bitterness of my secret thoughts, I could not say to my mother that I was suffering, and I ought not to confide it to the most intimate friend. 1 was tieverable to subdue my first impulses ; but I, by degrees, succeeded not to make my sufferings weigh upon those about me, and in burying thein in the bottom of my soul, I shared my joys with those I loved, I wept with the unhappy ; but I should have been ashamed of a tear appearing in my eyes if it flowed for myself. Pride and habit, will make me strong and collected when the stora burst; and if tny head knew not how to bend, my mouj always knew how to smile, to re- assure my friends, preserve me from the pity of the indifferent. The spring that was to take us back to 1 arrived ; I ardently desired to leave Alsace^ 1 must'deposit upon the cold stone mains of my father seemed to 1 my strength. My grandfather rtj affection,— be seemed us the love he had borne 1 from u-; I myself showed all the affection I had 1 * until the day of our moil of him who was no moJ found his horses becolf Briquet, my grandfathef^^^ p|^^ Tiis dog, whiclV whined and hunted all routu^ Wli we pronounced his late master's name. All that gave a little pain aud did a great deal of good. 1 then resumed my active life, and my mother set se- riously about our education; she possessed unalterable patience, regularity and strictness in her lessons. 1 was very fond of my mother, but I feared her a little,— and, above all, 1 dared not express my affection to her; when wanting to cover her with kisses, 1 threw my arms round her neck, she said to me— " No exaggeration, Marie; the best proof of tenderness you can give me wouid be to correct vour faults which cause me pain." That was very wise, but it froze me, and I became less expansive through it without being the less passionate, less independent, or less impertinent, three great sins which 1 frequently committed despite myself. M. de Coehoru came after us to Villers- Helion ; he gave me lessons in German, aud Bhowed himself a tender and indulgent friend, the same * s at Strasboarg. We made excu sious on horseback, took long walks in the fields; he explained to me the beauties of poetrv, 01 which 1 until then had been almost insensible; told m ot the noble and ideal Utopias of the German philoac- phers. Towards the month of August, my grandfather had lie happiness to receive the Orleans family into his housi he had always felt for it a bind of religious love aud v « ne- ration. With what care and with what coquetry ov'" dear little chiteau was made worthy of this honour. A first arch of verdure marked the coufines of the estate at the entrance of the grand avenue rose the green coloi » des of a second. The iron gates of the court- yard were hid under festoons of foliage; the flocks and the he ds were picturesquely arranged in the meadows which bordered the road, and the population, iu their bolide clothes, were formed m groups, on the passage of th 1 llustrious guests. 1 he interior of the house was st'ewed with flowers ; and from escutcheons, with the Orleans cypher, formed of the brightest field flowers, were suspended the garlands of oak branches and roses that shed their per- fumes through the stloon and the dining- room. ( To be continued in our next.) TETE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE STORM DEMON! THE [ PIRATE OF THE MAELSTROM. FOUNDED ON THE POPULAR PIECE OF THAT NAME. Mow Performing at the Queen's Theatre with unbounded applause. ON the coast of Denmark there lived, some three centuries since, the widow of a fisherman, who, but for the industry of her son, must have perished from absolute poverty after the death of her husband, who had lost his life in the Maelstrom, — a dreadful whirlpool, from which no vessel was evw known to be saved that came within a certain distance of its attractive influence. Her son, Egbert Rothalvan, however, was dutiful and affectionate, and though, at that period, very young, he plied his trade with a cheerful heart, and by perseverance contrived to support her in ease and comfort. In this way matters proceeded for a few years, when an accident gave a new turn to his thoughts, and his soul aspired to one of the riehest and most beautiful heiresses in the dominions to which he belonged. The maiden we allude to was the Lady Alice, the only child of Count Rubenstein, lord of the territory, and pos- sessing sovereign power over a large tract of country. This maiden had fallen from a boat into the sea, and was rescued by the daring bravery of the young fisherman at a moment when the despairing lather had given her up for lost j and the gratitude of the almost despairing parent may be better imagined than described. Egbert, however, refused the large reward that was offered him as some compensation for the hazard to which he had exposed his own life; for, notwithstanding the immeasurable difference that existed between him and the lovely girl he had rescued, he resolved to accept of no less a reward than her hand. From that period all his thoughts were devoted to this one object j for, though he saw insurmountable difficulties in his way, yet that circumstance did not serve in the least to deter him from an object upon which his soul was bent. Indeed, he had once or twice obtained a stolen interview with the maiden, and from her own lips he had heard the rapturous confession that she loved " him in spite of the difference which fortune had made between them. This was a mark of favour that he had scarcely dared to look for- ward to, for the pride of her father would, he knew, be an obstacle which he could scarcely hope to remove; and his thoughts were mow turned to the means by which he might secure a prize without Which his future life would be valueless. It was then that he recollected a story which he had heard of the Storm Demon of the Maelstrom, a supernatural being, who could grant unbounded wealth and power to any human creature that chose to submit to the terms he proposed. These terms Eg- bert was well aware were terrible, yet such a hold had love taken on his heart that he was resolved to hazard everything rather than lose the object of his affection. One evening he was pacing back- wards and forwards on the sea beach, and ruminating upon this matter, when a person of rank approached who he at once knew to be Count Anderhoff, a gallant of the court, and a suitor, with her father's consent, for the hand of the Lady Alice. The sight of a rival from whose influence he had so much to dread, excited the rage of the young fisherman, and he was turning away to take his departure, when the other, placing himself in the way, asked to be put in the road for Rubenstein Castle. " It is yonder," replied Egbert, pointing in the flection- and again he was moving forward, when the other saK . J.' ' ^ SSMS r- i fellow! Is there hatVand l^ W*" ° f ** ^ and, therefore, do I A,. P. YOU s^ r ^ JBEKZESS-** has dtred vet to lt- am wh' T riBht| y." answered Egbert; " but I have have." 1 have Bot » mu<: l1 riBht to seek her hand as you " The teaci- ' r", fferenee yonr rank," returned the nobleman, " should you how vain and hopeless Is your Ill- placed love." - - Yet without my aid," exclaimed Egbert, " the maiden must Jlave perished." " Well, I have heard something of thy gallantry In that affair," Teturnedthe other ; " and that thou didst refuse the proffered gold of her father in requltaf of thy services." " I did, for the reward I look for Is far beyond all the wealth that lier proud sire could have offered." • " You would ( tin the hand of his daughter ?" i " I would." " And did ' t never occur to thee that a nobleman could not bestow ids daughter In marriage upon one so humbly born as thysetf i" " Povevty Is no crime," replied Egbert, haughtily j " and I believe the Cou; at Rubenstein might do worse were he to give his child to a worthless minion< of the court." " Tiah ! thou art insolent." " It may be so, but I speak the truth, however unpalatable it may be to thy ears." " Insolent! dost thou not fear my vengeance ?" " I fear no man," replied Egbert, scornfully, " much less such a vain Dane as thou art." " Another such a word as that," exclaimed the Infuriated noble- man, •• and I may so far forget the difference that 1s between us as to punish thee for thine Insolence." i " That will depend upon circumstances," replied the young fisherman i " for, though less nobly born than thyself, I can defend jnyself should there be occasion for it." " Slave, thou shalt die 1" vociferated Count Anderhoff; and, drawing his sword, he was rushing furiously towards the yonng fisherman, when the latter, snatching a brace ot pistols from his belt, pointed them at the head of his foe, and threatened him with Instant death if he dared to approach him but by another step. Anderhoff was not prepared for this ; and, judging that the peril Was too great, lie Immediately sheathed his weapon, and turned from the place to pursue his way towards the castle of Kubensteln. Upon this Egbert pursued his walk on the sea- shore ; but recol- lecting that he should lose the Lady Alice unless lie made an Im- mediate and desperate effort, he determined to hasten and claim . her hand. We must now, however, follow Count Anderhoff, who, upon reaching the castle, was gladly welcomed by the noble owner as Als future son- in- taw. between them the affair Was talked over and settled; and the preliminaries being thus far arranged, Alice was sent for in order that she might be informed of her father's wishes upon the subject. ' " I have required your presence, my daughter," said Rubenstein, " that you may hear the decision I have come to with respect to your settlement in life. In short, Count Acderholf has done us the honour to become a suitor for your hand, and as his birth Is illustrious, I have already promised that he shall meet with no opposition from me.' " Count Aiiderhoff has Indeed honoured me," replied Allee, Coldly; " h'dt at present he must pardon me if I decline to receive him otherwise than as a friend of yours." " Naij," exclaimed Anderhoff, " this determination has been too suddenly adopted; and I must, therefore, be allowed to hope that you will at least take time to consider the proposition I have made." " Time will not alter my resolution," answered Alice, firmly,— " my heart never can be yours; and, knowing this, it would be unjust were I to give you any other reply than that which you have already heard." ' Girl!" cried her father, " this obstinacy will but end In your kpwa destruction: my word has been given to Count Anderhoff, and ^ i'y parental authority shall be exercised to compel your obe- pcj." - cannot— will not accept him as my lover," cried Lady Alice, j^ hy not 1' demanded her father. fcer heart Is given to another," cried Egbert Rothal, ^ moment rushed into the room. " Aye, you miy ifcrt anger you please," he continued, " but our ach other, and I will not resign my prize e_ no more." gnstein, " leave my caBtle, or I will ce." £ rd what I have to say," replied ^ saved by me, and you offered at I refused It, because my lirms, and I desired nothing fcescued from death." . ..^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Jt. benstein; " and dest thou Ink my daug^ T^^^ B^^^ BIfet herself as to ally herself With one so far beneatil\^^^^—^ '" I have her own avowal," replied Egbert Kothalvan," that she Wiil wed none but myself." " How 1" cried Count Rubenstein, turning angrily towards his daughter,—" hast thou Indeed so far forgotten thyself, and the honour of thy famlfy, as to bestow thy love upon this meanly born fclavel" " Do I not owe my life to him ?" asked Alice, timidly; " and Is It, therefore, to be wondered at that I regard him with gratitude and love!" " Degenerate girl!" exclaimed her father, " to what Ignominy and disgrace will thine obstinacv reduce us I Dost thou not know that fee Is a peasant serf, and unworthy the thought of the heiress Of Rubenstein t" " He risked his own life to save mine," answered Alice. Aud for which I offered him a large reward," answered Count Kubenstein. " But thy gold was valueless to me in comparison to the pos session of thy daughter," exclaimed Egbert ttothalvan. " I had « een her previously to the accident which had so nearly proved fatal; and though 1 did uot venture then to make known my love, I have since discovered that she loves me with a fervour equal to my own." " It may be so," answered Count Rubenstein; " yet. for all that, I will never consent to disgrace my. family by suffering her to become the wife of a fisherman." " But the fisherman, though he may have no great connexions to boast of," exclaimed Egbert, " has at least as much honour as those who lay claim to the high- sounding titles of nobility. Have I ever stained my name by the commission of a crime, or Is there any one that can come forward to say aught that my cheek need felush at ?" " I know nothiog of you," replied Count Rubenstein, " except that you are the son of a lishet man, and lhat you saved the life of my daughter, for which service I was inclined to reward vou liberally." ' " Your offer has been rejected," cried Egbert, " aud the claim I make you have just now heard." " Will you permit the knave to prate thus ?" demanded Ander- hoff; " or shall I drive him hence to ponder at his leisure over the insolence that well merits your severest chastisement ?" " i ou drive me hence!" exclaimed Egbert, scornfully; « I thought cur meeting on the sea beach an hour since was quite sufficient to convince you that the peasant has little to fear from the furv of his lordly rival.'' - ' " Vlllainl" roared Anderhoff, " thy presumption shall cost thee dear. And saying this he drew his s, vord, aud made furiously towards his antagonist; Egbert, however, was well prepared against any violence, and, once more drawing his pistols, he retired from the castle without any one venturing to arrest his progress. Haying thus secured kin pym safety, Egbert non turned hi, thoughts towards the means by which he might obtain the prise he so earnestly sought. That Lady Alice loved him he was more than ever convinced i but he felt assured that a vigilant watch would be kept over her, and that all attempts to obtain another Interview would be certain to terminate In defeat. Perplexed with those difficulties, his thoughts again turned towards the Storm Demon; and, desperate as he then felt, he hurried towards the much. dreaded cavern of the Doomed Mariners, where It was reported the Fiend of the Tempest was to be found. Egbert had often passed the sea- girt cavern in his fishing excursions; and, leaping into his boat, he swiftly rowed himself towards the place where he expected to meet the object of his present search. Half an hour served to bring him to the entrance of the cavern, and, mooring his boat safely, he ventured within the murky gloom till he reached a vast rocky chamber, where it was supposed the Demon had^ taken up his abode. He now tried to remember the invoca- tion which he had often heard repeated by the fishermen on that par' of the eoast, and with little difficulty the whole of It returned to hi* memory like the recollection of , a ^ recent dream. He re. peated the words, and, as he did so, a fearful tempest arose, and amidst the crash of the elements numerous forms of drowned mariners appeared before him, obedient to the powerful spell, which they had not the power to resist. Egbert gazed upon the spectral figure with wonder and dread; and, ere he could recover from the astonishment that wrapt his faculties, a te- rlfic burst of thunder was heard, and instantly the Storm Demon presented himself to his view. " Rash mortal,'' he exclaimed, " why liast thou sought him who dwells within this darksome cave ?'' " I came,'' replied Egbert, " to claim your aid In behalf of one who needs It," " What dost thou want of me ?" " Thine aid in obtaining possession of her who Is dearer to me than life Itself." " Ha! ha! hat'' laughed the demon, " and for her sake thou would'st barter thine Immortal soul ?" " Life is of no value to me without her," replied Egbert, " and, therefore, have I sought ihlne assistance." " And dost thou knew the terms upon which that assistance is to be obtain? dl' " I do;— thou wilt claim me when death terminates my mortal career." Thou art right, and knowing thus much, art thou still willing to run this hazard >" " Aye," replied Egbert," all— all, rather than lose her who is my heart's Idol.'' " Thou may'st have three wishes,'' exclaimed the demon, " but It must be upon condition that each midnight thou must lose the power of speech for a brief period,'' " I agree." " Name, then, thy first wish.'' • " Unbounded wealth." " It is thine;— thy second?" " That I may become the chieftain of a plrate- Vessel, which shall possess a charm, rendering It Invulnerable to the attacks of all my foes. " That wish la also granted; and now, mortal, for thy third demand?" ' Egb: rt Rothalvan was about to reply, but ere he could do so, a deep- toned bell sounded the hour of midnight, and he became C'amb, and a torpor crept over his soul that he could not resist. On recovering, however, he found himself on board a pirate- vessel, the crew of which was surrounding him, whilst one was occupied in endeavouring to restore him to animation. They hailed his re- covery with loud acclamations, and as soon as his recollection had completely returned, he took upon himself the command of the vessel, which was destined to become, for some time, his only home. At length his name became terrible on the seas, and no- thing was so much feared as an encounter with the dreaded pirate ofthe Maleatfom. In this way, more than twelvemonths passed, when one day, as they were cruising, at no great distance from the Danish coast, they fell in with a vessel, which they pursued for some time with very little success. At last, however, tiis wind changed in their favour, and gaining rapidly upon the brig, they fired a shot or two as a signal to surrender. But this was not hveded, and as the pirate- ship continued to gain upon the other, they poured a broad- side into her, that quickly compelled the captain to strike his colours, and upon which Egbert ordered a boat to be lowered, into which he and about a docen of his crew stepped, and rowed to the prize they had just taken. It soon proved to be well worlh the pains that had been taken to capture it; hut what was the surprise of Rothalvan, on discovering that Lady Alice and Count Anderhoff were on board. A brief explanation served to inform tbe pirate- captain that Alice had been conveyed there by the arti. fice of her unprincipled lover, and that he was taking her to his castle in a distant part of the kingdom, where the nuptial rites Were tobesolemniied In spite of any opposition she might offer. Her surprise at this unexpected meelit g with Egbert, may be imagined, and it may also be conceived with what horror sbe re. celved the news that her lover had become the desperate pirate, whose deeds had spread such consternation and alarm. But Eg- bert pacified her terror, by assuring lier that he had now groivn weary of the lawless life he had been pursueing, that lie would immediately convey her back to the castle of her father, who might be induced to reward him with her hand now that he had Immense wealth at his command, and would give up a life that hau brought so much odium upon his name. . Lady Alice had never ceased to love the object of her firBt aff ctlon, and fully believing all that Bhe heard him utter, she thanked him for the offer he had made to donvev her safely to her father's roof, and being taken to the nlrale- vassel, they Immediately mads all . all for land, which they reached In the course of a few hours. From hence, Lady Alice was taken in safety to Rubenstein Castle, and having, as he imagined, placed her beyond the reach of danger, Egbert again returned to his vessel for the purpose of disposing of his cargo, and then quitting for ever the lawless profession which circumstances had compelled him to adopt. In the meantime, Count Aiiderhoff paid another visit to Ruben- stein, when it was arranged between them that the marriage of the former should take place without delay, in order that no in- terruption should occur through the unwelcome return of Egbert Rothalvan. But Anrlerhotf was Impatient to obtain possession ofthe immense wealth of his future father- in- law, for gambling had reduced ids own patrimony, and creditors were becoming so urgent in their demands, that he could hardly hope to pacify them beyond a few weeks at farthest. It was true, he was to re- ceive a considerable sum as a marriage portion with Lady Alice, but that would be Insufficient for his purpose, and the conse- quence would be that poverty must overtake them immediately after the much wished- for event took place. To avoid this, a desperate thought entered his head, and no sooner was It imagined, than lie determined to put the fiendish plan into practice. He knew that upon the death of Count Ruben- stein, his iaughter would inherit the whole of his vast wealth, and anxious as he was to obtain possession of that which would release him from his present difficulties, he resolved to riiU poison in the count's wine- cup, and thus rid himself of the only barrier that existed between him and the object of his avarice. This de- sign was no sooner formed, than preparations were made for carrying it into effect, and having obtained the fatal drug that was to destroy the father of his intended bride, he was in the act of mixing It in the goblet, when Egbert Rothalvan suddenly pre sented himself before him. " Wretch!'' exclaimed the young man, snatching the vessel from his hand, and hurling it to the further end of the chamber, " from what a crime has my unexpected appearance here pre- served you! Had my return been delayed but an hour, you would have been the murderer of Count Rubenstein 1" " What mean you by these words ?" cried the other, electrified by the vehemence with which this was uttered. " Speak, sirrah, for I demand an explanation of the charge you have thought proper to bring against me.'' " The Count Anderhoff should not speak aloud when he would conceal the secrets of his guilty soul!" exclaimed Egbert, coldly. " In fine, I overheard your words, and yonder poisoned cup was meant for Rubenstein, whose death would put you in possession of his fortune, immediately upon your marriage \ vith the Lady Alice." " Do you believe, then, that I would become tain the solace of repose. At length, however, he fell into a slum- \ ber, but it was only to dream of Lady Alice, and that he saw her dragged to the altar to become the wife of his rival. On the following evening, the bridal party was assembled In a chapel belonging to the Castle of Rubenstein, and all was in readi- ness for the solemnization of those rites which Were to make Lady Alice the bride of Count Anderhoff. All efforts to excite gaiety in the heart of Alice were made in vain, for her soul was oppressed with a heavy weight, and as Bhe advanced towards the altar, it seemed as if all chance of happiness had for ever fled. At that period, however, Egbert, who had again recovered the power of speech, rushed Into the chapel, and in hurried accents, denounced Count Anderhoff as an intended assassin, and related the circumstance under which the fact had become known to him. But his words were not heeded by those to whcKt they W^ re ad- dressed, and some ofthe attendants were advancing to seize upon and carry him back to the ehamber from whence he had escaped, When a terrific peal of thunder shook the building to its ve y foundation, and through a vast chasm that appeared near the altar, arose tbe fearful form of the Storm Demon. All stepped back in dismay, and the fiend striding forward, seized upon Egbert, and with a loud laugh of triumph, exclaimed :— " Thou art my victim, for thou hast broken thy eompact by thus entering upon hallowed grounds !" " I have broken no compact," cried Egbert, " for thou didst promise me three requests, and only two of them wete made when the power of speech was taken from me. Had I made my third demand, it would have been that I might be beyond thy power!" Another violent peal of thunder shook the edifice, and the Storm Demon instantly vanished from the place with a loud yell of dis- appointed malice. Egbert being thus released from the consequences of his com- pact, soon convinced Rubenstein of the vlllany of Count Ander- hoff, and within a few days afterwards, he was rewarded with the hand of Lady Alice, for having saved the life of her father. . . . --. _ murderer?" cried Anderhoff, affecting indignation at so henious a charge being made.'' " I am convinced of it," replied Egbert," and, therefore, it would be in vain to deny your guilt. Your own words lead m » to that conclusion, and boldly as you seek to deny your guilt, I again de- nounce you as contemplating the murder of your benefactor.'' " And who, think you,'' demanded Count Anderhoff, with a laugh of scorn, " would believe the word of a pirate, when he accuses a nobleman of so foul a crime as this!" " We shall see whether they will believe me or not," replied Egbert, " for never will I leave this castle till I have Informed Count Rubensteln of your villany, and put him on his guard against you in future." " Dost thou, then, seek my ruin ?" " I seek but to prevent your carrying this plan into execution another time," answered Egbert Rethalvan. " Once you have been defeated, but on a future occasion, 1 doubt not you would take care that no interruption should occur." " You wrong me by these suspicions," cried Anderhoff, afarmed at the consequences of the discovery ; " Count Rubinstein is my tilend, and I would rather sacrifice my life in his delence, than do aught to injure him.'' " Tis false I' exclaimed Egbert;—" gaming has Involved you In debt and difficulties, trom which it is not easy to extricate yourself. His immediate death, and your marriage with the Lady Alice would do this, and you have been villain enough to contemplate his destruction, as tbe only remedy for your heedlesB extravagance. You would have slain your best friend, and though the hour of midnight is close at hand, it shall not be passed ere 1 have de- nounced your crime.'' " Nay," cried Anderhoff, " let me entreat you to pause ere you thus ruin me for ever," " It is in vain that you plead, to me," answered Egbert, " for the father of Lady Alice shall now know you for the monster that you are.' 1 And so saying, he raised an alarm that quickly brought Ruben- stein, his daughter, and a number of the domestics into the room. " What means this outcry ?'* demanded the count, and perceiv- ing Egbert, he continued, " ah! I know thee, villain I thou art here to rob me of my child.'' " I am here to save thy life,'' answered Egbert. " To save my life;— what mean you ?" " That Count Anderhoff had procured poi " At this moment the bell sounded the midnight hour, and Eghert became dumb. " You see," exclaimed Anderhoff,—" the villain would have ac- cused me of a crime, and Heaven lias deprived him of the power of speech, as a punishment for the falsehood. The fact is, count, he put poison in your cup, and but for my Interference, your lite would have been sacrificed." " Let the villain be secured in this room," cried Rubenstein. " Here he shall remain a prisoner till I have decided upon what death will best suit the magnitude of the crime he has been base enough to meditate.' It was In vain that Lady Alice pleaded for her lover; Count Rubenstetn was resolute, and leading the way into another cham- ber, he bade her prepare for her nuptials with Anderliotf on the following morning. Egbert was inconsolable at the defeat of his well- itltended efforts to foil the base designs of his rival, and It was long ere he ceuldob- STfeeatrrs. COVKNT GAiibEN.— A new comedy, by Mr. Sheridan Knowles, was produced on Tuesday evening, called Old Maids. A crowded audience assembled to witness it— an audience determined to award the full meed of praise to a favourite author, and to encourage theefforts of the performers who were ie. represent his work to the public, as was evinced by the hearty applause with which all were welcomed on their first appearance. The first act promised well— perhaps we never saw a first act that promised better. A wealthy jeweller, Master Rloulit ( T. MattheWfcl, has two sons, - John ( Harlfey) and Thomas ( G. Vandenhtiff), the former appareiitty ad dicted to trade alone, the latter aspirins' to the army ; the former the favourite of his father, the latter of his mother, Mrs. Blount ( Mrs. W. West), Sir Philip Bril- liant ( C. Mathews), at heart a gentleman in the best sense of the word, in exterior a mere Coxfiomb, complains roughly of the setting of a jewel to the old tradesman, and, in the course ot the altercation ensuing thereou, insists on the jeweller asking his pardon. Thomas in- dignantly takes the part of his father, and Sir Philip, after first threatening to cuff him, finding him a youth of gallant bearing, offers to decide then difference with the sword. If We reeollect rightly, a similar waiting of gfentility fo fight with a tfadesthan otcurs ifi the old play of Greene's Tu quttque. Sir Philip, who is in hopes of winhing gallant Spirits for the army, is rejoiced at finding his civic antagonist, and resolves to wound him slightly to tfy his iliettle, and then to do all lie can to promote him. The meeting takes place, the duel is fought in the most gentlemanlike style, Sir Philip throughout giving the kindest warnings td his opponent, telling him, now, that lie has laid himself too open, now praising his parries and thrusts ; till at last Thomas faints from the loss of blood, occasioned by two 6light wounds given him by Sir Philip, who had frequent opportunities of killi nghim. This is the beeinnitig of a friendship be- tween Sir Philip and Thomas, and, though, it mny in this age appear somewhat extravagant, the encounter is in the very best spirit of the Elizahethiafi drama. We have said on a former occasion, that it is not in the foliciwiha of any old school of the. drama that we are to look for its real regeneration; bnt still this act seemed to promise one of the best specimens of an imitative kind. In the conduct of Sir Philip, the nice honour of the Eli- zabetliian age, tempered hy au oveiflowing kindness, in the genuine chivalry of the situation, the brightest side of our old dramatists was exhibited, their reverence for ihe punctilio of gentle blood, with the kindly, manly feeling that speaks through their sonorous verses. Then there was the old father rejoicing in his careful Sof> and the mother sympathizing with the aspiring one; and defending his cause, and contemplating bis glories in anticipation, and the careful son himself giving hints that his parents were mistaken in him, aud that he would turn out something surprising, and the anticipa- tion was most pleasing. Here are two youths of oppo- site character, one entering into all the chivalric gal- lantry of his time, the other of more ignoble views. We shall see their progress iu the world, we shall have sharp contrasts, we shall have the life of tile period exhibited under its best aspect, and, although the drama is of the imitative kind, its particular ground will be new. We were much disappointed. The promise of the first act was not fulfilled by the four others. The freshness and vigour that had for awhile displayed themselves before us were no more, and the rest of the drama was of a common material. Iu many of Mr. Knowles's earlier dramas there have been scenes between two persons, a lady and a gentleman, in which a kind of coquetish love is carried on, the lady being the pursuer, the gentleman the pursued. Modus and Helen, in tbe Hunchback, are the first of the class; Wildrake and Neighbour Con- stance, in the Love Chase, belonged to it; in Love there were two characters of the kind. These scenes have been invariably successful, and, probably, on this ac- count, the attempt was made in the Old Maids to carry on four acts by such scene, alone, with the very slight diversion of a little broad comedy. Two ladies of title, Lady Blanche ( Madame Vestris) and Lady Anne ( Mrs. Nisbett) seem in a fair way of dying " old maids," the former lady from her fastidiousness, though even in the disguise of a yeoman's daughter, which she assumed for a frolic, she captivated Thomas Blount, the latter lady from a professed desire to expire in a state of celibacy. Sir Philip is a suitor of Blanche, without really loving her, and makes Anne his tutoress in ihe art or wooing, which ultimately leads to a real attach- ment and union with his instructress. His friend, Thomas Blount, now Colonel Blount, has become the equal of the proud Blanche, bat does not recogutze his rustic mistress in the lady of quality, ( though she knows him,) and gives to her moral lectures, while she hopes for amorous aspirations. The scenes are carried ou in Paris. Who cannot tell, from the knowledge of pre- vious pieces, how the instruetions of Mrs. Nisbett to Mr. Charles Mathews ended in a declaration of love, the " little bits " of playful coquetery that have been given to the former, and the archness with which she deliver- ed them ? Who cannot, tell how Madame Vestris was vexed at the coldness of the Colonel, and wondered that he did not kiss lier hand, and yet admired the wisdom of his words, till at last sbe appeared as his rural mis- tress, gained bis hand, and united with her friend Lady Anne in renouncing celibacy ? In all this there was the greatest want of freshness; all was like the echo of something heard before; the materials, the very sen- timents of former plays, were again worked up. The love scenes between the two pair of lovers, were the repetitions of former scenes of greater vigour; the illus- trations of love, the tone of thought only recalled si- milar illustrations and a fuller tone in the Hunchback, or Love Chase, or some other of the earlier works. The repetitions had lost their strength ; there was not the buoyancy of former days; and it was painful to contrast tbe occasional approbation elicited by tbe four lovers with the hearty unfeigned applause which for so many nights was received by the Love Chase. The first act promised a new basis, but the basis was not new, and there was the error. Oar old friend Thomas Blount, who was so admirable at first, from whose gallant bearing and really novel position we had expected so much, we were grieved to see sink into such an abstrac- tion as Colonel Blount, a compound of ethical lectures against diceing, rouging, and the like, mortals that have become such well- known truths, that we do not wish for their appearance in works of art. As for his brother John, he turns prodigal when his father leaves him in possession of the business, and associates with a number of servants, who, precisely as in High Life Below S/ airs, assume the titles of their masters. He at length forgets himself so much as to refuse admittance to his parents, while his brother honourably distinguishes himself by oppositeconduct. Thus at the end are we reminded of the contrast between the two brothers, which seemed to have been forgotten during the piece. The construction of the drama is not artificial. After the first act there are no situations whatever, and tlie carrying on the drama by the two pairs of lovers becomes more and more feeble and ineffective. There is a disguise of a young man as- sumed by Lady Blanche, in which she converses with the colonel, and which seems unnecessarily introduced; and there is the improbability of the colonel knowing her face when surmounted by a hood, and considering her face as perfectly strange when the hood is removed. Altoge- ther we give every praise to the first act, bnt from the character of the rest we predict that Old Maids will be entirely forgotten when many other works of the author are vividly remembered, or, better still, keep possession of the stage. Everything that could be done in the way of dresses and scenery was done for this piece, and we shall, perhaps, not go too far in saying that the applause awarded to the decorations was the loudest. True, there was applause throughout; but it was not hearty, it was not the common voice of the audience. When the curtain fell there was a shout for " ( Cnowles !*' and Mr. Cooper appeared, saying that he had anticipated the wish of the audience, and had sent in search for the author, who had left the house. He then announced the piece for repeti- tion amid applause mingled with disapprobation, though whether this was intended as a censure on the piece or an expression ot disappointment at Mr. Ktiowles's absence we will not pretend to say. HAYMARKET.— There has not been any material change in the performances at this theatre since our last. The house continues to be well attended. ADELPHI.— The commencement of the seasoh at this popular theatre has been attended with great success. The opening piece Is a new burletta of German Diablerie, which Is got up in a style of magnificence which we have seldom seen surpassed at any theatre. The author, how- ever, has done very little for it, except to make the plot as complicated as possible, and to perpetrate a super- abundant quantity of trash usually introduced Into such affairs. It is called Die Hexen am Rhein ( The Witches of the Rhine), or, Rodotph of Hapshurgh. The plot, as near as we can Understand it, is as follows :— Rodolph of Hapsburgh ( Mr. Maynard) Is returning from exile to take possession of the ducal crown of Saltzbnrg. in company with his brothers, Herman and Julio ( Messrs. 0. Smith and W. ti. Chaplin), and their road lies through a forest, in which they are attacked by two assassins, ( Messrs. Wilkinson and Wright, who are the merriest bravos we have ever seen on tbe stage,) paid and set on by Ottocar ( Lyon), a kinsman of the Duke's, whose am- bitious views make bim listen to the prophetic revealings of the witches, which lead him to aim at the sovereignty, and to obtain which, of course the death of Rodolph is necessary. Rodolph and Herman happily escape, but Julio meets with a worse fate, lot he is mortally wounded. In his dying moments, we must say, much hi the style of the footpad in Don Juan, he requests Rudolph to protect his wife Ida ( Mrs. Yates, to whom he has been secretly married), and his son, Wilhelm ( MissE. Chaplin), bat he expires before he can disclose their names. Between this act and the nest, 15 years are supposed to elapse. We now see Rudolph ascefid the throne, married to Ida. Herman, who is a most essential personage in carrying out the atrocities of the piece ( and atrocities, i. e. of mur- der, theft, and imprisonment, & c., this piece has after the prevailing fashion of modern dramas at minor theatres) assumes the natneofEdric, as a dumb prisoner. He is kept in a dangeon by Ottocar, who employs him to rob tbe ducal palace, and, in short, makes him an entire confidant of all his plots and villatiy, trusting to his dumbness. Wil- helm is taken prisoner, and denounced by Ottocar as the paramour of Ida, and, in dramatic style, and with theatri- cal vengeance, is sentenced to be immured in a canvas Ctfstle. But oil his way hither he plunges Into a river, and to the inexpressible dismay of the spectators, he is tired upon by his guards three or four times, and in wild- duck fashion, as many times dives in really real water ( we hope tepid) to escape the shots, or rather wadding, of his persecutors, and succeeds in making a safe svvimof. it. This scene, which introduced a bath let iuto the stage, was much applauded for its novelty, though thirty years sgo it was a featuie at Sadler's Weljs. Ottocar ( the Macbeth of the piece) holds converse wilh the witches as to his ultimate late, and in true Hecate style they piomise that his fortune shall be in the ascendancy until the dumb speak, and the dead rise. We bave dived sufficiently into the plot, and we are at a loss further to untie the gordian knot of mystery. We can only say that Ottocar's dark deeds are broueht to light, all his ambitious aimings de- feated, and Wilhelm seated on the throne as the rightful heir. The house has been well attended every evening since the opening, and the piece received with tumultous ap- plause. There are several new members of the company, amongst others, Mrs. H. P. Grattan, and Miss Chaplin, who have beeu very well received. We had almost forgot- ten to mention the pantomimic powers of Wieland, in the first piece, which are beyond all praise. QUEEN'S.— Giselle has made a tremendous bit at this theatre, and it has been thronged to the ceiling every evening. We have several times had occasion to praise the beauty of the scenery, painted for this theatre, by Mr. C. James, the very talented lessee; but the scenery and effects in this piece, Surpass everything of the kind that we have previously witnessed at this house. Of the other entertainments, we have the satisfaction to speak in terms of the most unqualified praise. CITY.— Since our last, anothsr new drama, written by Mr. Nelson Lee, has been brought out at this prosper- ous establishment, under the title of Red Ruth; or, the Gipsy of Hunger's Lane, and met with tolerable success, Sampson Smith has been also played with much applause, likewise a new farce, entitled Bill's Birthday. An extraordinary new domestic drama, from the highly successful pen of Mr. Dibdin Pitt, founded on tbe well- known poem of The Beggar's Petition, promises to do wonders for the treasury, and shall receive due atten- tion from us in our next number. SADLUR'S WELLS.— Mr. G. Almar's Jack Ketch has done some execution at this theatre, and still continues to ac - cord well with the taste of the audience. The audiences that have crowded the theatre ever since his appearance, have been almost as numerous, and certainly much more respectable, as those who generally honour the performance of his name outside as well- known, but not, exactly so popular an establishment, and their loud acclamations have fully testified their approbation of him. Notwithstanding " the great success of this drama, Hon tier has several novelties of an extraordinary de- scription in preparation. VICTORIA.— It is almost superfluous to speak of this theatre, so continued and unprecedented is the success which attends it. Nor need this be wondered at, when the merit of the pieces, the talent of the company, and the excellence with which everything is conducted are considered. That most inimitable actress, Miss Vincent, increases in fascination, and has not now her equal upon the hoards. She is a company, and that a powerful one in herself. PAVILION.— Wealth and Want, and Emily Fltzormond, have continued unabated in their attraction. The theatre appears to be doing very good business. life In Parr's Pills than in others, for I find, on Inquiry, that much benefit is obtained from them, and that they really do good to hundreds and thousands of people: I may with trruth say thou- sands, If all your agents sell at the same rate I do, and I have sold a few, viz., 624 boxes, large and small sizes I I am now wanting a freBh supply, which please send instanter, or else you will have much to answer for, by not making haste in giving length of life to them wanting It; and you may depend upon It for truth, that many old people who were fast going down In life, are now Invigorated with new life, new feelings,— sprlght ly and full of activity, and who say they are far better in health since they have taken Parr's Life Pills than they were some 20 year, back I Surely there Is magic In the pills to do so much good to the human frame, not only to the aged, but to the young as well, and particularly to young females, " I am, your obedient servant, " Lincoln. " JAMES DRURY.'' *„* Notice the above eaution. ANOTHER ACCOUNT FROM THE CITY OF LINCOLN. " To the Proprietors of Parr's Life Pills. " Aug 27th, 1841. " Gentlemen,— Were I to enumerate aft the Cures and Benefits obtained by taking this famous remedy, which are offered to me, It would require a book as large M a Church Bible to write thein In I Not a day passes but some one comes to acknowledge the blessings of a cure,— some bilsg made free In their limbs from pain and rheumatism, some cured of . sick head- ache of long Standing, some from violent bilious attack, others cured of the ague, of swelled legs, and sore legs, of palpltaion of ' h. heart, and wonderful to relate ! old men and women say, since they Old Parr's Pills, they have enjoyed better health, better spirits, better appetite, had mof'e nerve and strength than they bad ex.- perlenced for the past twenty years, and that Old Parr is like new life to them, for they feel all those delightful changes in the sys- tem. In fact, these wonderful Pills appear to contain all thi virtues ofthe ' pothecaries shop, without having to go through all the regular doses of draughts and boluses. My sale, Instead of decreasing, increases. Since last August, when I received the first supply of Parr's Life Pills, ( with tbe four gross you may now send me by first conveyance) I have had 2076 boxes at Is. ljd., and 264 of the 2s. ! 7d. size. Some people may not believe this: you can, if you like, show the entry, and the cash paid for them. " I am, your obedient serva. t, " JAMES DRURY, " The old- established latent Medicine Warehouse, 224, S otiti Bow. Lincoln." It would be Impossible to bring all the cases beftre the public-. sufSee It to say, that cases of every description have been cored simply by their use, thus showing that what has been considered different disorders, and requiring different treatment, all originated In the same cause, namely, an impure state of the blood, and can be cured by one uniform treatment. PARR'S LIFE PILLS, al- though powerful In conquering disease, yet are as pure and haim. less as new milk, and may be administered with confidence to the invalid, however weakly troni lofvg Ill- health, who will soon enjoy those delightful symptoms of a return to strong health, viz., good appetite, sound . leev, and an Increase of animal spirits. To have produced a medicin,- st, benign and ndld in its operation and effects, antijytt so nffectual In searching out and curing disease of however long standing, exhibits on the part of Old Parr deep research and a thorough knowledge of his subject. These who have been the instruments of restoring this long- lost secret to the world, feel confident when they make the assertion— that NON ® NEED DKSPAIK, that If only a fair trial be given, the malt will be a restoration to health and happiness. " Thus shall their bumble labours merit praise. And future Parrs be blest with honour'd days." The proprietors respectfully request purchasers to be upon their guard against spurious imitations, as the extraordinary demand has induced several shopkeepers of mean and dishohest principles, to try to impose on the Incautious various counteilett. composed of the most pernicious ingredients, merely for the sake of reaping an extra profit, totally regardless of the evil eonse- qurnc- s which must ensue. OBSKRVE that each box of the Genuine Medicine U? s pasted round it the Government Stamp. In which Is engraved thea* \ ior, is, PARK'S LIFE PILLS, in WHITE letters on a ijzbgrolifld. No other can be jEeiiulne. NO TI C E.— You will frequently see published, accounts ofthe extraordinary curative powers of PARK'S LIFE PILLS. The names of most of the parties there mentioned are well known to tbe public as gentlemen whose characters stand high In society, and whose unsolicited testimony must place these facts beyond possibility of contradiction. They have also kindly promised to answer tbe Inquiries of any parties, who desire fur- ther particulars. These facts have had the effect of creating an ' mmense demand for the medicine, and, as is always the case, when this large sale became known, certain unprincipled adven- turers immediately set about preparing and offering to the public various counterfeits. Their statements exhibit thu most unblus!'- tng efrontery, which is concealed under plausible pretexts, cal- culated to deceive the unwary. There Is fortunately, however, a protection for the public in tbe Government Stamp ; and although needy shopkeers may attempt, for the sake of larger gain, to force the spurious sort uno- yon, be sure you purchase none without the words PARR'S LIFE PILLS are en craved on the Government Stamp in WHITE letters on a RED ground. Sold wholesale, by appointment, by E. Edwards, 67, St. Paul's, London, and retail by all respectable medicine venders in boxes at Is. lid., 2s. 9J., and lis. each. GRATIS.— The Life and Times of Old Parr, who lived to be 152 years of age; containing Remarks on Disease, Health, and the Means of Prolonging Life, 32 pages with Engravings, Anecdotes, Poetry, & c. may be had gratis of alt agents. Read the following f'om Mrs. MOXON, York. " York, Sept. 7,1841. " Gentlemen,— We shall feel obliged by your repeating the last order for Parr's Life Pills, and forwarding immediately by Pick ford's Rails. Instances of extraordinary cures are continually occurring to us by their agency. One woman who had been re- duced almost to the last stage of existence by extreme asthma, was, by taking two or three boxes, restored to health. Another instance is a man who had been confined to his bed by rheuma- tism for sixteen weeks; quite- incapacitated for walking; but by simply taking two or three boxes of Parr's Life fills can walk with all the activity and freedom of perfect health. I could enu- merate many other instances, but these will suffice to prove the value of the medicine In ameliorating disease and confirming health. I remain your obedient servant, " For M. Moxou, JAMES BAYNK." In no instance has this Invaluable medicine failed to effect a perfect cure where due patience and perseverance has been exercised. Bead the following:— " To the Proprietors of Parr's Life Pills. " Gentlemeu,— When you first appointed me agent to sell Parr's Life Pills, which was August 14, 1841, I was doubtful of making much sale, there being so many different sorts for the public to pleeje themselves with. There must, However be . more length of GROSS FRAUDS. - CAUTION TO THE PUBLIC! THE very great and unexampled success, which has attended the use of OLD PARR'S LIFE PILLS, Having induced unprincipled persona to prepare vile and spurious articles und' r the same name, purchasers, for their own protection, are cautioned to notice that the words " The True Old Parr's Life Pills, » ' are printed on the Government Stamp, and as a further pro- tection the signature of MJ § 8 PARII. cdmu& eAGt. tf'au. is on the side of the wrapper, without which signature the Pills1 cannot he genuine, and to counterfeit which is felony. Miss Parr is lineally descended from Old Parr, whose reoipe foti preparing this truly wonderful remedy, she discovered' about twelve years ago, since which time it has not been out of her pos- session. 7 he statement made by the vendors ofa spurious article, that " the document it held by a clergyman, the Heo. William Arthcr, of East Peciham" is TOTALLY FALSE and the Itev. William Ar~ ther, of East Peckham, is not known and cannot be found them, as is proved by letters received from the '• General Post- Offiee," which are to be seen at the t> epot, London, and of which the fol- lowing are copies COPY. General Post- Office, 31st July, 1841. SIR.— In reply to your communication of the 14th instant, I beg to state that many letters have baen directed to the Rev. William Arther, of P<? ckhatn, but there belug no one known there of that name, they have in all cases when it has been possFoie returned to the writers. I am, Sir, If our obdt. hble. servant, THOS.'' LAWRKNCB. Assistant Secretary^ COPY. General Post- Office, Nth Aug., 1841. SIR.— With reference* to your further communication of the 10th instant, I beg to state, that Inquiries were made in nil the districta adjacent to Peckham for the Rev. Wm. Arther, but he could not be found J the letters have therefore been returned to their writer ® , I am. Sir, Your obdt. humble servt., JAS. CAI » ^ » SLL„ Pro. Secretary. Many persons throughout the kingdom from the extraordinary fame which Old Parr's Remedy has acquired, have desired to try but induced by false statements ( and in some cases by the advice of interested vendors) had tHken the worthless counter i'elt, and not! finding the benefit invariably resulting from the genuine article, have written to the " Clergymanand thus had their letters re- turned. Since the exposure ofthe above imposition the vendors of this Vile ( ounterfeit have discontinued the use of the name of ARTHUR, andnoiv say " the Clergyman, v and more effectually to elude public detection, have changed the portrait of OLD PARR ore their bills, the head they now use having a long beard. The conse- quence ot this redoubling and changing is, that unless parchasers are very cautious in noticing the signature of Miss Parr, they are certain to get the Counterfeit. Complaints are constantly being received at the depot from per- sons who have been so imposed upon, we are, however, not to blame — we can only admonish purchasers to attend to the above caatfoa and they may defy imposition. OBSERVE that the words of the Government Stamp are no pro tecti'. n— any one being at liberty to print whatever words thei/ please on such stamps, for which there is no penalty. The object oi designing imitations ot this wonderful remedy, in directing all notice to words on the stamp is to take off public attention from the only true test, Miss Parr's Signature, which they dare not imi- tate. To the host of persons labouring under all kinds of diseases,— many hitherto hopelessly afflicted— who are now daily receiving re- newed life and strength from this benign remedy— we slnoercly leave the circulation of its wonderful fame— but to those unfortunate sufferers who have been induced by heartless falsehood to take of spurious articles, and thus had their hopes of cure blighted, we ad- vise only a trial of " The True Old Parr s Life Pills," which from the experience which thousands of cases have now furnished, many is confidently and solemnly recommended to all— to those who are are labouring under disease, of whatever kind,— to those who arc suffering the debility, or slow decay of excess,— to those sinking from apparent old age,— to all we say, TRY THIS EXTRA- ORDINARY REMEDY, and you will find such beneficial effects from it as no other medicine ever did or can produce. Be careful to ask for " The True Old Parr g Life Pills." and ob- serve the signature in full " Ann Porter Parr' on the outside wrapper— do not be induced to take any pills as Old Parr's which are without it, as they are sure to be spurious— any one may imi- tate the words on the stamp,— but it is SELONY to IMITATE THE SIGNATURE— Agent-, for greater profits, will sometimes try to put off the spurious, but the want of the signature will at once detect the imposition. PREPARED ONLY AT THE DEPOT, 1, BRIDE- LANE, CITY, LONDON. THE FOLLOWING ARE WHOLESALE AND RETAIL AGENTS FOR THIS MEDICINE, FROM WHOM IT MAY AT ALL TIMES BE HAD GENUINE BIRMINGHAM :— Banks, Bu'l ring BILSTON :— White, Druggist. BOLTON La French, Druggist, Cbeapside. BRADFORD. YORKSHIRE:— Maud Wilson— and Mr. Rogerson. CHESTER:— Piatt and Son— and the Chronicle Office. HALIFAX Mr. T. Denton, Old Market. HULL:— Mr. Carlton, ( late Mox~ on) Druggist, Market Place, LEEDS: — Briggate and Lord Druggists, Kirkgate. LIVERPOOL:— Johnson and Sons, Church Street,— Procter, Drug- gist, Ilanelagh Street; & Wat- son, Byrora Street. MANCHESTER: — Ingham aud Westmacott, 46, Market Street. PRESTON : — Armstrong, Drug- gist, Church Stree t. SHEFFIELD :— Ridge1 and Jack- son, " Mercury Office." LEEI » 3 :— Buckton, " Times'' Of- STOCKPORT:— Fowler^ Druggist, fice, Clapham, Druggist. | Bridge street. London :— Printed and Published ly E. LLOYlX 231, ~~ ~ eiTm High Street} ShoredUeh; and at 8, Holywell" Si\ Strand* eat |