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The Penny Sunday Times and People's Police Gazette

31/10/1841

Printer / Publisher: E. Lloyd 
Volume Number: 2    Issue Number: 83
No Pages: 4
 
 
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The Penny Sunday Times and People's Police Gazette

Date of Article: 31/10/1841
Printer / Publisher: E. Lloyd 
Address: 231, High street, Shoreditch, and at 8 Holywell Street, Strand
Volume Number: 2    Issue Number: 83
No Pages: 4
Sourced from Dealer? No
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AND PEOPLE'S LONDON:— SUNDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1841 KEEPING A PRIVATE STILL, COVERED WITH GLORY I— REWARD OF MERIT, THE ROBBER'S LOVE AND DEATH Behold the vet'ran after years, Of toil and strife, in battles gory, Y^ H- rte monkey stripplings gain reward, What does he gain ?— Why scars and glory ! Glory ! what i% it, but a name, And reason never fails to mock it; The veteran only gets the fame, While booby curs the rhino pocket! TAOLIRR, JUANA ATTACKED BY THE THREE RUFFIANS, THE MAGNIFICENT The fields, which, bursting throiuJfj^ B ^^ L '' /-.. I, „ 1r. « ,, ^ the coast, run far up Into the terls tic feature of Icelandic Hf larlty of form, so that the one, may serve equally for^ H x,;.; ^ bably, been at tirBt rents c^ H^ <• fr> r ^ "" Z ^ / heaving of the island, th^ H'J-% V*/* 1 '*„' '-'"^ f' * „ to their breath j some of ^ Hf'^ r^ inv ' V'XWf^^ 1 ^ X^- s^ O' I A extending twenty- live ortH^^^^^^^^^ HHnuTcountryTlflQH continued still farther by narfl^^^^^^ HPwRich the mountain rivers finds their way to the sea^^^ P^ Muges, running out into the ocean, and ending in precipitous headlands, separate them from each other* In the neighbourhood of the Bode and Bern Fierds, these assume their mist mi gnifieent appearance, attaining an elevation of nearly 4,001) feet, though their average height on other parts of the coast, is onlv about the half of that new speci- fied. So sudden is the rise of ihise mountains. that it is no un- common thing to find precipices 1,000 feet high, from the top of which a stone may be cast into the sea. The fiords are thus shut in on both sides by perpendicular walls of rock towering up to a tremendous h » h ht, whose summits are clothed wilh eternal snows or veiled in dark cloud*. All around seems dead— no trace of life is visible. Man, and all that he produces. vanish amidst the mghtler works of Nature. Wood and ihe lvghest classes of the vegetable creation, are entirely wanted, and ihs naked rocks axe too steep for even the hardy birth or stunted willow to fix their roots. No scrnnd is hsard, save the billows dashing on the crrggy thore— no motion seen, but the cataract rushir g down the rugged cliffs.. 8uch is > he general appearance of these fiords, and the re- pulsive aspect they present; yet thsre does the Icelander choose - his dwelling, unappalled by the rocks wh'ch threaten every moment to ermh him by their fall. The island is nowhere thickly peopled, bat these firths and their connected valleys are more « o than any other portion. Her grassy meadewj are found in the Immediate vicinity of the sea, and here, therefore, the natives can employ in conjunction bo h those sources of gain which alone the severe climate leaves open to them. On their shores are ; he finest pastures for the cattle, whilst their waters are a favourite retreat of the cod, the most esteemed of the fish caught on the coast. In thetn also the sea is calm and less exposed to storms, so that the fishermen carry on their employment with greater safety and con- venience. Another advantage of these situations is, that the fiords, entering deeply into the land, are like cana's, connectlrg the interior with the coast, and greatly facilitate both internal and external communication. Merchant ships sail up these inlets, and find a safe natural harbour, where they supply the w; nts of tha natives and receive their produce in return. A servant girl, who always attended divine service, but who, also, could not read, had, from constant attendance, got the service by rote, and could repeat it extremely well. But a few Sundays pre- vious to her marriage, she was accompanied by her beau, to whom she did not like it to be known that she could not read ; she. therefore, took up the prayer- book and held It before her. Her lover wished to have a Bight of it also, but, unfortunately for her, she held it upside down. The man, astonished, said, ' Good heaven ! why you have ihe book wrong side upwards.' * I know it. sir.' said she, confusedly; 4 I always read so, for I tm left handed.' A fashionable countess asking a young nobleman which he thought the prettiest flowers, roses or tulips 1 he rep. led, wJth great gallantry, " Your ladyship's two lips ( tulips) before all the seses in the world,'* Sir John Stuart Hamilton, lounging one day in Dalbey's choco- late house, when, after a long draught, there fell a torrent of rain, A country gentleman observed, * This is a most delightful rain, I hope it will bring up everything out of the ground.' 4 By Jove, sir,* said Sir John, ' I hope not, for I have sown three wives in it, and I should be very sorry to see them come up again.' Lord Strangeford asked a clergyman once, at the bottom of his table, why a goose, if there was one, was always placed next the parson ? * Really,' said he, * I can give you no reason for it j but the question is so odd, that I shall never see a goose withoirt thinking of your lordship.' || D MARLBOROUGH STREET. YANKEE CLOCK MAKING OUTDONE.— A POLIIERM! was summoned before Hie Magistrate this nflici charged by a Mr. Humnhries. wilh l; l4V| nR " diddled' him out of a clock. Plaintiff wr, an jndivid, ml „ f th. Sam Slick species, who seeir-^ to think ( hat bh, 8 | 10Be • baunded in London, n8 jn Nola Scoliai H wore a tarnation old coatj evpry blltt() n „„ which wa as big as a doll.-^ and , hfi , leeves ware duplicated a tar back as I en, ow5. jie had an eel- skin waistcoat ! h f ™ ""'' 48' 8 of his inexpressibles were indescribable the tro-^ j 0f ^ s(, jrt was done „ p like lettuces. Ther an arctic bald circle on his head, and on the res jie hair was cropped like a hard brush. He had evi d. ntly practised much in the " soft sawder and hmna natur;" but in tho present ease he had met with h match, for tbe defendant was a Kerry man, a classics scholar, and moreover, a policeman. MAGISTRATE.— Did you get a clock from the plair tiff? POLICEMAN.— I did. MAGISTRATE.— Aud how will yeu pay him ? POLICEMAN.— I'll never pay him, your Worship.- The clock I have is not the clock he sold me, but a sul eiitute ; and it is worth nothing. CLOCKMAKER— I sold nnd delivered the clock o ( he 4th of Sept. sir. It is true, I never gave him tl real one, but I gave him the one be has now as a sul atitute, to teach him to keep time, nnd the way to win • BP; and he was to give me a shilling a week until 1 paid down 30s. and then I was to take the first cloc aud leave the real one with him, which was worth 21. least ; but as for the 60s. one, it was the most reguli goer that ever I seed no where. POLICEMAN.— Why I could never get it to go. T \ CLOCKMAKER.— Why you were always removing, ai you made the clock go wilh you whether you had pa Che rent or ne. ( Laughter.) POLICEMAN.— But it would never strike the tin punctually. CLOCKMAKER— Why, Lord blcisme, I called thr. Or four limes as jou were sitting down to your wittle and it looked as if it had just struck dinner tim ( Laughter.) POLICEMA*.— That's because'twas dinner time wh you brought it, and it never stirred hand nor foot sine CLOCKMAKER.— Don't you remember you said y< should be glad to pay a shilling a week? POLICEMAN.— I did; but you forget the elliptic English I used upon that occasion— that was, provid it went well, and required winding no more than twi a week. New, I used to wind your clock every nigl and 1 was none the wiser. MAGISTRATE.— IIow used you to know when the d was appioaehing ? POLICEMAN.— The cock used to roost over the he of my bed, sir, and used to inform myself and my w of the fact in his native language. The cluck is s sticking up right before the dresser, and if any one you, gentlemen, or any tradesman in the street, sh say what it is worth, 1 will pay it on the nail, e » en i were 5s. J The clockmnkor here went into a long speech ill pra of the machinery of his timepiece, and the painiingo side ofit. He Has afraid that the policeman had ov. wound it. The policeman affirmed that all winding was u « el « He had the best of whipcord, but every time he woi it up, tile weights pulled it down again of their o accord. In fact it was only fit for the hens to roost or the spider to build a rookery in ; and whenever wanted to regulate it he was obliged to look at the first, and then push the hour hand more or less town the chimney. Moreover the clock he bought and to pay for he had never 6 » en at all, and as for the he had upon trial the owner was welcome to fetct away in a wheelbarrow at any time he liked. The MAGISTRATE thought the Kerryman had the I Beautiful as an eastern Houri, chaste as Diana, and rich in Nature's all most capti- iting intrinsic accomplishments, was the youthful Juana, the only daughter of Don ijego Murillo, a Spanish grandee. At the time we commence this fragment, she was jj ® [ it more than seventeen, with a bosom teeming wilh all woman's warmest passions, a 0f irm that captivated by its grace, and an eye which lit the soul to rapture. She was ca er father's principal tie to life, his only solace for the bereavement he bad sustained yn i the loss of one of the most amiable of wives. Her brother was in the army. At w xteen, Juana had numerous suitors, suitors of wealth and personal attractions, but one on whom she could bestow her heart. Her father's greatest ( ailing, iu fact his nly one, was avarice; although abounding in wealth himself, and no one on whom to th estow it but bis Juana, he yet coveted for her a rich bridegroom, and in'that point In nly did he confine his child's freewill. There was a young man, Antonio Alvarez, ich, young, handsome; one whom Juana thought she loved ; he was the chosen of er father, and Juana raised no objection. They courted ; they breathed vows of love ; ri' ut although J nana uttered those vows of love, she mistook their real nature. They Ji ,' cre those of an affectionate sisteV towards a fond brother. A short time was only to lapse ere she was to laarn the real nature of her sentiments. h It was a beautiful evening; the moon shone iu all her glorious panoply of silvery louds, brilliant and chaste sultana of the heaven.' Juana and her lover walked forth, ud in delightful converse noticed not the laps'- jf time. Suddenly a strain of delight- j ul melody burst upou their ears, and was re- echoed far amongst the neighbouring hills, g mmediately afterwards followed a rich matily voice singiug an air, the words of which " vrapt the senses as it were in enchantment. " How sweet, how beautiful," said Juatia; " the man who could breathe such tones nust be no common being." c Antonio looked at her earnestly for a few moments, and the fire of jealousy sparkled ti n his eyes. J " Thou woukist not have paid Antotro that compliment," he said, " had lie sting to ' ihee, Juana." t Juana had scarcely lime to glance upon hiin a look of reproach when three ruffians e started from behind su enclosure, and one of them seizing her, before Antonio bad time to defend himself he was fiercely attacked by the other two, who followed np their | hellish woik, until Antonio sunk lifeless from many a gaping wound upou the earth. v In tbe meantime, tbe ruffian who held Juana was bearing her away, iu spite of her t loud cries for help, when suddenly a bugle sounded from the hills, anil the next mo- e in rut was seen rushing to the spot, the tall and graceful figure of a young man clad as a j hunter, in a dress of green, and bat with a plume of hern feathers. The man who t held Juana paused, as if uncertain whether to resien his prev, and take to flight, or b. Idly contest with the stranger the prize he had obtained. Before he had time to de- cide, the young man was upon him, and attaeked him so fnriou- ly that lie was quickly ' defeated, and took to immediate ( light. | Juana looked upon her preserver, and her soul imbibed love's warmest passion in a moment. " How fortunate," lie exclaimed, as he led her from the spot where the body of the . unfortunate Antonio lay weltering in his gore, " how fortunate that my usual . amble among the mountains should have led me to jour deliverance, beauteous lady; little did I think that my simple minstrelsy would have been the prelude to such au adven- ture." ^ This the Wvas the youth whose melodious tones had so enchanted her! Juana looked and loved I That moment sealed her fate. He saw her to her father's castello, and there he prepared to depart. " Will you not enter ?" said Juana, timidly, and fixing her full datk eye with an in- expressible feeling upon the handsome coumenauce ot her preserver ; " will you not enter and receive the gratitude of a fond father for the preservation of his child ?" " No, no ;" replied the young man ; " but,"— and he hesitated—" may we meet again ?" A blush of the deepest crimson answered him satisfactorily. " Any evening at the same hour, sweetest maiden," sairl the young man, " the air yon heard to- might will announce my presence. Farewell I" Weeks passed away, and Juana ami the young stranger had often met; they had breathed vows of the most ardent love, and yet she knew him not. Her father ques- tioned her upon her altered behaviour, aud the reason of ber evening solitary rambles, hut be could elicit no satisfactory answer, though he saw her soul was fixed in fetteis that death alone could burst asunder. " And why ( lost tliou make sucb a secret of who tbou really art ?" demanded Juatia, one evening of her mysterious lover, when they were taking their solitary rambles among the bills; " I have laid open to thee my heart, my thoughts, iny wiilies ; surely it is not unreasonable to demand the same of thee?" " To morrow evening," said her unknown lover, " wait but to- morrow evening, and all shall be explained. Thou shalt then know me, though the revelation, 1 fear, will be to me the loss of that love th-. u dost now avow for me I" " Never! never!" cried Juana fervently; " death only can quench the fierce flame thou hast kindled in my breast." " Enough, eiiough," cried the young man, snatching an ardent kiss. " to- morrow, then, we meet again, and then all will be explained. Farewell!" * * * ' wa On the tioon of the following day, a young man rode in full gallop, in a solitary road re( the ruins of the convent of San Lorenzo. He fastened his horse at a pillar of the - ph serted gate, and entered the waste balls. Here he opened a trap- door, and descending L iinall staircase, he found himself in a large vault, where, by the light of lamps, a band .. wild looking fellows were discovered drinking and playing at dice of cards. " The • ptain I" all murmured, but it was not the enthusiastic joy which formerly greeted the , ul ung chief. An old bandit, who commanded iu his absence, gave him an account lle liich was by no means very pleasing. When he ended, and the captain,• whom, we c ® ppose, we have no need to identify with the hunter, still remained silent, one of 6> e band, an Italian, asked him with a sneering smile :— d « " Glorious chief, I hope you will now favour us with the tale of your deeds during he e time lhat we have been almost killed by hunger, and the third part of our comrades he tnged ?" aii " Dost thou think, miserable wretch," replied he, with a proud glance, " that the pi in of the mountain sleeps, if he cares about other things than thv support ? Let tbe A iird part be killed, the double will ari- e at the sounds of my hunting- horn ! Com- ra ides, you want money and provisions— wine and girls— you shall have all. The star of nsc Hernani shall obscure, this night, the moon !" He ordered a well- armed corps to the hermitage, where it should meet in the first ta our of the night, and having given some further directions, he mounted his horse and ra eparted. ^ " Bueno viaje!" cried Jeronimo, the Italian. Now all broke forth iti curses and im- recations. The cry, " We will deliver him I" was loudly applauded. Immediately 2, eronimo was sent to Toretio, to negociate with the magistrate for the delivery of the rcat robber, and he succeeded in obtaining pardon for himself and his comrades. The lagistrate charged him with guiding the troops. Night broke in. The moon rose, and from the hills sounded the long- expected, well- nown air which called Juana to the embraces of her lover. But how much he was changed ! That was no more the hunter in the simple green oat, and the hat with a plume of hern feathers. A richly- ch corated uniform enclosed „ . is fine figure; a pair of pistols and a dagger were placed in his girdle. When he saw u uana, lie threw himself at her feet. " My dear, dear girl," he cried, " know what I ti , m, and what 1 have beeti. I descended from tbe noble blood of Moorish princes ; ° even tribes of free Bedouins obey the voice of my father. My ancestors have fought b he battle of the Abencerages ; the happy Andalusia was their native soil. From mv ' i. irliest childhood, when I listened to the talcs of the nurse, it was the land of my J onging desire. There vve stood, on Africa's rocky shore, gazing on the Ocean, whose c lappy billows kissed the ever- loved land of our fathers, aud mixed our tears with the r vaters. How can the palm- tree grow in tbe ice of the north, the fir in the sand ol ' he desert? I left father and friends, and in the Cathedral of Cordova, I swore ' iternal vengeance to our oppressors, aud their own sons have become my willing in- 1 truments. That may be euough for you— now in your arms, I will spend a happy J iour." ( Poor Hernani, poor Jttana, it is your last! c A noise . without, awoke the lovers. Hernani went to the door of the hermitage. 1 I'here he saw, glittering in the beams of the moou, the rifles of his foes. He drew his 1 jistols, when the officer addressed him:— " In tbe name of the king, lay down your arms!" " That I ask from you, or the bands of my men shall fetch them ! Kill me, but be i sure that they will revenge their captain !" i " You are in a mistake. Look here." ' The officer called the traitor Jeronimo. ' They say when Ctcsar saw Brutus among his murderers, he gazed on him with a ! glance which persecuted the " last Roman" to the fields of Philippi. Such was the glance which Hernani cast upon Jeroniuio. Jerouimo grew pale as death. " La Itbertad o' muerte!" Once more, Hernani's watchward was heard, which, in the days of yore, so often had awaked the echo in the forests ofLAndalusia. His first shot killed the officer ; llie second wounded a soldier. Henaui defended himself with the courage of a lion; he wounded auother soldier, and raised his sword to cleave his head ; but in this moment his arm was retained, and Juana cried loudly, " He is my brother !" From the beginning of the battle, she had lain in the hermitage, not being able to utter a word, or to make a single motion. The danger of her brother rescued her into life. The soldiers used this moment, and Hernani was in their power. The prisoner was brought in the cottage, followed by a cleigyman. At the same time a tall man in a red cloak began, at an elm tree, his horrible pieparations; and Juatia breathed still and gazed on this spectacle. Who can paint her grief and her pains ? Madness began to sparkle in her eyes; with a thrilling voice she cried Hernani's name, aud ran into the woods. When all was ready, Herratii was brought to the fatal spot. He looked rather pale, but went firmly, and without assistance. His eyes searched for somebody. Alas! in vain. Iii two moments he was a corpse ! The performers of the execution parted, and in the forest prevailed the former silence. The trees whistled, the nightingale sung, and the tuoou shone on the pale, blash face of the hanged robber. Two days afterwards a fisherman found in theTinto a female corpse. It was Juana's. A grave in the1 c'hurch- yard was not allowed her for having committed suicide. She was buried at the side ot Hernani. There she may dream from all life, but never, never from its la; t hour. Recjujescat in peace ! Our cut a cutting suij'el shows, _ ' Tis clear we speak not allegorical; But we the same have touch'd upon, In style quite terse and categorical! Oh ! eiori?!" military sport. Which got up officers to please is; There cannot sure be N'ter sport, Then to see a private c.! t to pieces! M'LEAN'S BARBARITY. In former times oil. of th. M'Leans of Duart, whose castle, now iu ruins, stand, on a promontory in Mull, in nearly an opposite direction to the Lady . Rock, married a sister of Argyle. The lady was handsome and amiable, but unhappily she was barre.'!. in ">° « « days it was a high crime in the eyes of a husu ana wnen his wife bore him llo Children. Duart hated hi." » P" less ladv for lhat causa, and determined on her des. ruc- tion. To accomplish if with ease, and, as he imagine.^ safe from defection, he oidered ruffians to convey her secretly to the hate fock, near Lismore. and there leav ® her to perish at high tide. The deed was executed to Duart's wish, and the lady left on the rock, watching the rolling tide rising to overwhelm her. wnen sh. e had given herself up for a lost being, and expected m a very short time to be washed front the rock by the waves, she fortunately perceived a vessel sailing down the Sound of Mull, in the direction of the rocK on which she was sitting. Every effort ic her power w » » exerted, and every signal in her possession was ai- played, to attract the notice of the people in the sel. At length they perceived her, and drew near Joe rock. She mads herself known, and related, that J- was by the order of her barbarous husband she was reduced to the wretched state in which they found her. The mariners took compassion on her, received her oil board their vessel, and conveyed her safely to her bro- ther at Inverary. M'Lean Duart made a grand mock funeral for hie much- loved, much- lamented lady, whom he announced to have died suddenly. He wrote dis- . censolate letters to her relations, particularly to Ar- [ gyle; and, after a decent time, went to Inverary in deep mourning, « here, with the greatest show of grief, , he lamented to his brother- in- law the irreparable lose s had sustained. Argjle said little, but sent for his sister, whose unexpected appearance in life and health 5 proved to be an electric shock to her tender husband, s Argyle was a mild and amiable man, and took no other - revenge on M'Lean, but commanding him to depart f instantly; at the same time advising him to be cau- tious not te meet his brother Donald, who would cer- t tainly take awa/ his life. Sir Donald Campbell did A meet him many years afterwards in a street at Edin^ g burgh, and there stabbed him for his crime toward ® ' bis sister, when M'Lean was eighty years ofagr* y This story farms the grou'. id work of Miss BoJfl g tragedy of the Family Legend. ^^ k TETE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE DEATH GRASP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE • BT THE AUTH « TL OF " KI. A, THE OUTCAST," ETC. ( Continued from oar last.) As the vehicle proceeded speedily on its way, the Duke Monterino endeavoured to engage Marccline iu conversation, but she refused to answer bim ; and nt length, apparently tired of his . efforts, he ceased bis im- portunities, and the poor girl was left to the indulgence of her own thoughts. Terrible indeed were they, and need no description from our pen ; but seeing all pros- pect of relief, at present, was at an end, she mentally breathed a prayer to Heaven far her mother aud Hejiri, and settled into a melancholy calm. The country through which they were travelling was extremely picturesque and romantic, and illumined as it was with the first golden beams of the rising sun, glittering beneath that clear and azure sky, for Which Italy is famed above all other nations, it might be deemed truly magnificent. Rich pastures spread their fertile beauties to a great extent on each side of the road they were pursuing, while in the distance a long chain of gracefully undulating hills, marked tbeir dark out- lines on the horizon. Marceline insensibly became ab stracted for a short time, from her own sorrows in the contemplation of Nature's wond'rous woiUs, and she viewed everything around her with the feeling of an en- thusiast, The first odoriferous . breath of morn came sweet and refreshing to her 9onses; and as they pro- ceeded, she felt gradually more composed, and placed a firmer reliance in the mercy and protectioa of Pro- vidence. Sweetly and merrily did the birds carol forth their morning song, and all around was happiness. Alas 1 how different were the feelings of Marceline, but she stifled them all in her power, and looked forward with anxiety to the termination of their journey. Often she beheld a solitary peasant, whistling carelessly as he plodded on his way to his daily toil, and she was tempt- ed seveial times to call to him and supplicate his assist- ance; but tbe uselessness of sueh a course was quickly made apparent to her, and the dark looks of the duke, who watched narrowly her every action, made her soon abandou it again in despair. About noon she understood from an observation which was made by Monterino, that they were near the place of their destination; and shortly afterwards, looking from the window of the vehicle, she beheld upon the summit of a lofty hill, a noble- looking casino, which she was quickly informed belonged to the duke. Under any other circumstances, Marceline could not have helped being delighted with it, for nothing could be more enchanting or romantically beautiful, than its situation ; but now she gazed upou it with an emotion of terror; it was to be her prison— probably the scene of every misery which her most powerful apprehensions could imagine, and she wept tears of bitter anguish as they rapidly approached it. A road was cut out cf the hill, which the vehicle slowly ascended ; and, at length, it stopped before the grand entrance of the casino. The approach of the carriage had been noticed ascending the hill, and the large folding- doors were thrown open, and several servants, in handsome livery, were waiting to receive them. Monterino descended f'om the vehU tered& the h Jl l"" ' W1 tered the hall, and the doors were closSd upon the liberty of the hapless maiden! CHAPTER XV. TKE ATTEMPTED ESCAPE.— THE RECOGNITION. HENRI continued very bad the whole of that night, he distracting thoughts that tormented his brain, pro- Yoking his illness, but by the skilful treatment of the an. d the attention tthich was paid him, by the morning ne vas so far recovered, as to be able to leave his pallet. The situation he was placed in— the comessi<;, n () f ,|, e beauteous brigand girl, and the state- ment 0f Allesandrio Bobelli, were so extraordinary and mantle, that he could scarcely credit their reality, out v; nen he leoked around him, the certainty of their truth was too evident. In spite of the nature of the situation he was placed in, and the danger he had good reason to apprehend from it, the beauty of Zitella, and the acknowledgment she had made to him of the pas- sion with which he had inspired her, had made an in- delible impression upon his mind. Had he never have beheld Marceline, no female could sooner have en- chained his affections, and in spile of the life she was placed in, there was a certain refinement in her man- ners and language, and a simplicity and modesty of de- meanour attached to her, which could not fail to rivet the attention and admiration of all who beheld lier. The words of Allesandrio, her father, also filled his jflind with strange conjectures; he seemed to take an unusual interest in him, and had informed him that, apart from his compelling him to becomc a member of ( he band, he had a subject of the utmost importance to broach to him, when he was in a more fit state to con- verse upon it, and he racked his brain in vain to ima- gine what that subject could be. Marceline and his mother, however, quickly superseded all these reflec- tions, and he was immersed in tho most agonizing medi- tation, when one of the brigands entered, and informed him that the chief requested an audience of him, if he felt himself in a fit condition to comply with Iiis re- quest. " I am ready to attend you," Said Ilenri; and the man having bowed with all the obsequiousness of one ofthe most polite of cut- throats, motioned to the former to follow him. The brigand passed under a low archway, after hav- ing unlocked a door at one end of that section of tha subterranean retreat in which Henri was confined, and Jhey entered a low passage which was very dark, but i brigand carried a lamp, by the faint light emitted ^ which, Ilenri was enabled to grope his way along, kksep close to the heels of his conductor. ge was of considerable extent, and the foul uiently rushed along tbe place with pes- aost overwhelming force, threatened guish the light. At length they jered a wide cavern, which was zine, being piled around with fords, & c. A lamp was jhich a light was con- | altogefher had a sin- Ince. From this cavern afferent directions, but which was a paved passage, and loft^ WPW^ e other they had traversed ; and having got to the end of it, they stopped before a door. And now the attention of Henri was suddenly arrested by the sound of a fomale voice, singing in tones of such exquisite sweetness, that they were suf- ficient to enrapture the most insensible individual. The brigand noticed the pleasure with which Henri listened to the melodious notes, and lie did not offer to interrupt him. The air was simply beautiful, and with very little difficulty Henri was enabled to overhear the following words ofthe song:— " Sparkling eyes I sparkllug « ye » I' Teii the feelings of tils heart i The eye can speak, but wotds are weiik, Youthful passion to Impart t Ruby lips ! ruby lips I Ne'er so well can rapture move, As entrancing— bliss enhancing, When they breathe th » vows of love ! Lira la! Lira la I Ruby lips! ruby Hps! Panting with the maiden kiiS; Joy Inviting, how delighting. Offering ev'ry earthl y bliss. Kuby tips! ruby lips I Stole coldness e'er reprove; Ev'ry pleasure, beyond measure, Love is heaven, and heaven is love I Lira la 1 Lira la!" The voice ceased, but the entrancing sounds still seemed to vibrate in the ears of Henri, and he re- mained fixed to tbe spot for a minute or two, wrapt in astonishment and admiration. " Who is it," he at length said, " breathing notes of such extatic melody ?" " It is the daughter of our chief, the fair Zitella," answered the brigand. " Ah 1 the same beauteous girl whom I beheld a few days since}" he enquired; " how exquisitely beau- tiful !" " Ay," returned the man, " Zitella is the very soul of tha band.—- She it is who, with her songs of Jove, ant! notes of cheerfulness, lightens the hearts of our men, after the cares and dangers attendant oa our course of life." " What a pity it is that one so fair, so accomplished, should be placed in such a degrading situation," said Henri. " " Come, signor,'' returned tile man, " our captain awaits your presence." Piolo, so wns the brigand called, gave three loud knocks VTilh his fist on the door, and it was immedi- ately opened, and Henri found himself in a hand- somely fitted- up apartment, furnished and decorated wilh as much taste as one of the rooms in a nobleman's casino, and brilliantly lighted up by several lamps. As he entered, Henri just caught a glimpse of the graceful figure of Zitella, as she retreated by another door; and Allesandrio having made a sign with his hand, the man who had conducted him to the place re- tired, and left him alone with the brigand- chl. ef. Allesandrio Robelii was seated at the head of a table in the centre of the apartment; and on the en- trance of Henri he arose, greeted him graciously, and invited him with the courtesy of the most polished gentleman, to be seated by his side, Henri obeyed. The brigand then enquired after his health, and having expressed his anxiety for his speedy and entire restora- tion to convalesence, a pause succeeded; during which Allesandrio appeared to lie eyeing the youth with looks of the greatest admiration and interest. " Henri le Sange," at length said the brigand, " I have already told you the rules of this band, and the consequences that must unavoidably follow your being brought amongst us; but as I have apprised your friends of your safety, and I have no powi> r to grant you your liberty, I trust you will iearn to submit to it, and by taking tbe necessary oaths of allegiance and fidelity, become one of our bold band." " Become a lawless brigand! Disgrace myself for ever, and break the hearts of all thdse 30 dear to me," cried Henri, indignantly;—" never!" " Stop ! stop ! young man," said Allesandrio, coolly, " not so hasty. You know the only alternative, and must submit to one or the other." " Sooner would I perish !" firmly returned Henri. " I still feel inclined to think you will change your mind," observed the brigand chief, " and will, there- fore, give you further linje to reflect upon it. For the present we will drop this subject; there is Another upon which we must now have some conversation, and for which purpose I sent For you. I have a daughter — young, beautiful, and accomplished— born to fill a far different station, and who can boast of a birth as noble as the proudest of Itnly." " I have seen her," returhed Henri, the remem- brance ofthe brigand- girl imparting a feeling of plea- sure and admiration to his bosom; " she is, indeed, lovely !" " Ah!" exclaimed Allesandrio, eagerly, " you then admire her ?" " That man must be very insensible to female beauty, who could not," answered Henri, with lhat candour so characteristic of his nature; " I admire and pity her!" " Pity her!— why so?" " Because she is made the associate of guilt, when she is every way formed to adorn the paths of virtue and rectitude." " Hark you, young man," said the brigand, " what- ever may be the situation in which Tate hath placed my Zitella, she Is as pure and uncontaminated as virtue's self, and those who wonld presume to question the truth of that assertion, must answer for their scep- ticism dearly, to Allesandrio Robelii. Henri le Sange, for months past that fair girl, of whom you have been pleased to express your admiration, hath been suffer- ing all the pangs of first love; all the ceaseless cares attendant upon what she deems a hopeless passion. Chance threw fhe object that hath inspired it in her way, and from that moment her heart was no longer in her possession. She made no secret of her love to me, and vainly did I endeavour to drive him from her thoughts, more especially as the object she loved knew her not— knew not of the sentiments he had inspired, and was betrothed to another.' Oh, who shall attempt to control the ardent feelings of first, of youthful pas- sion ? It rages with the fury of the devouring element, defying all efforts to quench it. Daily, hourly, did the love of my Zitella for this one object increase; he constantly haunted her thoughts by day— was the vision of her slumbers by night. The roses on her cheeks began to fade— her eyes, to lose their lustre, and her demeanour, which was once all gaiety, all hilarity, became thoughtful, pensive, and melancholy. Need 1 describe to you a fond father's feelings, on seeing his only one, who was a portion of his own existence, rapidly pining away, and threatening to sink into a premature grave ?— No, I could nol ; each pang she felt was the most excruciating agony to me ! I made a vow, a solemn vow, to get ( he object of my daugh- ter's passion in my power, and to leave no means un- tried to. win his love for her whose heart was all his own. In vain I watched the opportunity of putting my plans into execution, until accident brought about that event I so anxiously wished for. What more need 1 say, Henri le Sange ! Dost thou not guess who is that being to whom I have alluded ?" " I do, I know it, Allesandrio Robell'," replied Henri, who had listened to ( he brigand's eloquent harangue with afeelingof the deepest interest; —" well do I know whom thou meanest, since the fair girl hath already confessed to me her hopeless passion," " Hopeless 1" ejaculated Allesandrio! " nay, « aj not so, Henri; surely thou canst not resist so sweet, so beauteous a pleader 1" " I love another!" " But she cannot love thee with the strength, the ardour of my poor child. Is she not beautiful i" " Most loveiy 1" " And virtuous f' " Or vice never was concealed beneath so fair a countenance." " Ah, thou dost but do her justice," said the brigand- chief; " purity itself . could not be more spotless than she is." " But she is a brigand's daughter !" " And thou wilt become a brigand also, and " " la brigand 1" exclaimed Henri, energetically ; " I herd with those who live by lapine and murder!— never, by Heaven! Sooner would I suffer the most dreadful death that cruelty could invent." Allesandrio Itebelli remained silent, and folding his arms across his breast, stood gazing earnestly, and with looks of the gieatest admiration at Henri. Suddenly ihe soft strains of plaintive music again vibrated on Henri's ears, and then a melodious voice, which immediately transfixed his soul in rapture, breathed its sweetness around. " Hark I" ejaculated Allesandrio, marking with de- light the looks of admiration that beamed in the coun- tenance of the young man ; " can anything be more ex- quisitely beautiful 1" It was, indeed, beautiful, for it was the silvery voice of Zilella, singing the song which had before so en- chanted Henri; and again he listened With the most indescribable delight to the second stanza. TO CORRESPONDENTS. The popular romance of " ERNNESTINE DE LACY," has exceeds^ the limits ice expected, hut will, doubtless,' be complete( I in three or four numbers of this ptiper. The following are the first four lines of a ballad, which some would- be poet, signing himself T. E. R., has sent us for original : — " The tear stood glist'ning in her eye; As she bade last adieu ; Her bosom heaved the farewell sigh, For him she loved so truei" These, in our correspondent's estimation, may be iiery pretty, but we prefer the popular song of " THE AN- CHOR'S WEIGHED," which expresses the same senti- ments, though nol, perhaps, quite so well. The first four lines ofthe last- named song are submitted to our readers: " The tear fell gently from her eye, When last We parted on the shore ; Iter bosom heaVed with many a slgli, To think she ne'er might see me more Under consideration :— S. W. G., F. T., A. W. FISHER, F. N.. E. J. F., " TOM TIT," " MARY ANN," P. MULRY., H. C. FREEMAN, 3. G. D.; D. D. ANNOWIA, S. W„ J. T, and J. N. B, J. G.— We do not solve such problems. CRYPTONOMA.— We will give immediate insertion to the Tale, on your forwarding the completion J. N. R.— We cannot say. S. H, II.—" THE HEBREW MAIDEN ; on, THE LOST DIAMOND," is how completion 104 numbers. becUticd:—" WINDER," R. WALKER, W. CROSSLEY, and B. B. Accepted : — " THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR ;" " ISA- BELLE, THE MANIAC;" and R. G. HEWLETT. *** All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High- street, Shoreditch. THE PENNY ERNNESTINE DE LACYI OB, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE DEATH ORAST," BTC. ( Continued from our last.) PEOPLES' AND POLICE GAZETTE. ' Ruby lips I ruby lips ! Panting with the maiden kiss; Joy inviting, how delighting, Off'ring ev'ry earthly bliss. Ruby lips! ruby lip » ! Stoic coldness e'er reprove; Ev'ry, pleasure, beyond measure, Love is heaven, and heaven Is love! Lira la! Lira la I" No sooner waB the song finished than ihe music changed to the most lively and exhilarating tones; a curtain at the back of the apartment in which Henri jind the brigand- chief were, was withdrawn, and the young man" beheld, as if it had been conjured up by a magician's wand, a magnificent saloon, brilliantly lighted up, and in which were sporting in all the grace- ful and fantastic mazes of the dance, the beauteous Zitella, and several other brigand- girls, dressed in the same elegant and picturesque costume as tbeir mis- tress, and vieing with each other iu loveliness of coun- tenance, and perfection of symmetry and grace. ' To be eontin, in our next.) AUTHORS. Our present leader is devoted to a subject which our readers will find to be as amusing as it is instructive, and which, we imagine, will be continued in two or three papers. The curious facts which we shall disclose in the course of it will, we trust, be a sufficient apology for its length. THE conduct of the world has been so eccentric to- wards authors, that we are under ihe necessity of dis- playing some of that eccentricity—( bat, by way " of anec- dote):— for what can be more unaccountable than the patronising dead genius instead of living? Giving a marble monument to the memory of him who died for want: the not being able to discover merit because con- tem| iorai* y, unless, indeed, a fashion interiones in the matter ? This is not said invidiously of the public,— the real patrons of merit,— for we shall, hereafter, shew that it is in the main, attributable to an unaccountable apathy or indifference 011 their part, in tbe very plain matter of - judging for themselves. Let us, therefore, take a panor- amic view of the genius irritabile,— of authors who die, and whose works lollow them, anil of others, who, want- ing bread, receive a stone monument in lieu, and so be- come immortal ; their works flourishing like the yew- tree, because planted over a grave. A very lively and in- genious modern author, Mr. D'Israeli, lias already spared us some trouble in his various and ingenious works on the profession; and we have only to give abrupt items of the fate or success of those, who rashly wade through printing- ink, — a plunge far more desperate than even dabbling in brick and mortar. The reflections that arise from this coup d'ceil will follow ; and, as we have sepa- rate chapters upon patrons,— dedications,— style,— modes of studying,— critics, & c., we shall, tor the present, en- large 110 further. It must have been very satisfactory to the authors and booksellers of the fifteenth century, to find such demand for books, as is shown in the following instances of school- divinity. Panzer describes 110 ldss than one hun- dred and seventy editions of various parts of the works of St. Augustine, before the year 1500. There are more than twenty editions of the works of St. Bastil before 1500. Of Lanctantius, another of the fathers of the church, and generally distinguished by the appellation of the Christian Ciccro, there are six editions ; but of all others favoured by the popular partiality of the day, was St. Thomas ACQUINAS, whose united works filled 110 less than seventeen volumes folio ; and Panzer describes no fewer than two hundred and forty editions of his per- formances, iti whole or in part. But it is, perhaps, still more to the credit and taste of those times, that very nearly three hundred editions nf the different works ol Cicero were published before the year 1500, all of which Pauzer describes. ( See Deloe's Anecdotes, vol. 4.) Of the various works of Aiisiotle, one hundred and fifty- nine editions before 1500 ; of Dionysiua Cato's distich's, forty- two editions before 1500. To return to Acquinas, he was so great a favourite as to be called, in that day, the evangelical doctor, the angel of the schools, the eagle of theologians. Eminent men in those days were always doctored. Duns Scotus was designated as Doctor Sujbtilis: Alexander Hales, for his metaphysical attainments the irrefragable doctor. Even our own pious King Henry the Eighth, defender of the faith, entered the lists wtih Martin Luther, for speaking irreverently of Acquinas. Perhaps the reader will excuse a small digression about these degrees of doctors. We extract a curious quotation, verbatim, upon the subjects which are so learnedly treated by the subtle, from the Beehive of the Romish Church, 1780, B. L. p. 227, b. 6, chap. 5 ; there the au- thor says: " We had necde to bee a wylie woodcocke, which shonld be able to dissolve such indissoluble ques- tions ; for beholde, these are they wherby they permit their students to proceed bachelers, maisters of alte, aud docters : namely, to knowe, whether God be able to siune ? If he were able to hate his . sinne ? If it were in his power to commande any thing that is evill ? If he might batie created the world ill better condition than he hath done ? If lie could have created a father without a childe? Or a childe without a father ? Or a hill with- out a valley ? If he were able of h whore to make a vir- gine againe ? Also, whether the soiine of Gode coulde haue taken a woman's shape upon him ? Yea, if bee coukle turtle himself into the lvkeness of a diuel ? Or take uppon him the nature of an asse? Whether he could not haue been a pe> ble- stone ? A pompin ? Or colevvert ? And, if hee had become a potppin, how then would hee haue preached ? Also, whether our Lady was borne pure and without sinne ? Further, howe many companies of angels there be ? Who sitteth on the high est end, and who on the lowest: who goeth before, and who followes after? Moreover, what is done in hel ? With what sort of tongs and bellowes the fire is kindled ? How hotle purgatorle is ? Wherewithal it was separated from hel ? How long the suules must fry in it, before they bee ynough ? Besides tliern which wee haue re- hearsed, concerning mice which were crept into the sa- crament- box, what they, finde there to gnawe uppon, con- sidering it is changed from bread ? Howe long ihe man iti the moone wil tarie there, and when he taketli his flight ? Whether ihe host be poysoued when there is any poyson mixt wilh the bread? And whether flies dare presume to dirt it? With other more weighty questions without measure or end, wherein tbe heretikes are nothing seene, nor can tel no more of, than of ihe wind which last blew off my hat: and, therefore, it must of necessitie follow, that they are most ignorant and un- larned : tbev suppose it is tiowe, as it was in y° dayes of Paull and tiie other apos'es, when there was no talke of bachelers nor maisters of arte : when as quotlibets, horned or forked sillogismes, quidditates, identitates, restitutes, and other such lyke rattes nestcs, were not yet founde out; when fishermen were preachers, and tanners apostles ; and, therefore, are they al busie with their Paul and their prophetes, and scuff at al that our Docter ' Subfiles, Joannes Scotns, Docter Angelicus Thomas de Aquino, that our Aibertus Magnus, Petrus Lombardus O'cca, and all other such lyke lamous and learned doc- ters, haue written in greate bookes and large volumes, and which they bane, after deepe asid special speculation, concluded aud set fourth for cliiefe and principal articles of our beliefe." Vain had been all the endeavours of persons, whose wonder was excited by this extraordinary individual, to discover who he was, or where he resided, and although many had been set to watch him, and to pursue him, he invariably contrived to elude their utmost vigilance. The king bad requested his name, after he had rescued him from the daggers of the robbers, but he declined to furnish him with it, and having seen him in the safe custody ofhis attendants, immediately galloped off as fast as his swift courser could bear him. No wonder, there- fore, that all these circumstajirtis should cause especial wonder, and that the While Knight shotlld become the universal ( limine of conver.- ation all over the country. I11 the back parlour of the " Flagon," there nightly Assembled a select few of the principal inhabitants or tradesmen of the neighbourhood, to converse on the passing events of the day, and tD toast In deep potations tbe health ot Erniiestiiie de Lacy, tbe " Fayre Mayde of the hostelrye," and the light of our heroine's glances, which ever beamed with kindness^ wss^ sufficient to ex- hilarate the spirits of these goodly bacchanals to such a degree, that they were apt to forget there was such a word as temperance in the English language, though, by the by, it is uncertain whether, at the period of which this history treats, ihe word llad been very clearly ex- pounded, or more strictly practised then it is at the pre- sent day. Albeit, the frequenters of the little bach par- lour before mentioned, from tbe deep libations in which they tverc in the habit of indulging, were certainly no particular friends of it, either in theory or practice. The little back parlour was kept exclusively for the assemblage bf the select few, Master Hubert Clensham occasionally joining tlieni, and at all times being a welcome companion, for, when their Conversational powers flagged, Iiis favourite song of " More sack," which he satig as merrily as he had been in the habit of doing twenty years before, never failed to raise their spirits, and to set them iu a humour which was likely to prove moot profitable to the promoter of their hilarity. Notwithstanding the precaution which Hubert had used to keep tin: attachment of our heroine and Lord Raymond a secret, by some means, this little clique of jolly individuals soon became acquainted with i', and considerably to his annoyance, it became the principal theme of their conversation in their evening meetings afterwards, and the healih and happiness of both Ern- nestine and his lord- hip were pledged so often, that many of them were brought to that state of blessed- nessj as to be compelled. to take up their lodging for the night at " The Flagon." much to the alarm and anxiety of their wives and families, and the censure of " mine host," who had to bear the blame, although innocent ot the so! e cause of their misconduct. It was a few weeks after tbe circumstance which we have related in the previous chapter, that the same party were assembled as usual, ana Hubert was in their company. The conversation, much to the relief of ihe latter, turned upon the TVhite Knight, and the wonder- ful deeds he had performed, and each arrogated to him- self a sagacity above his fellow, in forming a conjecture as to who he was, and his real character. One set him down for some great prince in disguise; another for a madman ; a third for a foreign spy ; a fourth for an evil spirit, aud a fifth for the very devil himself, and at- tributed his good actions merely to the artifices said to be practised by bis saianic majesty, the better to ensnare and secure his victims. Words ran high, and the argu- ment did not appear likely to be brought to any satis- factory conclusion, when, in the midst of it, a heavy footfall was heard approaching the room, and before tliev had time collect themselves, the door was thrown back 011 its hinges, and there stalked into the middle of the apartment a tall figure, so completely enveloped in a huge mantle, that not a portion of it could be satisfactorily distinguished, and the countenance was entirely concealed from obseivation by the mantle being drawn over the head. The company trembled with astonishment and con- sternation, and Hubert was so confused and surprised, that he was unable to move from his seat, or to ask the stranger the cause of his intrusion. The guests turned each very pale, and their terror was not a little increased, when the mysterious- looking object indulged in a long ami sonorous laugh, which reverberated through the building, and then stalked up to the head of the table, at which the individual who considered himself the prin- cipal of the party was seated, laid his hand upon his collar, and although he was a stout, burley man, uncere- moniously ejected him from his seat, wilh as much ease as if he had been au infant, and ensconsed himself in it. The company again looked at each other with increased amazement, and the chattering of teeth and knocking together of knee- pans, became very distinctly audible, whereupon the mysterious stranger once more eave vent to a laugh still louder than the one before. There was now a general move atnontr the affrighted guests, and one by one skulked off, until Hubert was left alone with the mysterious unknown. Several moments elapsed, and Hubert Clenshatn re- mained in his seat, staring vacantly at the stranger, and unable to give utterance to a syllable, but at length the latter made a bit of a movement in his chair, and then a loud and deep- toned voice from under tbe cloak, ex- claimed : — " Master Hubert Clensham !" Hubert crossed himself devoutly, mentioned » 3 many names of the different saints in the calendar as he could repeat in about a second and a half, and then said :— " Heaven preserve me ! marry, and that is me." " Hubert Clensham '." repeated the stranger. " What art thou, man or woman, devil or mortal?" demanded Hubert, regaining his usual firmness, a latent idea crossing his mind, that, after all, it might only be one of his neighbours, who had a mind to have a joke at his expense;—" and why dost thou come hither thus disguised, frightening all my best customers away ?" " That was the very thing 1 wanted to do ;" replied the unknown. " Thou art very kind, truly; but what was thy reason for wishing to do so ?" " For the simple reason that my business was with thee alone." " But if thy purpose is not a bad one, why dost thou not reveal thyself ?" " Because I have a wish to remain concealed." " I like not thy manner, and " " Hold!" exclaimed the mysterious stranger, grasp- ing Hubert's arm, as he was about to hasten from the apartment, with an iron gripe ;—" 1 mean thee 110 harm. Ernnestine " " Ah! what knowest thou of her ?" " More than thou dost perhaps imagine. It is now about eighteen years since she was consigned to thy care by a young man who sought shelter in thine house." " Ah !" exclaimed Hubert, starting, and looking more narrowly at the unknown, " how knowest thou that?" " No matter. A letter was left with her, in which thou wert strictly enjoined to protect her, being the vic- tim of tyranny and cruelty. It also informed thee lhat her origin was noble." " Ob, stranger," said Hubert, anxiously, thou evi- dently dost know everything relating . to the poor damsel ; in pity, then, to her, I beseech thee to reveal this long hidden secret, and " " Not yet,— not yet," interrupted the unknown ; " cir- cumstances will not permit it. She loves Lord Raymond St. Aswolpb." " True,— true— but how knowest thou that ?" " Lord Raymond would make ber his bride," con- tinued the stranger, without heeding the question of Hubert; " I have authority to tell thee that thou mayest encourage his suit, aud on the day of tbeir nuptials, I promise thee that the secret of the maiden's birth shall be revealed. Remember, none other than Lord Raymond St. Aswolph must be the husband of Ernncsiine de Lacy !" Having giving utterance to these words, tbe unknown hastened from the room before Hubert had recovered from his astonishment; be, however, quickly followed hini, and overtook him at the threshhold, where the amazed guests were assembled, and were gazing with looks of the most unfeigned astonishment and awe at a beautiful milk white charger which stood at the door. When they beheld the unknown approach, they fell back with terror depicted in their countenanccs, and be strode with a stately air ftom the house, sprang upon the courser's back, and clapping his spurs in its sides, away it flew with the speed of lightning. Wheu he had got to some distance from the hou- e, he threw aside the mantle in which he had been concealed, and there was a simul- taneous shout of surprise arose from the beholders, fol- lowed by exclamations of " The White Knight! The White Knight!" It was, indeed, that mysterious being who bad sought an interview with Hubert Clensham, and before he had time to recover from the astonishment into which the discovery had thrown him, he was out of sight. The bacchanals looked at one another vacantly, but they were aU. too much flabbergasted to make use of any observation. There was a subject for their evening discussions ! Here was a thing to talk about!— They had actually been in the very company of thp veritab'e, hope fide White Knight, the mystery of whose conduct was at that time creating'sucli an extraordinary sensa- tion all over the country I But they recollected it with feelings of horror ; for that he was not a being of this eaith, they now one and all agreed. But what could he have come there for .'— And what had passed between him and Hubert ? They must be made acquainted with all the particulars. They walked back to tbe parlour, thinking that Hubert wuuld . follow them, but in that they were disappointed, Tor Hubert was too much as. founded by the circumstances of the evening, to subject himself to their idle scrutiny, and retired to his own private room, where be foand old Maud, who having been taking a comfortable nap in her old arni- chair tor the last l-: Otii', was ignorant of what had occurred. Hubert quickly made her acquainted wilh what bad taken place, and the amazement evinced by the old woman was as great as may be expected. Blessed Virgin!" sbe ejaculated, " how thon dost surprise me, Hubert!— But art tbou certain it was the real, light down earnest White Knight?" " Positive, Maud," replied her husband. " And that be talked to thee in the manner thou hast described to me ?" " Word for word." " Wonderful 1 wonderful '.— This, then, must he some relation to her J— her father, take my word for it ; and he is some great nobleman,— perhaps a duke or a prince, in disguise; and our dear, dear Ernnestine will turn out to be a fine lady !" Tears of joy ran down the poor old woman's cheeks, as these flattering surmises darted Upon her imagination, and Hubert was as deeply affected as herself. " Only to think, too," continued Mauri, " only to think that the injunctions he gave thee . should jo well agree with our wishes, and those of Krnuestine. Oh, how de- lighted will his lordship be, when he is made acquainted With it!" „ " But I think it would lie advisable not to let Lord Raymond know anything at all about it," said Hubert, " and I must, therefore, request thee, dame, to be silent upon the subject." " Well, well! I will do as thou wishest me, Hubert/" said the old woman, " but oh, dear, I shall be all impa- tience until the day of the nuptials of our dear child and his lordship, when the mystery of so many years will be unravelled, and we shall be made acquainted with who Efnnestine really is, and all the particulars about her parents. But, bless me, where can the dear child tarry ? — It is getting late, and hark how it rains." " Yes, it is a rough night," said Hubert, going to the casement and looking ont; " bnt I do not mind the wea- ther, so get me my cloak and bat, and 1 wii! go forth Ira search of her, though, doubtless, she is at the castle, and will stay all night." Maud gave her husband his bat and cloak, which lie put oti, and taking a stont oaken staff in his hand, he quitted the inn. Ernnestine having paid a visit of benevolence and charity to a poor, sick cottager, where she was detained until the evening, was crossing tbe wood with an intention of going to the Castle of St. Aswolph, which was nearer than her own home, as the sky had become overcast, and portended a coming storm, when she was suddenly alarmed by bearing a shrill whistle, and before she could look round to ascertain from whence it proceeded, she found herself in the rude grasp of a couple of ruffians, whose appearance betokened them to be robbers. She screamed luudly for help, but the fellows making use of the most revolting language, proceeded to force her along, and after struggling with them until she was quite ex- hausted, she was on the point of swooning, when, sud- denly a loud and commanding voice reverberated through the wood, calling upon the w.' etches to forbear. « Hold! hold! dastard miscr^" 1' 8. ho'd, on your lives!" repeated the voice, and tbe he » vy sound of horses hoofs was beard approaching. The robK? 1" ® started, and involuntarily resigned their hold of our t, Cro, n6- At that moment a horseman clad in glittering m*.''' an(* mounted upon a snow white steed, was seen to ertuer? e from a deep wilderness of trees, and falchion -, tt hand, galloped fiercely np towaids the spot. " Tbe White Knight! the White Knight!" shotited both fhe ruffians in a breath, and turniug immediately in a contrary direction to that in which he was coming, they fled with the utmost precipitation. Ernnestine was so astonished, that she was completely rivetted to the spot on which she stood. The mysterious knight approached her with his vizor down, and dismount- ing from his steed, took her hand gently, and with an air of the utmost respect, She conld not help feeling a sen- sation of dread while in the presence of the mysterious being, and sbe shrunk back. " Nay," ejaculated the stranger, iu a tone of leproach, " Ihe fair Ernttestine de Lacy bath 110 cause to fear the White Kuight. Most happy am 1 to have been the means of rescuing you from danger." " Noble stranger," said our heroine, recovering her- self, " whoever thou art, I heartily thank tbee for thy kindness." " Dancer may still lurk at hand, fair damsel," said the White Knight, " and if thou wilt accept my proffered services, 1 will conduct thee to the Castle of St. Aswolph, whither, I presume, thou art going." Ernnestine became more surprised at the knowledge whicli the mysterious knight evidently possessed of her, and her intentions, and in spite of all her effor ts, she could not conquer the feeling of awe which his appear- ance had occasioned her. To entrust herself to the care of a stranger, and that, too, one of so much ambiguity, was she considered, not only dangerous, but imprudent ; and yet, how could she refuse ? or, if his designs against ber were evil, she had no power effectually to resist him. The knight seemed to penetrate her thoughts, and re- peated bis assurances. " I will but convey thee to the portals of the castle," he said, *' and will then leave thee. Wilt thou not trust me, lady ?" Erntiestiae made 110 answer, but suffered herself to be lifted on to the saddle ; tbe knight mounted behind her, and setting forward at the full speed of his fleet courser, tbe Castle of St. Aswolph > 0011 appeared in sight. Hav- ing reached the gates be dismounted, and assisting our heroine to alight, he blew a loud blastpn the horn, and then turning to Ernnestiiie, he bent one knee to the earth, took her hind, pressed it to bis lips, and belore she could withdraw it, he placed upon her finger a curi- ously- wrought ring. In an instant afterwards, he bounded 011 tbe back of the horse, waved bis hand to rur heroine grarefolly, and before sbe conld recover from il"; suiprise and confusion into which his remarkable con. duct had thrown ber, he was out of sight. ( To be continued in our next.) Liverpool, A SPRING BIUTH. DAY. TO MISS H . The snow again Is parted From the hoary mantled earth. And the spring- sun gladly ushers ia The day that gave thee birth, Tbe snow- drop rises buoyant From its frost encrusted soil— A h irblnger of joy to lilm Who eats the bread of tell. The crocus shines unrivallei In its tiny robe of gold; The garden- heath its pnrple flower Doth smilingly unfold. If these would weave a garland. Or twine a wreath for thre, An offering for thy natal day Their opening buds should be. And with them I wouid watt a prayer That thou sliou'dst peerless blocm Amid the fading flowers of time, And cheer earth's starless gloom. Till planted In a fairer soil, Pei enr. ial ye should shine ; And bask beneath a brighter sun, Unsetting and divine. H. B. K. Louis the Fourteenth, playing at backgammon, had a doubtful throw, a dispute arose, and the surrounding courtiers all remained silent. The Count de Grammont happened to come in at that in- stant. 4 Decide the matter,' said Ike king. ' Sire,' said the count, ' your . majesty lain the wrong.* ' How, replied the king, • can you thus decide without knowing the question ?' * Because,' said the count, Miad the matter beeu doubtful, all these gentlemen present would have given it for your majesty.' • 4 4 1 i TETE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. mssr^ it^^ fsxmsmm THE ROYAL FAVOURITE. ATT ORIGINAL ROMANCE. ( Concluded from our last.) " I would have been spared this interview," said Gilbert, after a short silence, " both lor my own sake anil that of yonr daughter, whose welfare is dearer lo me than life itself. Speak! what would you with mef" " 1 must be brief," replied the Earl, " and I entreat you to hear me with patience. I know I am not en- titled to this kindness from your hands, for the know- ledge of the injury I have " " Enough," exclaimed Gilbert, his eyes flashing with Indignation. " I will hear no more." " Oh 1 Gilbert, for my sake, restrain your feelings— for my sake hear what my father has to say," cried Jane 5 and she grasped his hand earnestly, and look « d imploringly in his face. Gilbert's heart was not of marble, and Who can resist the appeal of woman in distress f who can resist the magic of lhat eye whilst glistening with painful tears P He turned his head away, Ssxclaiming, " 1 will be pa tient, Jane, for your sweet sake, but I caDnot forget tho past. It will be a hard struggles but you have conquered me. Proceed, my lord," he added, ad- dressing Lord Talbot, who had beheld with agony the Struggle, between love and revenge, which was taking place in Gilbert's breast, " I am ready to hear you f" " I have sent for you," saitl Talbot, " thai 1 may make a slight atonement for the wrong t have dona you. In the corner of the vault wlnsre we awaited the approach of Essex on the night of the fire, under a stone matked with across, you will find a packet. It con- tains papers that will secure the restitution of your rights. They have lain there for years undisturbed, and I had intended that no human eye, stive my own. should have looked upon them again. But your ren- contre with me on the night of Old Jacob's murder, and your possession of the papers revealing the secret of your birth, have changed ail my intentions," He paused, " Id his strength appeared to be fast failing him. " But oue question," ciclaimed Gilbert, perceiving the condition uf the earl. " Why, after rendering me all the assistance in your power tn moments of Ihe greatest peril, did you persist in accusing me of the murder ol the Jew ?" " I have never rendered yoa the slightest assistance— never granted you the least mercy— but with an un- sparing hand, have pursued you remorselessly. Thanks to an all- seeieg Providence, my attempts at your de- struction have been unavailing, and have fallen upon my own head." " I cannot believe this contradiction," replied Gil- bert. " Your actions towards me, ( until the murder of natural effort, and placing her hand within that of Gil- bert, " I confide her to you. May your lives be happier than those of your parents. Fare— well— holy mother of God— intercede— for me— and—" He ceased, and relinquishing the hand of his daughter, fell backward on his couch— he was dead. the Jew, and the discovery of my birth,) though veiled in mystery, have always been those of a friend. How am 1 to account for this V' " It is soon explained," said Talbot, " and it is but just that you should know all. On the night, When pur- Bued by Elizabeth's soldiers, and nearly captured on the banks of the river, toescape being taken prisoner, 1 pluBged into the water, diving at every successive dis- charge of their fire arms, and escaping, in the intense darkness, to the opposite shore, thus cheating them into a belief that 1 had perished in the raging flood. I was obliged to lie concealed at a solitary hut on Lambeth Marsh forjome time, only venturing out at nights to obtain food. " 1 had hoped after a short period, to have been able to join Gardiner and Feversham, who were endeavour- ing to prevail on the Catholic nobles to join them in driving Elizabeth from the throne; but the news oftheir de. feat reached me, and I was obliged to fly the country. 1 took refuge at the court of Fiance, where I remained for above two years, qntil, being ( inable to resist my uneasiness respecting the wjelfare of Jane, I returned to England, relying upon the report of my death as a sufficient protection from any danger of recognition. One day 1 had crossed the river for the purpose of vi- siting old Philip, and assuring my daughter of my exist- ence, when, on passing the northern porch ofthe abbey, I snsidenly came upon Jane, in company wilh a young gallant, whom I instantly recognised as the Earl of Essex, the most profligate noble of the court, and whose wife, the Countess of ilmUud, had disappeared in a mysterious man; ier. They seated themselves at the foot ot one of ' J„ e pillars and soon became deeply engaged in £ onT'.- rsaiion. Repressing my indignation, I hid myself - eneath the shade of the columns, and listened eagerly lo their conversation. I gathered sufficient to assure me lhat he was wooing her under a false name, and lhat bis final intention was to dishonour her. Already had I vowed a vow of vengeance against him, for he it was who led the brutal soldiery against my home, and caused such total destruction to all my fondest hopes. But cow, in the bitterness of my agony, 1 swore that he should perish, either by the hand of the assassin or 011 the scaffold, I have kept my word— I liavo fulfilled my oath, " Day after day I watched the progress he was making in her affection; but 1 delayed uiy vengeance until a fitting opportunity should occur. The first of May catne round, and I visited the fair at Chat ing, Almost the first person I beheld was the Earl of Essex, accompanied hy his friend, Southampton, busily engaged in examin- ing tlie various groups who were amusing themselves In different parts of the green. This excited iny suspi- cion, and 1 determined to watch them closely. Presently, you and Jane appeared, and, after a short time, you left her to mingle with the dancers. She was imme- diately joined by Essex, who succeeded in gaining her reluctant consent to ily wilh hirn. I had previously noted that you had yourself shown signs of loving my daughter, apd the hatred 1 bore to your father exf ended itself to Ihe son. ,1 determined on your death. In ac- cordance with this, instead of preventing the escape of Jade, as I might easily have done, I conveyed to your ear a mysterious warning, hoping to incite a quarrel be- tween you and Essex, in which, should you have been successful, you would have been equally as certain of death 011 ihe scaffold, as if you had fallen by his swortl. You know how my plot succeeded. I was foiled in my attenipt. and Essex escaped. Again, at night, at the abbey, 1 spread my snare, but failed only in pari. I disclosed my features to Essex, who instantly recognized them, and fell to the ground overcome with terror, sup- posing ine to he a visitant from Ihe other world. Se- veral limes after that did I attempt your life, but I was always unsuccessful. " Not so w ith Essex. By anonymous accusations I so inflamed Elizabeth's mind against him, that on the first offence against her vanity, he was thrown into the tower, and threatened with instant execution. The instant I became aware of this I proceeded to put in operation a plan I Imd long been maturing. A number of the Ca- tholic nobility had foimed an association, of which 15a- binglon was ( he head, for the purpose of releasing Mary Stuart, from her imprisonment, and placing her on the throne. To this association I determined thathe should belong. It was a difficult and dangerous task, but it was eventually accomplished, through the agency of Babington himself, then lieutenant of the Tuwer, who so worked upon his feelings that he believed himself an injured man, and in an evil hour consented to be- come a traitor. You know the rest. He, with the rest of the conspirators met their death on the scaffold but a few days since, and my revenge was partially grati- lied. By accident I encountered Jacob Levi, who had relumed to London in search of yourself, and, in the excitement ofthe moment, he told me of his errand, and of the existence of those papers for which he lost his life. He was the last victim, and 1 have since deeply repented that I look his life. " But life is ebbing fast," he added faintly, " and In a few motnenls iny soul will quit its earthly tenement to receive its final judgment. 1 have lived to make Summer had come again, and nature, decked gaily in her new array, was smiling joyously. The bells of Ihe old abbey rung a merry peal; and the interior of the chapel was decorated wilh garlands of sweel smelling fiuwers, and festoons of white silk. All was anxious expectation— athSrriage was to be celebrated- anil the bride nhd bridegroom were not to be rivalled, either in beauty or Wealth by any for miles around. At length it gallant cavalcade was perceived approaching ifi the direction of Whitehall palace, and nil eyes were eagerly turned upon Ihem. It was the martlage party. In the cenlre rode Queen Elizabeth, mounted on a su- perb charger, and bowing graciously to the assembled multitudes, who hailed her presence wilh the most jjiyous acclamations. On each side of her rode Gilbert, now the Earl of Arundel, and Lady Jane, the latter blushing deeply in her maidehly modesty; tind the for- mer, in all the pride of manly digiiily, casting glances of tenderness and loVe Upon his blushing bride. The dai k clouds of misfortune which had been so long over their heads, and which they had borne so patiently, had now cleared away, and they were about to be united for ever— a long perspective of joy and happiness lajt before them. The recrtllettiori oF her love for Essex still lingered in Elizabeth's rtiind, but its place in her heart was partly filled by that of the Earl of Leicester, and, as oblivion ofthe past slowly crept over her senses, she had granted her favour and consent to the nuptials of jane and Gil4 bert, and now honoured the Ceremony wilh her presence. The monk who attended Lord Talbot in his dying mo- ments prohounCed the nuptial benediction. On their return to Arundel House a grand entertainment was given, in which the fair Jane far outshone all lite other ladies of the court. Many of the nobles envied Gilbert his lovely bride, but more thought they were worthy of Bach others The retliaiuing years of their life were unmarked by any event of interest, saving that the Lady Murray, her lord, and children, spent their winters with them in London at Arnndel House. The affectionate Maud; who had returned lo hbr Hdy immetlUtelv on her re^ covery front the shock occasioned by Herbert Villicr's death, always accompanied them, and some years after- wards, she found comfort for Herbert's loss in a young Scotchman, a retainer of Lord Murray's, and her life was spent in the service of her beloved mistress. Centuries have rolled on since, and all things have changed except God. But the remains of the Earl and Countess of Arundel, still rest in peace in a stately maiiselotim in Westminster Abbey, where the curious observer may yet read the black letter inscription to their many virtues. The chronicler's task is now com- pleted, and he would lay down his pen with greater pleasure if he was assured that he has given any satis- faction in bringing forward characters and scenes of a time long since past away. Westminster. J. U. R. MEMOIRS OF MADAME LAFARGE. WRITTEN BY HERSELF. TRANSLATE!) FROM THE FRENCH EXPRESSLY FOR THIS WORK. ( Continuedfrom our last ) The sun bad risen radiant, gilding the rich harvests, and our preparations for the fete. About ten o'clock was seen a small cloud ; at eleven it hail become a very large and a Very grey one: we went from the barometer to the window, agitated by alternate hope and fear. At last, wilh tbe first thunder clap, and amidst a horrible raiti, the Oilcan's family m tile their entrance— wet, splashed, into Our little Villers- Hellon, but two hours before so pfotul ant) iitiililig, how asbitmc( l of seeing its ro'e of festival and flowers soiled and degraded. The princes travelled iu a great omnibus, which was anything hut magnificent. The Duke ahd Duchess of Orleans arrived rather wet, and without the least shadow of ill- humour. The Duchess of Orleans had the sweetness of an angel, and bore impressed upoii her brow the high virtues which., alter making the wife be admired, have made the queen lib venerated. The princesses were amiable, pretty— but rather satirical; and the young Princes, de Joinville and d'Aumale, were nothing but royal sfho-' lboys, st ll under the ferula of their governor. Mademoiselle d'Otleans, also one of the party, crowned the happiness of my grandfather,— she, afcove all, was bis idol. After breakfast, their highnesses, without fearing Ihe raitl, availed themselves of du interval of sitn- lfiiie and went round the gardens and farms ; they With great in- dulgence admired the fine trees, the model roads, the flocks, and praised our pretty Swiss dairy; everywhere on their passage they were welcomed with vlvuts aud. be- nt'dictions ; they si etned happy on witnessing those tians- ports of love which were tile faithful echoes of my good grandfather's profotind devdtiom A singular enough scene took place during the break- fast; the schoolmaster of Villers- Htllons wishing to get as near a view of the princes as possible, hail obtained from my old nurse an ancient full dress suit of my grand- father; lie had converted this pantaloons into bieoihes, and - stretched over Ills legs a pail ol flesh- coloured stnekiugs, aud fancied he had altogether equipped him- stIf with a very fashionable livery; he looked very ridi- culous, but was so happy, that my gi andUther permitted him to mix with the valets who were to wait at table. There then was our grave magister, a napkiil under his dim, looking with fill his eyes, listening with all his Bars, when the duke ( I Orleans, of a suddeil, askiUg for drink, be darted forward, made a perilous and triumph- ant slide over the polished floor of the dining- room, and fell at the feet of the astonished duke. The sentiment of enthusiasm that had caused the metamorphosis and the fall of this firm pillar of the alphabet was explained, and the Inlppy novice had the high houour of alone at- tending to the refreshing a royal and popular throat. A CHINESE TALE. my mother never combated an idea by an idea; when she was satisfied with me; and 1 repeated One of those things that haven't coalition sense; she said to me laugh- ing :—" Hold yonr tongue, little original; embrace me— be wise, and don't act the philosopher:' 1 when, on the contrary, I had beforehand deserved her displeasure, she sternly replied to me that my ideas being false, I ought to have the wit to conceal them, and that 1 would do well to go and rtflect upon it in nty room. I was sensible to all the charms of reading, and de- voted to it the raiiivdavs, and almost every Sunday— my favourite baokwas Voltaire's History of Charles XII. The blood mounted to my cheeks ; my heart beat quicker when 1 was reading all the victories of that hero, and 1 with dill!, tilty kept, back a tear when. I came to his defeats and to his death. 1 could never feel satisfied wilh the Memoirs upon Napoleon; the incense offered to my demi god was not pure enough; it seemed to me unbecoming to dare to judge his actions, cruel and odious to blame him in his reverses. The Russian Campaign, by M. de Segar, made me melancholy and ill, it would have been impossible tor me to read it twice. 1 was pretty partial to Racine ; greatly so- to Corneille; above all, toMoliere; Paul and Virginia wearied me to dcalh. Amongst the historical travels and voyages, the lives of Fernando Corlez, Pi- zarro, ol the buccaneers and pirates, would sometimes tpake the folms of their heroes appear to me in my dreams. I had tiefer busied myself with politics; I knew there was a throne at the ftlillefies, npon that throne a king,— that this king had ministers, or iiitire properly speaking, intelligencies, acting in default of his ortn. All at once the cannon of July resounded in the Vosges, and the press sent us the bulletins of a people of heroes; it was incre- dible-*= it was sublime: in three days workmen, young children, avenge liberty, ofertnrn the throne, restore to France its tri- colour; they destroy With the one hand— tltcy protect with the other; impetuous and daring iu the combat, they are noble and calm after the victory. So as they have braved death they brave corruption, and lay aside their arms after having assured the luxury of the " rich of this w. rldj before they have thought of their bread the next day. What fine days!— what, great men ! It seems that the thought of God has created them to endow our history with its noblest pace. That revolution, that glory made me comprehend the liberty of the people, the love and the pride of country. Louis- Philippe becoming king, all the sympathies of my family saluted his election ; as for me, I didn't find him young enosgh for our young France; I would have had a little war, and great victories. Atthe tribune, the orators of the left my obtained admiration ; I became a complete enthusiast, and my thoughts so republican, that my mo- ther found it prudent to interdict me from reading the journals, apd to forbid my meddling with politics, with- out being able to efface the profound impression those great events had made upon my mind. CHAPTER VIII. A dlsclpie of the sect of Taotse, or " Doctors of Reason,' while meditating among the tombs, observed a young lady seated by one of thriil, eagerly employed In fannli g the structure. Ou approach- ing the spot, and seeing her In tears, he ventured to ask whose tomb it might be, and why she took so much pains in fanning it? The 1 ally, with great simplicity, replied,—" You see a widow at the tomb of her husbaud: he was tiiist dear to me, and he loved me in return wltll equal tenderness. Afil'cted at the Idea of part- ing with me, e'.' en in death, his last words w.- re these :—' My dearest Wife, should you ever think of marrying again, I conjure you to wait, at least, until the plaster of ray tomb is entirely dry ; after which, you bave my sanction to take another husband.' " Now," said the, " as the materials are still damp, and not likely soon to dry, I thought I would just fan it a little to assist in dissi- pating the moIsMlre. '—" This woman,'' thought the philosopher, " is in a monstrous hurry;*' and having recently taken to himself a beautiful wife, he hastened home to apprise her of the adventure. '' Fair promises," thought the philosopher, " are easily made, but we shall see." He suddenly became dangerously 111. a tender scene occurred ; the lady vowed eternal remembrance, and repeated her resolution to remain a widow to Iter dying day. " Enough," said the philosopher, " my eyes are now closing for ever," aud so say- ing, the breath departed from his body. The desponding widow, with loud lamentations, embraced tile lifeless body, and Held it lotked in her arms. Among the m timers who assembled on the melancholy occasion was a youth of fair exterior, who said he had come from a distance to place himself as a pupil uuder the de- ceased sage. With great difficulty he procured a sight of the widow ; she was strbek with his appearance— she . saw him again on the following day; they dined together, and exchanged tender lpoks and ex- pressions. The youth was half smitten, the lady wholly so ; a marriage was speeiilyagreed upon— the youth, however, previously demanded three conditions, one of which may suffice for our no. lice; it was, that the widow should forthwith turn out of the house the unsightly coffin that contained the remains of her late husband. The lady readily consented ; the coffin was sent into an eld sited at the bottom of the garden. Preparations were now made for the marriage feast, but the bridegroom was suddenly seized with convulsions, and fell on the floor. The bride was de- sired by his domestic not to be alarmed, for that these fits were not unusual, and that there was a cure for them- the brain of a man recently deceased-, taken in waim wine. " Oh"' said the lady. " my late husband has been dead only a few days; get me a hat- chet, and I will go myself and open the coffin, and take out th- remedy. Thus fortified, she posted aivay to the bottom of the garden, and striking a blow witli all her might— behold, the lid flew open, a groan was heard, and, to her g?. eat horror, the dead man risli g up, very coolly said,—" My dear wife, lend me your hand to get out." The unhappy ln mirata, finding . ail her in- trigues discovered, flirt unable to surv ve her shtme, hung herself to one of the beams. The philosopher found her, and having satis- fied himself that she was quite dead, cut her dt wn v » ry coolly, and having repaired his owu coffin, laid her la it, f ully determined never to U k; another wife. THS FALI S OF NIAGARA.— YO- 1 must descend lo the very edge of the tremb'lng rocky brink of the cauldron on the British side, immediately under the stairs, and 00 or 70 feet below the nam w platform of the rock on which you have stood when you have reached the last of these stairs. This is not to be effected without si me treub'e, risk, and fatigue ; but It icpays all your exertion, for whgn you have reached the edge, close to the Rainbow or Split Roek. you- are, as it were, at once in a new world— chaos se< nn there to have never been disturbed by the regularity of nature but reigiis aolenim and ^ uptime. Place your back against the project- ing blackened, and sllme- covered rocks, and look towards the mighty mass of vapour and water before you, around you, beneath you, and absve you. Hearing, sight, leelli- g, become as It w - re blended and contouuded. You are sensible that you exist, perhaps, but In what state of existence has, for a ftw minutes, vanished from your ! m g'natlon. The rocks vibrate under your feet; the milk- white boiling and mountain so g - advances, swells up, sub- sides, recoils, lashes, and mingles vv'th the thick vapour. An indescribable and. terrific, dull, yet deafening sound, shakes the airj your nerves feel the conclusion, and th. w irds of surprise which at length escape fri m your lips are inaudible even to your- self, so awfully stern is the uproar of the contending air and water In their conflict for m istery. The Ideas ivhlth first struck nij when 1 had recovered from this stupor of astonishment, were those of being swept away by the fo. mlng maintains, bubbling, seething in the huge cauldron at my feet; of being on the point of losing the sense of hearing, for my temerity In venturing to pry so nearly Into the unattainable mysteries of nature j and of Instant, annihilation from the mass of overhanging blaik and beetling rock above my head, at ail absolute height of nearly 200 feet. In fact, I expe- rienced the Bamo sensations so beautifully described by Shakspere in Lear, but frf m a reverse cause; so true is it that extremes meet. I became giddy anil confounded by looking up to lbs dizzy scene, instead of glancing from the eye down towards an unfathomable abyss of air and water below. There are few visitors who venture to the " Imminent deadly breach" of the edge of the cauldron, and of the split Rainbow Hock. These fotm a huge mass buried cables deep in the gulf, fallen headlong from above, rent by the fali inlwdn nearly to its base, wedged Into the lip of the cauldron, and towering 20 rr 30 feet above the mountain surge. How it became so transfixed bafSes conjecture, for it was evidently hurled fr. m the table- rock above. This Rainbow Rock, as it is called, or Iris's Throne, from the extremity of the arc appearing to rest upon it when you view the great fall from the rocky table above, cannot now be approached so easily. The ladder by which, at much personal hazard. Its flat and slippery surface was giinetl, has been twept away by the raging flood; and it is, perhaps, for- tunate that it is so, for the . experiment of gaining and standing on the surface w . s attended with great risk. I saw one person, whilst I was sketching the scene, actually lying down at lull le. gi. ll upon the edge of it, with his head project d over, to lock into the very cauldron. I shuddered at tile hardihood displayed, for a false movement wou'd be ineyltable and instaut destruction on that slippei y platform. When he descended the ladder I told him what. - , , . — , . I had telf, and lie V( v fully aware of his Ganger, but said, that . some atonement, and I am satisfied. 1 ou will pro- 1 , um hu chndhdodh! i 1 been a 1 anger in the A ps. To add to tect her," he continued, turning to Jane, and faking her hand. " I know your love for her, and you will not desert her for Che crimes of her father ?" " May heaven refuse me forgiveness for my sins if I do," exclaimed Gilbert, as he looked at ihe almost sense- less form of Jane, who had thrown herself hy the side of her father iu an agony of griof. ii."' Then," said Talbot, raising himself with a super- the difficulties of your si. nation on the edge of the cauldron, the descending aud . ascending spray is so great that you are wet through very soon; whilst the clouds of arrowy sleet drivltg in your eyes render Sketching not very pleasant; whilst, to add to your stock of ldeat - OH- behold a truly Frleschutz display, for, crawling atyourfiai. amidst a mass of gtound and splintered timber, bones, and shivered rock, are the loathsome and large black toad, the hideously- defoim- d lizard, eels ef a mist equivocal appearance, and even that prototype of the eel, the fierce black water- sCTjeilt.'—: BMnj/ castle'e Canadaa, TIIB autumn had brought the hunting and shoot'ng parties, the long rides on Horseback, the winter soirees, all the poesy of Ihe last leaves, and the last fine days; lint there no longer existed that affectionate cordiality, that reciprocal exchange of endearing attentions that formerly distinguished our re- union?. The marriage of my mother was drawing nigh, hut it was only mentioned in whispers; a general unplesantness always accompa- nied this subjeetof conversation, during which my grand- father would call us, my sister and myself, take our two heads between his hands, play with our hair, as if by his tender caresses to divert our attention from listening to what must naturally hurt our feelings. This marriage was generally blamed; and I ft It myself wounded in the dearest religion ol my heait, at tbe sight, at the expression of my mother's new affection. 1 suffered again from that unite reprobation of society that weighed upon her ; I affectcd looks of happiness and indifference. I showed a lively sympathy for M. de Coehnrn, but I afterwards felt remorse; I demanded pardon of my poor and beloved father; and this conti- nual struggle became an almost insupportable torture. The nuptial day was sad; we were forced to be present wit boat a tear gliding from our heart to our eyelid, to quit our mourning when we were becoming doubly or- phans ; it was necessary to smile at the consecration of the oblivion of a fir.- t love; to . smile on abdicating a part of our mother's heart that a stranger might reign there. M. de Coehorn was a Protestant; the religious ceremony took place in the saloon; the work- table became an altar, a gentleman in black gave a-- coldiy learned sermon, and afterwards a very homely benediction. Shall 1 avow it? I was happy at that paltry ceremony,— happv that my dear little church of Villets Hellon had not been dressed out, that the wax tapers of the altar had remained unlit, the censor without its incensa; I was happy that the grand cross, the angels, the Virgin, tbe tabernacle, had not been jlespoi. led oftheir weekly winding sheets to bless this oblivion of my father. When I was slint up alone in my chamber, I took the portrait of my dear regretted parent; I covered it with my kisses, I promised to love him as much upon heaven as I had done upon earth. Since that day, never have 1 pronounced that holy name before my mother ; 1 buried my treasure in. the most secret abyss of my thoughts ; I never let it escape my lips but on meeting some brother officers or soldiers ot my beloved father, when exchanging with them recollect'ons and regrets. We quilted Villers- Hellon to go and take possefsion of the little chateau of litenwillcrs, our own family, for a family to which we were indifferent and strangers. An- toniue, still too young to comprehend the sufferings and the affections of tlie heart, had forgot the past, and lived perfectly happy with plenty of amusement, a dozen tlogs, as many cats, and innumerable birds; she cared very little for Eugene," whom she did not like, and who was not very fond of her, and took refuge from his ser- mons in the indulgence of my mother. 1 was now fourteen ; I was always excessively childish in my actions; but sometimes already old in my thoughts, aftnr passing hours in skating on the ditches of the park, in running across the meadows after a butieifly, an in- sect, a feather, all at once I would become dull and mo- tionless; tbe sight of my mother, leaning 011 M. de Coehorn's arm, made me ill; 1 was jealous for my father, of his happiness : they would then question me, I either did not utiswer or was iinpertinetit, being unable to speak the truth ; I was punished, confined tomy chamber, where I " consoled myself, or was proud in the conviction that I was suffering for my father. M. de Ccwrhorn generally obtained my pardon ; be laughed at my indomitable character, plagued me, per- mitted me to say everything to him to revenge myself, plaved with me like, at. d we frequently became so noisy, that my mother was obliged to fly or turn us out of the ro" m. VVe led a very retired life; my mother and M. de Coe- horn were too happy to seek for society, to forget them- selves in order to please others ; they were wearied when not alone, tbey lived for each other. We only saw a few perspns of Eugene's family; his mother, good and vir- tuous, who had converted each of her habits into a little virtue, that'might have the right of not derogating from it, and of not sacrificing them to Iter neighbour; his eldest sister, married toM. de Bassi& re, an extremely grdcefnl and sweet- tempered woman; his two other sis- ters, whom I loved— whom I afterwards was to love still more— for they were already very amiable young persons. I was only a child— it required time as well as experience to assimilate our hearts, our ideas— jtbove all, our tastes ai d our habits. Not having all the extra enjoyments of Villers- Hellon to divert our attention, we applied mere closely to our studies; and yet, even then, 1 cosld not shake off that unfortunate spirit of independence which rendered the duties I was ordered to tulfil, at stated hours, odious— almost impossible. During the morning, which was des- tined for us to learn by heart, I had the headache, I was fivtigned, ' indolent; I read through the whole of iny brink, and did not know the few pages I ought to have known. The daily reprmtcies and punishments 1 was subjeced to were of no avail in giving me the. memory of parrots. It was the same with music— I adored it; aud yet, when 1 bail to play olf . hand, and attempt. brilliant variations, full of difficulties, and void of harmony, I became a machine of crotchets and double crotchets, studying without taste and without method. One occupation alone, though obligatory, was a favouring with me— it was the extracts I matle from my'readings, the imaginary letters I wrote to form my style ; those letters were lively, serious, affec- tionate, impertinent, satirical, or melancholy; but some of those thoughts 1 loved, and that I concealed, having been related- by my mother, and turned into ridicule as original, mad, and extravagant, that way of intimate con- fidence was closed to me, or at leastj limited, - Besides, CHAPTER IX. IN the month of October, my grandfather, who did dot know hovir to do without my mother for a whole year, sent us such pressing Invitations, that M. de Coehorn was forced to quit Alsace, his agricultural pursuits, and his family, to take us back to Villers- Hellon, where we passed a pleasant winter. Antonine and myself were quite spoiled; they wished tn repay us with compound interest the caresses we had for a twelvemonth been weaned from. My mother being very unwell never left ber arm- chair j M. de Coehorn had charged himself with almost all my lessdUs, and we made loug excursions together on horseback or on foot; we ev- n sometimes went out upon little shooting parties, where! was a spectatress of his valiant deeds. M. de Coehorn was as brother to me, and laughed at my independence, at my savageress; with hira I dared say everything that came into my head, pas- sionately advocate a singular idea, indignantly reject a received idea; itammsed him to see me so childish or so philosophical, he initiated me in all the reveries of Ger- man poetry, then mocked my fifteen years, when I tried by myself to attain those brilliant and fantastic stars. M y mother gave us a charming little sister in the spring, placing it in my arms, she asked me to love and protect her; I promised it with all my heart. If I was jealous, through the remembrance nf my father, of the affection my mother showed M. de Coehorn, 1 should have been ashamed of feeling the same sentiment through egotism, and against a poor little infant. I have not yet said anything of the charming neighbour- hood we had at Villars- Hellon ; yet the reader must be made acquainted with it to cqmprehend all the pleasures, all the joys of intimacy that were united in that blessed corner of the world. Not far, at half a league, is situate the ch& teau of Loag- Pont; strangers admiie its grandeur aud picturesque ruins— the arcades of its cloisters— the beauty of its waters— the extent of its park; those who have the hap- piness to be received there as friends, forget those fine natural advantages for the nobleinhabitants who are their presiding genii. The Viscount and the Viscountess of Montesquiou have a great fortune, and are still richer in virtues, in happi- ness, and in ancestors; they frequently leave Paris for Long- Pont, which tbey love as their own creation, or as a little Eden, tliey have founded for their only son. I be- lieve that Fernand will be worthy of inheriting that fine residence, and will deserve the love and the blessings that the benefits of his father will have grouped around him. Madame de Moutesquiou was very intimate with my mother, mot only by a neighbourly friendship, but also by a friendship of heart and thought; she was the idol of my grandfather, who threw his eighty years iu adoration before her font » o delicately small, that it might combat the ex- clusively insolent reputation of the little Chinese feet, and before her eyes, full and mild as those of Providence. M. tie Montesquiou was a grave, serious, well- informed man, exclusively occupied with the education of his son and theembellbhmentof Long- Pout. He also knew how to be an amiable neighbour, and a perfectly gracious and hospitable seigneur. Further on, in the forest, Montgobert, belonging to General Leclere, then to the Princess d'Eekmulh; lastly, to Madame de Cambaceres, whose pretty fea- tures proclaim her relationship to the Burghftse family ; lastly, Corey, an original little ch& teau, of as whimsical a construction as the mind of its mistress, Madame de Montbreton, daughter of a Beauvais farmer, wife of a M. Margnet, whose father had been— 1 have heard say, valet- de- chambre, but 1 willpolitely write steward, of some great nobleman. She was sent to prison during tbe Reign of Terror, and, founding her nobility upon that persecution, wanted to be not only a poor but a noble victim. In order to illustrate the name of Mont- breton, taken or found I know not where, she bought, under the Empire, with her musty louis, the title of countess, and afterwards obtained the place of " caval- cadour" squire to the Princess Borghiise for her hus- band. On the return of the Bourbons, she slipped into royalist ranks, became a great lady, had young ladies as companions, with several quarters of nobility, kept the pedigrees of her little dogs, and fell out with my grandfather, whose p'ebeian extraction and liberal opi- nions were insupportable to her. At the revolution of 1830, she hurried away from Paris, aud the omnipotence ol her fear reminding her of her old frieud, Collard, she came to place herself under his protection. 1 had heard her much spoken of, but her most exaggerating biogra- phers fell far short of the reality. The first time I went to Corey she was shut up in a little Buttressed boudoir, where she couldn't hear the village bell, which was lolling for thedead. In an hour she made her appearance, a smelling bot- tle under her nose, a silver pan of chlorate in her hand, and, before coming in, inquired if 1 had good health — if it was long since I had the scarlet fever— lastly, if there was 110 epidemic prevalent at Villers- Hellon. Sa- tisfied with the answers given her, she passed the threshholdol the door, and slightly sprinkling me with four- thieves' vinegar, sbe came forward and embraced ine on the forehead. BeiDg told 1 was a musician, she made me sit down to the piano, asked me to play a gallopade, and darting towards her son, forced him to dance with hrr. " Mother, you are killing me," said Jules, quite out of breath, and trying to stop her. " Encore I encore !" she replied, dragging him along " it's excellent for the health." " But, mother, I'm ready to fall with fatigue; you'll break my wind." " Go along '. I must acceletate my digestion." And as Jules slopped again, and half dead, she threw herself under a cauopv, and said to my grandfather, 1" Collard, am 1 sufficiently wretched 1 You. seeit— my children are denaturalized ; they dare refuse dancing a gallopade to restore their mother to health. Ah ! Iam really to be pitied !" Madame de Montbreton passed her life on the high roads, left Paris as sooti as two persons were taken ill m the street, hastened away from Corey, if a woman had the fever there. She only existed to preserve herself 1 from death ; had a horror of the sick and the unhappy; and would not see her friends when they were in mourii- iug. She one day put her son and her daughter- in- law out of doors because shehad seen some pimples whicji made ber afraitl of some cutaneous disease on little Ce- Cile's cheek. What Madame de Montbreton feared most, next to the plague, was, her husband, a simple and quite inoffen- sive little being 5 she paid a pension for him always to keep out of ber way. Sbe was fand enough of her chil- dren, but as slaves, upon1 whom she could daily inflict a thousand domestic torture's, which they bore with incre- dible impertinence. She exeMated her daughter- in- law and Madame Nicolai, with whom she had real lights. Madame de Montbreton's manias were innumerable ; at Paris she eat no bread but what was baked at- Villers- Goterels; at Corey She had her water sent her from Paris, refusing to drink any but the Seine water, and saying that the country water contained a cement which caused a thousand little monuments to spring up in her stomach. One of her teeth, that was loose, falling out, was one day near choking her; on the next, she had them all drawn. The sons had not shared their mother's political dis- likes ; they made themselves a little less while in our liberal little castle, aud of all the pleasures they found at Villers- Hellon, the one they accounted the most solid was their being safe from the persecutions of their mother. The M. de Moutbreton possessed gaiety, good temper, an ignorance much less incontestible than their escutcheon, and the talent of saying the most ori- ginally stupid things better thaw any one. Eugene, the youngest, had married Mademoiselle de Nicolai 5 we had a very slight acquaintance with her. She had only paid her wedding visit to my grandfather, who had been verv intimately connected with the Lam- beths and M. de Nicolai, ancient prefect of Laon. Eugene was what was called a good fellow, who loved his friends, but who would not have sacrificed to his friendship the happiness of making them look ridiculous, and of showing his wit at their expense. It was said that while Jocko, the illustrious monkey, was all the rage, Eugene de Montbreton gave several imitations of it, and obtained such great success in the noble Faubourg Saint Germain, that tbe Duchess de Berry, hearing of it, testified a desire to enjoy his talent. M. de Montbreton had the honour of being admitted to act the monkey in the private apartment of the Tuille- ries, and the gracious princess recompensed him for it by sending him the cross of honour. M. de Montbreton found the history of Fernando CorteZ, made into an opera, a very poor invention, and firmly believed that La Fert£- Milan was the country of tbe great Homer. Notwithstanding all that, and, perhaps, on account of it, Eugene was very amusing; we were very fond of him. We were glad of his visits, which always brought us some hours' merriment; and, as he made game of his friends, his friends made game of him, and that without scruple and without malice on either side. On the evenings when we danced, my grandfather added to those everyday neighbours the sub- prefect, his wife, some old friends, and elegant beaux from Soissons, and my aunt Garat, drew after her, ou leaving Paris, some gracious and coquettish friends, and some men, leputed amiable and fashionable. About the time of the first fall of snow, and of deer hunting, we had generally the visit of General Dumes- nil. He was an old glory of the empire, with a heart of gold, a soul of iron, the simplicity of a child. His line head, the commanding energy of his look, the frank- ness of his expressions, the affection, he bore me for my father's sake, are all religiously engraved in my me- mory. After the Revolution of 1830, they restored to Vincennes . its brave and faithful commandant, and his glorious wooden leg. At the general's request, my mo- ther permitted me to go and pass a few days in the " donjon." I found Marie, my old schoolfellow and friend meta- morphosed into a young lady, entirely occupied with her toilet; having g'iven up all serious occupation in tbe fear of making herself look pale with study, and even renouncing to cultiyate her talent for the piano that she might spare the white u'clicacy of her pretty hands. She still possessed the affectionate heart she had inherited from her father, but sbe alreau';' successively employed all the little supernatural graces of her mother. Ma- dame Dumesnil was amiable, had mind, Put perhaps a little affectation in the voice, the mauuers, the .00k, and thoughts; she was a woman eminently incomprt hen- sible ; she had been pretty at fifteen, and could not con " sole herself for being much less so at forty; she loved her excellent husband and her children, and was vainly seeking, without ever meeting hirn, for the brother of her soul. CHAPTER X. IN spring the cholera came to breathe over our poor France; it did not spare Villers- Hellon. The courage and forethought was admirable ; he sent for a young physician from Paris, transformed the cliAteau into a dispensary, where the unfortunate sick found every- thing that could relieve them, while the fearful healthy came in search of wholesome and preservative nourri- ture. It was above all very difficult to remove from the minds of the peasantry lhat fear of contagion which, with them degenerated into a panic terror. To encou- rage them, it was necessary to be calm in sight of the cruellest and most frightful sufferings; to learn, with- out turning pale, that the scourge had marked out a new victim ; that death had delivered a poor struggling soul. The sick were visited and assisted at their homes, conso- lations were given to the orphans, the widows, the poor mothers: all that was frightful— but my noble grand- father's devotedness was at length blessed with success; some of our good peasants were preserved, a great num- ber of our patients cured, and all our poor dead were attended to by their families, received the assistance of medicines, the consolations of religion. Our good cure, M. Dufour, behaved like an apostle; and, multipoint! himself with the danger became the providence ( " villages. The health of my mother, extremely precar quired a change of air and place. We set ou " with M. de Coehorn's brother, secretary in the Foreign Office, and who wa lera, attacked by one of those f imagination sick, depicts itself the physiognomy, and we' darkest of fixed ideas. M. E. de Coehorn, youtj heart stifled by an e^ otisr he was very grave, of 1 ginality something anprii atliteqwillers. he surroufl preservatives against theTWW^ P^ WfTic lie dreaded. He no longer eat anything but rice, worked from morn- ing to etening planing boards to give himself exercise, left tbesaloun when a journal was brought into it, was taken with cramps in the stomach if pains in the bowels were mentioned, aud was really quite uueasy at looking extremely well, at having sound s! eefiyjj| i$ t£ r ravenous appetite. Alter thoroughly fatiguing bimsel# lM) is carpenter's shop, M. de Coehorn would practice music; he com- posed charming waltzes, bad enough romauces, sang Italian well, and executed the second part of all my nocturnals miraculously ; he was very amiable to me, more amiable than ever anyone had been. I should perhaps have been flattered by this first homage ; but Eugene having told me, laughing, that I was his pill against ennui, my girlish vanity was revolted with tho anti- choleric virtues to which it owed its success. Ittenwillers was very gay during the whole of that summer. A sister ef M. de Coehorn, married in Russia, having come to pass some time iu France, they were eager to celebrate her resurrection, and to encircle her with all the joys of her past and of the country. Madame de Dunton had been buried six years in Li- vonia, in a ch.' lteau completely isolated, with a hand- some fortune, that is to say, plains, forests, serfs, and not a son. She was a charming woman of mind and heart, become rather savage, but with a good and origi- nal savageness. The property of Madame Dunton was several leagues ill extent; her ch& teau was immense, and contained a hundred domestics, amongst whom weretailors, Shoe- makers, batters, slaves, in short, of all the trades indis- pensable for the wants of life, and for some of th$ exigencies of luxury. Nothing was bought; the food, the stuffs necessary for clothing, were all procured from | tl) e soil, aud from their flocks, and Riga furnished them, in exchange, whatever they were deficient of, so that Madame Dunton could no longer habituate herself | to our narrow civilized lifo, which she said stifled her. ( To be continued. J THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. ^ Fragments* for tfle Curious. LORD BYRON'S BOATMAN.— Maurice, the boatman employed by Xord Byron during his residence here, speaks of t. he noble poet with enthusiasm, and loves to relate anecdotes of him. He told us that Lord Byron never entered his boat without a case of pis- tols, which he always kept by him j a very superfluous ceremony, as Maurice seemed to think. He represented him as generally silent and abstracted, passing whole hours on the lake absorbed in reflection, and then suddenly writing, with extreme rapidity, In a book he always had with him. He described his countenance, to use his own phrase, as " magnifique," and different from that of all other men, by its pride ( fierto was the word he used). He passed whole nights on the lake, always selecting the most boister- ous weather for such expeditious. " I never saw a rough evening set in, while his lordship was at Diodati," continued Maurice, " without being sure that he would send for me; and the higher the wind and the more agitated the lake, the more he enjoyed it, We have often remained out 18 hours at a time, and in very bad weather." Lord Byron was so good a swimmer that he had little to dread frcm the weather. " Poor Mr. Shelley," resumed Mau- rice, " ah, we wcre all sorry for him 1 He was a different sort of man ; so gentle, so affectionate, so generous, he looked as if he loved the sky over his head, and the water on which his boat floated. He would not hurt a fly— nay, he wouli save everything that had life; so tender and merciful was his nature. He was too good for this world; jand yet, lady, would you believe it, some of his coun- trymen, whom I have rowed in this boat, have tried to make me think ill of him; but they would never succeed, for we plain people judge by what we see, and not by what we fcear!" This was, in language somewhat different, the sentiment of our boatman's ac- count of Byron and Shelley, two of the most remarkable spirits of our age. He seemed to admire the first, but it is evident he loved the second.,— The Idler in Italy, by the Countess of Blessington, TO MEMORY. 41 Who cannot remember, in this world of pain, Some bright sunny hour, that, to think of again, Brings back to remembrance such visions of joy, That not even dark fate has the povv'r to destroy," And, tho' often does memory recur to the past. To bring back but remembrance of woes, Yet there's bliss in the cloud which around us she casts In the gloom which she over us throws. But how deep is our joy, when she to us recals The bright sunny hours of youth j When happy and free in our dear parents' halls, All we heard was sincerity— truth. Again, when she brings to us still later years, And new friends and affections are cold, With pleasure we turn from the scene of our fears. More deeply to think on the old. Then; hail to thee, mem'ry, in whatever form, Whether joyous or Bad you appear; To my bosom thou'rt welcome as opening dawn, And I hallow thy shade with a tear. HORACE L E. A Jew, who was condemned to be hanged, was brought to the gallows, and was just on the point of being turned off, when a re- prieve arrived. Moses was informed of this, and it was expected that he would have instantly quitted the cart; but he staid to see Ms fellow- travellerB hanged; and being asked why he did not get - about his business, he said, " He waited to see if he eould bargain " with Maisther Ketch for the two gentlemens' clothes." A woman surprised by her husband, had just time to hide her gallant in a sack, and set him up against the wall. The man com- ng in asked * What is there in this sack ?' The woman was con- fused, and hesitated for a moment for rm answer. The gallant, afraid she would blunder, calls out irom the inside of the sack, 4 Nothing but rice.* A young fellow, not quite so wise as Solomon, was eating some Cheshire cheese full of mites, one night at a tavern—" Now,'' said he, " I have done as much as Sampson, lor I have slain my thou- sands, and my ten. thousands." " Aye," answered one of the com-' pany, " and with the same weapon, too— the JAW- BONE of an ASS.' A linen- draper advertisirg his stock to be sold under prime cost, a neighbour of his observed, " that it was impossible to sell it under prime cost, for he had never paid a farthing for it himself.'' A young clergyman having buried three wives, a lady asked him how he happened to be so lucky. " Madam," replied he, " 1 knew they could not live without contradiction, so I let them all have their own way." A tailors apprentice being at church one day, heard it said that a remnant only should be saved.'* " Egad,'' said he, 44 then my mas- ter makes plaguy long remnants." AN ACROSTIC. TO ANNA, MINSTREL OF THE HEATH, AUTHORESS OF 44 THOUGHTS ON THK HEART," ETC. A 11 hail! fair minstrel of the lonely heath, N o famous sculptor twines thy laurel'd wreath: N o bard, renowned in sweet Pamasian lays, A ttunes his harp to swell our minstrel's pr'uige. M y humble muse can seek but to imparl I ncense,— the ottering of an hone** ' hParfc. N or clog with flattery thy una » ''' . d" 5 S trains that might mingin ' ' l T " T houghts on the He*- , ' n ange s cho r. R edoient of all tb- , ' how beautiful and chaste} F ther'al firo "" makes the poet blest. T ? ffhthr' - rrom Heaven's own altar blaze, , '. ighter still her bosom with thy rays. ^ n, breath of genius, from thy hallowed rest, ¥ an high the flame that kindles in her brtast, T* ill she shall join in the far spirit- land 1 H eaven's sweet, seraphic, holy sister- band. E arths vastest structures— all must pass away j H eaven's brightest orbs shall flicker and decay; E arth's other joys shall meet earth's final fire: A 11 but the voice of . music shall empire ; X ' ill latest years, they'll make a countless throrg, II eaven's vaulted arch to echo wilh their song. H. B. K. INFLUENCE OF COLD ON LONGEVITY.— Cold climates appear lo be favourable to longevity. In Norway, of 6,027 who were buried in 1761, 63 had lived to the age of 100 ; and in Russia, out of 726,278 souls who died In 1S01, 218 were 100 years of age, and 220 above it, of whom four are said to have been above 130 years • old. In the diocese of Aggherus, in Norway, there existed in the ^ ear 1763, 150 couples who had lived together upwards of 80 years. Excessive cold, however, is prejudicial to long life; in Iceland and • Siberia men attain at the utmost to the ages only of 60 or 70. Tem perate climates are, however, most conducive to health and long life. There the human frame is more complete, the body more vigorous, the mind best foimed, the passions best regulated, and man in every respect reaches, when well governed, the highest amount of perfection. The districts of Arcadia, iEtolia, and other parts of Greece, were celebrated for longevity. More old men are to be found in mountainous and elevated situations than in plains and low countries.— Winslow in Polytechnic Journal, TO A FRIEND. How joys the heart with secret happiness, When brightest hopes with brightest prospects blend; And tongue, with candour, silently can bless, Those soft emotions with the name of " Friend !" What tears have oft been shed, what fruitless sighs ; What prayers, what blessings have been breath'd in vain I Friendship is but a name, its fount supplies That most deceitful for Its short- lived reign. £. 8! alas! that dear, that tender name, f once was cherlsh'd in each feeling breast; gd" is rarely thought, as erst the same ^ lien to its native r<? st. l the friends of many years "^ reak for others,— to despise? jCtion bathed in tears, ^ estroy her ties? Repentance chide ?— I^ ship knows no bounds ; ipts to hide [ around, jjrldly plan, t present rules f ^ ^ IHI^^^^^^^ hpkU a n To & ee W^ VHQHRP; iendship's fools ? Oh 1 drink not of ine waters of its stream,— * ris momentary, like a bubble toy; 7Tis pleasure, passing like an idle dream, To lead your fancies where it may destroy. H. C. FREEMAN, JOHN KETCH : THE HANGMAN'S BRIDE. ( Continued from No, CHAPTER VII. THE WATCH- WORD. " The Word ? Good night— All's well." POPULAR DUET. IN thelibrafy of an antiquated mansion, about the Eliiabuthlan period, called the Moated Grange, ih a chair of oak, well carved and polished, sat the owner of the mansion, Sir Gregory Lynx. " This continual ebbing of my purse," he murmured, with a scowl- ing brow, " from the rapacious George I might forgive— but the depredation on it by his companion— never !' He paused— and then went on :— 44 Oh ! could I but rid myself of this Captain Scarlet— this Knight of the Post, and secret- trusted friend— who Comes, when the road and the dice box fall, to tob one as he robs others on the road, my wealth wbuld be more secure; but then George remains— still, stiil my plague! my foe !— oh, could I but rid my- self of him— of both." A tap on the shoulder disturbed, on a sudden, his reverie; and, upon Sir Gregory's looking up, his eye encountered the stern and unflinching gaze, of George— who, stealthily, had entered the room through the chasm of a sliding panel, forming part of the ancient wainscoting. Surprised and abashed, the knight recoiled from his dark- browed adherent. " You didn't come in by the door, for the bolt Was sliofc. No,— nor the window." " Oh, content you, my friend," was the other's reply. " There are various ways of entrance, and odd ones, to this old building, that I have bfeen lbrg acquainted with, from the time I was once an apprentice about these parts." « ' An apprentice ! You— you— an apprentice ! And prithee, man, to what trade ?" inquired Sir Gregory. " To a rat- catcher," answered the burley rogue. Sir Gregory bit his nether lip, but continued ; then glancing his eye to that side of George where men are accustomed their swords to suspend, he briefly remarked, and with some surprise, that George had no arms that day. " Arms! No! have I not?" and. With quibbling ' consequence, he stretched out his arm, of rather Orlean proportions,— 144 Arfiis have I, indeed,'' he said, " as you shall find; aislied with hands at their ends, unclosed andopen,'— his opened widely; then changing his tone to a manner abrupt ahd more scornful still, he exclaimed, with a threatening gesture—" The 4 Morning Star,' she rises early, and I want money 1" " And you think that by dinning in my ear the name of our cor- sair galliot, 4 The Morning Star,' to procure it ? I'll not give you another coin!" and the speaker turned from the intruder. " Umph ! this is mighty well— even as you please," responded that worthy; 411 shall go then at ouce and denounce you." " Stay— stay!" said the knight. George drew to the spot where he stood, the best chair of the room, in which, with the utmost unconc- im, he deposited his person. With rage Sir Gregory bis rapier drew. " Thou witless and dull- minded beast," said he, " to come weaponless here, with thy claws unpared. and Into the tiger's lair— die, villain t' Upon this both his sword and arm were raised to do murder's work— when George from his breast, a small and secreted pistol drew, With Which he Sir Gregory kept at bay, to that gentle knight's very great discom- fiture. " How! Tell me— how happens this?" he observed, as he re- coiled, " you said that $> ou had no arms.*' " I did say So, that I own, but I didn't sayjfre- arms 1" and ataln stretching forth his extended palm, he uttered, " 4 The Mornlr. jr Star!' 1 need some money." 0 " Well, well," answered he of the sword to his antagonist, bistol- armed, " you know, friend, my temper wellj Hi's moody and hot. but I meant you no harm." " No, or yet much good,* said the sturdy George ; 41 but this is the play of children, sir. Do we do business, or do we not ? for the time hoW is come for my going," and he arose from his chair to vacate the apartment. " Stay yet," said th^ crest- fallen knight, " you have no objection I warrant thee, George, to work for thy living, eh ?" " I am a man of industrious worth," said the knave; " and as for work, if you will make It appear to my interest so to do, I'll work for you like a brewer's horse." " Then listen," resumed Sir Gregory, and round the apartment he cast a hasty look, to assume himself that no eaves- dropper there was present. " Listen! 1 have embarke i in the Jacobite cause,— and may need a strong arm and a faithful sword to bear out my plans to their full effect. May I upon your's rely?" " On condition you can,'" answered George; " but, iemember— 4 The Morning Star'— for a deed that is ill I must be well paid, and I want money.'* " You Will meet me at ten to- night, at the chocolate house and tavern, called 4 The Mug?'" 4i On condition, I . will," answered George, 44as I said before; that—" and his gipsy cheek reddened up to the eyes with rising vwr^ i'h — " you'll remember ' The Morning Star,' and the ready AN IM: ofthe sideboari instructed to .. shivers. " Whal • The Venetian republic, about the middle sent to Frederic of Germany a valuable '"[ emce glass. An imperial buffoon was it the brittle gift, and to reduce it to Fsaid the emperor, in the hearing ot' senator," that such frail materials were made use of." The Vene- tians, who stood In ifeed of tha imperial countenance, toik the Mat, and sent to Frederic the duplicate of iheir late gift in gold. LINES TO SUMMER. Hail! to thee, sweet summer's dawn, green fields, and shad> bowers, And all the other joys you bring, bright days and fragrant fkw'rs. Oh! how I love to hear again the young birds' warbling lays Of extacy,— so wild, so shrill, each vie to give thee praise. When lovers, too, at silent eve, with blithesome hearts do rove Beneath vour verdant blossom'd trees, to tell their tales of love, Enraptur'd each would fondly gaze to see the woodbine twine The blushing rose, that seems to say,—" You wish your lot were mine." Each village lass, at close of day, with her fond swain is seen To join the throng— the mirth— the song— the dance upon the green. Oh! yes> I love thee, summers eve, when Sol sets In the west, To stroll along the canal banks with her my heart loves best. But there are some ( bereftof taste) who choose cold winter's gloom, To pour o'er romantic books encased up in their room ; And dwell on tales of slighted love, or of a murdei'd sire.—' With looks amaz'd, with aspect wan— their feet poke in the fire. All tboHo. who could piefer dark nights, chili blasts, and leafless trees ( The mem'ry of such dreary scenes causes my blood to freeze) j— All those, I say, are like reptiles who shun thy blithesome rays, Whose minds of deep and dark intents, would die beneath your rays. Welcome, / gain, bright summer's sun, all nature welcomes thee; Thou mak'st the old heart to grow young,— the you- ng buoyant and free. In thee we learn soon to forget the winter's chilling blast, But like our dearest, fondest hopes, thou ar t too bright to Inst, Dublin, 1841, J, M'C. wrath rhino. 1 A purse, lined with gold, found its way from Sir Gregory's hand into that of his coadjutor, while a gleam of satisfaction— as his palm felt its migic toueh— lit up his dark saturnine countenance. " You'll remember our time and place of meeting, George ?' said the wily paymaster. " I am as true as my steel,'' answered George, and his hand Wandered down In vain to his thigh, In search of his sword's handle. " That is well," said the knight; " and as now we have come to better terms, we will say farewell; and, further, we will try to look honest." " Umph ! we will try," remaiked George; 44 yet, I fear we shall fall, sir, in lhat— still we will try." Oh, what will man within him hide, Tho' angel on the outward side. LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. And thus they parted. , CHAPTER VIII. THE JACOBITE CLUB, HELD AT THE MUG CHOCOLATE HOUSE AND TAVERN. Party is the madneas of many for the gain ofa few. DEAN SWIFT. NOTE.— This mansion, the resort of party, and substantial fre- quenters, was about this period of this tale conducted or kept by one John Reid, renowned not. as iho Vicar of Bray, for siding with the stronger or uttermost cabal; but, tor preserving a strict neu- trality— or, in other Words, although somewhat paradoxical, John — whose motto was—" Open to'all parties, but influenced by none" was considered apartizan, or4' Jack o' both sides," to any parties. A fracas, in which several gentlemen of the Hanoverian policy fell vic- tims to the rapiers of the Jacobite, for which one Jacobite suffered death, changed the fortunes of this favourite place of resort • it fell into disrepute and eventually came to be closed altogether ' • * * * * * * " What name," said Barbara Allen to Iron- Grey, as the former leant over the bar where she, as maid— presided, for to this place had she for refuge fled to avoid the pertinacity of Jack, and her enthusiastic northern admirer, 44 What name, niy good woman ?" repeated she. " I am called Iron- Grey." said the fortune- teller; and the eye of the sybil looked up to the clouded celling. Barbara followed involuntarily, but saw nothing there but what some, not overskilful Apelles had painted what might have been guessed at as clouds, from their high position. " At what do you gaze at, good woman?" said she. 411 would pierce through that roof with my mental eye to the skies, where my three brave boys should be - in heaven— you would ask how they died I 1 Will answer," and here the lone woman sighed bitterly, but still continued:— 44The first, from a chill he imbibed at summer's heat, by plucking this withered form from a pool, into which it had fallen. The next, from a lightning shaft, as he hurried forth over a blighted heath, during a midnight storm, a surgeon to fetch for a dying father; while the third went to gather red gold on the green and fickle sea, from which he came never back to his widowed and childless mother.'* Then sinking upon the settle, and rocking herself to and fro, H keep time to the me- lancholy cadence of some old sea ballad, she half murmured, half sang, these words :— " The Morning Star sailed over the bar, Unto the Spanish sea j In the evening's grey sh « stretch'd away, A weary hour for me.:' And further she would have continued, but, by the attentive Bar- bara, she was checked, who, with the natural kindness of her heart, at the same time offering her refreshment, observed ihat the faction of the Jacobite Club met sooner than that of the Whig or Hanoverian, yet still was she welcome to stay as the rain was then fast descending; at which the poor woman replied in thanks, and retired to a more obscure and secluded part of the tavern chamber. Barbara, rid of her guest, to the bar retired and her work sumed, whea two others entered— a gallant, and a lady gay— John Ketch, with Calista, upon his arm, the latter not in the most happy mood, and the former not over sober. 41 You promised to take me to see the water- woiks," said the flirt. 44 You ought to be pleased that I took you out of them," said our !, John. 44 Don't it rain ?" atre*. COVENT GARDEN.— We have already fully ehterfid into thjS merits and demerits of AJr. Sheridan Knowles' new coniedy of Old Maids, and we must say, that we do not think It improves upon repetition. It will add nothiiig to the fame Of the author, whatever it may do for his purse. He has evidently written to order, and has contrived to thrilst a number of characters Upon the stage, who talk a gfeat deal; but of troubling himself about plot, or Incident, he may, certainly plead entire Innocence. If the piece had been written by an author less eminent than Knowles, in spite of the splendid manner in which. it is got up. it must have been damned the first night. Hans, of Iceland, has become a favourite, although the subject is far from being hapbiiy cRofeen for a ballet. HAYMAaftET.— There has bfceft no novelty produced at triistneafre since'our last. Macraedy. Wai lack, Miss H. Faucit, and Celeste, attract numerous and fashionable audiences. ABELrm - Yates cannot complain r. f not receiving a commen- surate reward for tbe manner in which he caters for the public en- tertainment. The houSe has been filled to overflowing every even- ing since the commencement ot the winter season. A translation from the French, called Cocorico; ort My Aunts Bantam; haB been produced with some success. OLYMPIC.- This theatre bids fair to have a successful winter season, under the management of Mr. G. Wild. Mrs. Wayletfc, who is still, undoubtedly, the queen of ballad singers, is a member of the company. The pieces hitherto produced have been of a light and effective description, paHiciilaHy a new coihic drafiia, from the pen of Mr. Wilks, Called Cbutin Petbr, Which has been rapturously received every evenlrg since its performance. QUEEN'S.— Giselle, has proved one of the most attractive pipcps that has been produced this season, and is nightly played to crowded and delighted audiences. A new farce, of a v< ry laugh- able description, called Socialism, ha* also been well rece. ved. The revival of the interesting drama of Claude du fal, has been suc- cessfuU SADLER'S WELLS.— If iadefatigibilitj, and Spirit, deserve en- couragement, why, then we say. th& t no manager deserves more of the public than Mr. Honner. A rapid succession of novelties, is constantly kept up, and tH^ y are seldom without considerable merit. Since our last a new domestic drama, Written by Mr. C. Barnett and taken froth a tale In the Metropolitan Magstlne, called Margaret Mttyji Id; or, The Murder of the Lonely Farm House, has been brought out since our last, and has been very well received by the audience: The plot is very interesting, and pos- sesses sufficient dramatic effect to rivet, the attention of the au- dience. Jack Ketch, has also been played with unabated success. That old favourite of the public, George Aliiiar, has announced his benefit for Tnursday, the 28th, when, in adddition to a variety of attractive novelties, several of the old favourites have proffered their services. Wehearti y wish him a bumper. CITY.— No subject could be more happily chosen for a domestic drama than the one upon which Mr. Dlbdin Pitt has selected to exert his talents upon in tho present Instance, rind certainly we do not know iny on>. who coUld have dorie iiidre justice to it. As a Writer of domestic dramas, Mr. Pitt has been particularly success ful, and the present piece, if we mistake not, will meet with as triumphant career a a most of its predecessors It is called The Beggar's Petition, or, A Father s love and Mother's ( art; but of the plot we have no occasion to speak, as the reader will find a tale upon the subject in 44 Lloyd's Companion.'' The acting through- out is excellent, particularly Mr. Shepherd, who surpassed himself as Robert Brigbtwell, the beggar; and that highly talented ac- tress, Mrs. Shepherd, as Matilda Brightwell. Mrs. Edwin Yar- nold also plays with her accustomed ability; and we should be doing Mr. H. Widdicomb and Mr. Dunn great injustice, did we not speak in terras of the highest commendation of their comic powers. PAVILION.— Mr. Denvll has produced the celehratfed and ro roant'C drahia. A* performed at Sadler's Wells Theatre, called Gih'lld} or, the Night Dancers, with real water, and got up in the most magnificent style ; but what is a greater attraction than all is, that he has engaged Mr. and Mrs. Honner to play their ori- ginal characters. We have before speken of the effective and powerful acting of Mrs. Honner, in the difficult part of Giielle, and we can assure Out East- end friends that they Will rillsa a treat it they do not pay a visit to this theatre forthwith. MARY- LE- BONE.— Mr. John Dctg as, the spirited lessee of this elegant little theatre, through his exertions has made It one of the most popular p'aGes of amusement at the West- end of the town. The pieces produced are far beyond the average merit of minor performances, and are got up With care and judgment. The com- pany also is a very ussful one, and exert themselves in the must creditable manner to please their patrons. We understand that Mr. Douglas has many novelties of an extraordinary description in rapid progress, and which we shall not fail to do ample justice to. ALBERT SALOON — The winter entertainments at this beautiful establishment, iire of an equally attractive description as those provided for its frequenters in the summer season, and everything got^ s off with the same eclat, and attracts excellent audiences. VICTORIA.— The pre- eminently- successful domestic drama of > usan Hopley, has now been performed for upwards ot one hun- dred nights, and its attraction may be said to be rather on the Increase than on the wane. The brilliant acting of Miss Vincent, the heroine of domestic tragedy, in this character, will long be re- membered ; her able and natural delineation must stamp Itself upon the minds of all those who have witnessed it. A new nau- tical drajna, called Merry Terry; or, a hecfer's Wrongs, has been produced with the most triumphant success. It is a drama of great, merit, and the characters are sustained by the differen members of the powerful company, in a siyle of excellence which does them infinite credit. We must reserve a more lengthy notice of it to a future number. CHARADES. I. Charades addressed to Dillon, A. J. P.-, Farguhar, Hudson, Atland, and T. T* To find me out, I challenge you to tfy* A word of thirteen letters then am 1, Not using In a Word one letter twice; I can make rich, attire, trial, holt, thrice, Rural, curate, let, at, her, hut, ear, rear, Alice, Hafriet, L* Ura, hair, cleaf, leaf, Hurl, curl, the, hear, altar, it, recital, Aerial, hat, rule, ruler, earl, title, 1! tittle, rut, ail, acute, heal, hurt, car, eart, ftat, Cat, hart, hare, cure, rate, cufate, fare, heart, i'iej llaf, tife, article, lunh, taf- e, fue, Cattle, care, eat, retail, cha? t. l » te, art^ htie, Lute, aetual, alert, cut, act, hail, tall, Area, arch, cur, chair, their, treat, ale, tale, Acre, air, cruel, cheat, hatter, clatter, Trail, are, halter, clue, reach, charter, chatter. i could an hundred more of iuch words Write, But time iiies oil, ahd 1 must bid 44 Good night." ii. hma word of letters four, Two of which are found in power, Three in prove, and three in flower. til. Reader, I sin a word of fetters three j— My first always in right Is found, My second and third, too, are seen In ii. My whole might knock you to the ground. LLOYD'S LIST OF POPULAR WORKS SIXTY- FIVE HUMOUROUS ENGRAVINGS BY AN EMINENT ARTIST, AND TEN NEW COMIC SONGS ( BY PREST) FOR ONE PENNY!.! ! " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES GALLERY OF COMICALITIES," CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING ORIGINAL COMIC SONGS, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THE WOILX .'— A Private Still. Happy Land— a Sad Lat, Poor Jack— Please Re- Mem- The Contented Man. My Sarah and Me. Domestic Economy. Brandy and Salt. Population; or. It's all owing to the Family Ointment. IV. THE NAME OF FOUR ENGLISH KINGS. My first and second are found In white, My third and fourth in a balloon; My sixth is found in any light. My seventh and eighth are both In moan. V. A SCRIPTURAL NAME. My first is found in pelf, My second in stall, My third is in youfself, My fourth if In all. VI. A SCRIPTURAL NAME. My first is in the jail, My second is in home, My third Is in a shell, My fourth is in a room, VII. My flf- st Is the Initial of a celebrated painter— my second, of whit Britain is— my third, of goodness and sinfulness— my fourth, of six former English kings— my fifth, of three ditto— my sixth, of what tne poor alvtilys possess— my seventh, of an English county, county town, and University— my eighth, of several Islands on the coast of Scotland— my ninth, ot myself, and my whole Is a flourishing town in England. T. B. VIII. My first's on the brink of tbe fam'd River Thames, It s also a beverage lov'd by most dames ; ity second, if you've understanding, now mind, And think well upon't, you surely will find* My third's a syllable meant to Imply The stature of a chap six feet or more high j And my last, we're told by our sages divine, Is a frailty to which all we mortals Incline. This charade, if you read with care And ths syllables combine, t haVe no doubt, my readers fair, But you will soon define. Portland View, Dublin. M. IX. My first In partnership Is claimed, My second leads a single life; When battle rages hi|? b. my next Can oft be heard amid the strife. My whole s a puizle, and ' tis true, It new intends to puzzle you. ADDRESSED TO MR, J. DILLON, DUBLIN. If you were going up the street, And with a friend fell out, And whhed to take a 44 round or two,*' You d soon get in my tbut. Then if the fir* t letter you erase, Whafs left might be worn by you; Transpose it, and th^ n will appear, Wh it stubborn h- jrses do. Again behead, a plant you'll see, That grows w* ld in the fields j And if transposed, ' twill be a task, On what the harveBt yields. Af a n transposed, and you will find It Is a luscious fruit; One more curtail It, and ' tis then A dirty, well- known biute. her Jack. John Delf— in his Cups. Hard- Up ; or, shocking Ex- tremities. AND ALSO THE FOLLOWING . GRAPHIC SKETCHES: - The Maid of th « Mil!.— A General Rising.— Physical Force.-* Bringing Him too ( TWo).— A Black Fast.— Ladles of the Court.— His Mind & on the Rack.— Settling a[ c] Count; Double Entry.— Friar Bacon.— Giving Himself ( HjaJrs.— Contracting an Acquaint- ance.— A Heavy > well.— A Good fcke.— Hodge's Best.— Sedan- terf Occupation.— Currant Jam j a Friendly Squeese.— A Neat Turn-* Out.— A Votary of the Nine.— Taking the Piedge.- Warlikf Guise ( GuySJ.— Food for Reflection.— Ceding Whacks; a Bel- frey — A Promising ChJld.-*- A Boy In a Fit.— living up the Ghost — Cabriolet^. Society.— Pleasures of 44 Fancy/'— Beat London Porter — A Baok Settler.— Going by the Post; General Delivery.— Com^ of Age.— Cutting Him to the Quick.— Breaking Cover.— Sauce ( Source) of the Nigger ( Niger).— A D « y's Pleasure.— A Sad Plight. — A Belly Full of Grapes.— The Changeless One.— A Private Box. - Taken in Arrest. — The Lively Smack; Looking Out for Squalls.— Hebrew Melodies.— A Funny Pair.— A Good Calling.— A Shocking Sticks— The Pot- boy.— Summut Short.— Detachmen of Cavalry.— Deprived Of th'i Use of their Organs.— Ifeat as Im- ported.— A Free- Booter.-- Fanty Fair.— At a Stand- Stift. - An Un- happy Attachment — C* » ming it slap. VTHE EMBELLISHMENTS HAVE BEEN ENQJRAVE AT THE ENORMOUS EXPENSE OF 1,000 GUINEAS 11 In Weekly Numbers at Id. and Monthly Parta. « d„ the New aud Highly Interesting Romance of KATHLEEN! OR, THE SECRET MARRIAGE. The First Number, containing Eight closely- printed Pages, Two Splendid Engravings on separate paper, and a mo St Magnifi- cent Wrapper, presented GRATIS with No. 54 of 14THE PENJNR SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE." Now Publishing in Weekly Numbers at Id., and Monthly Parts at 4d., EMILY FITZORMOND! OR, THE DESERTED ONE* With No. 1, presented GRATlfr, Two Magnificent Plates and a Wrapper. Now Publishing, in Numbers at One Penny, and Four penny Monthly Parts, ERNNESTINE DE LACY! OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. With No. I, Is presented GRATIS, Two Splendid Engravings on separate paper, and a Wrapper. Price Is. 6d. f Elegantly Bound, containing 92 pafgres of closely printed letter- press, illustrated with 12 Supetior Engravipgs, MASTER HUMPHRIES' CLOCK. • 4 BOS, ' MAKER. A MISCELLANY OF STRIKING INTEREST. favourite^ 44 I begin to suppose there are others you love as well as me ?" " I have an excellent taste," said Jack. 45 and I cannot help it!" 41 First, there's Barbara Allen!" said Calista growing more mo- rose. 14True! she, above all," said Jack ; " and, besides, there's my horse, and myself, and ardent spirits." 44 Ah! those you love ardently, I can vow," said Calista. " And truly, and sacredly,"— so replied Jack, with drunken gravity. " Well, well," continued Calista," we will kava done quarrelling, which always has on my appetite a sharp effect. Pray, what can We have to eat?" 41 Ho! waiter or waiteress— or— a pound of good oysters, and quick!" 44 Sir, we never sell oysters by weight but by measure," said the landlady, entering in. 44 Oh! by measure," sa'd Jack; 44 why, then, fetch us a yard But, stop— stay, in what way shall we liquify the fish 1 Ho! you will fetch me a beaker of cotiiac, and as hot as love." 44 And me, too, another," Calista remarked, 44 of cinnamon water as fcweet." The fluids were soon procured;- and, in the iuterim, Calista to Jack, in playful mockery, thus questioned her Lothario, of the scarlet coat. 44 What would do, were it possible that Barbara Allen could see you thus with me?" 44 1' faith— take to my heels, with shame and pure vexation." As he uttered this Barbara came from the bar with the ordered refreshment upon a salver; Jack saw her, and fled— by Calista follovyed— while Barbara, uttering to herself these words:— 44 John Ketch, with a wanton!"— fell motionless Into the arms of Gipsy George, who, that moment had entered. ( To be concluded in our next.) THE WALTHAM BLACKS. You must have heard of the WalthaBi Blacks, a set of whimsical, merry fellows, who are so mad as to run the greatest hazards for a haunch of venison, or spend- ing a merry evening. For my part, I took the stories of them for fables, until experience taught me by the following adventure. My horse being lamed with a stone in his foot, I was under the necessity of putting up at a small ale- house with a stable and a yard be- hind it. The man received me very civilly, but when 1 inquired if he could accommodate me all night, he answered that he had no room. I requested him to put something to my horse's foot, and I would sit up all night. He was silent. The good wife was more rude, and insisted upon her husband bringing my horse out inslantly ; but putting a crown into her hand, and pro- mising another in the morning, she became more accom- modating. She then told me that there was a smull bed up stairs, upon which she would lay a pair of clean sheets, and added, that she supposed that I was more of a gentleman than to take notice of what I saw passing there. This created in me much uneasiness, and I con- cluded that I had fallen into a den of highwaymen ; lhat I should not wnly be robbed, but have my throat cut t necessity, however, constrained me to submit. It was now dark, and 1 heard three or four men dis- mount from iheir horses, lead them into the yard, and, as they were coming into the room, 1 heard the land- lord say, 44 Indeed, brother, you need not be uneasy j 1 am positive the gentleman is a man of honour.*' An- other said,— 44 " What good could our death do to a stranger? The gentleman will be happy of our com- pany !— hang fear 1 I'll lead the way." So said, and so done; in came five so effectually disguised, that unless I were to see him in the same disguise, I should not be able to distinguish any one of them. Down they sat, and their captain accosted me with great civility, and requested me to honour them with my company at supper. Supposing that my landlord would not per- mit either a robbery or a murder in his house, I gra- dually became composed. About ten, I heard the noi « e of a number of horses arriving, and the feet of men stamping in an upper room. In a little while the landlord came to inform, me that supper was upon the table. Upon this, we all went up stairs ; and the cap- tain, with a ridiculous kind of ceremony, introduced me to a man more disguised than the rest, pitting at the head of the table, af the same time adding, that he hoped I would have nonobjections to pay my respects to Prince Oroonoko, king of the Blacks. Then I be- gan to perceive what kind of persons they were, and vvas astonished that the hurry and agitation I was in had pre- vented me from discovering it sooner. The supper con- sisted of eighteen dishes of venison in various shapes, roasted, boiled with broth, hashed collops, pasties, um- ble pies, and a large haunch in the centre larded. The table we sat at was large, and twenty- one sat down to supper. Each bad a bottle of Claret, and the man and woman of the house sat at the lower end of the table. A few of them had good musical voices, and the even- ing was spent with as great jollity as by the rakes at the King's Ai ms, or the city apprentices at Sadler's Wells. About two, the company broke up, all of them assur- ing me, that upon any Thursday evening they should be happy to see me at supper. They also did me the hon- our to inform me of the rules by which their society was regulated. The Black Prince informed me that their government was monarchical, and that, when they went upon any expedition, he had an absolute command But in time of peace, and at table, he condescended to live familiarly with his subjects as friends. That no person was admitted into their association until he was twice drunk, that ihey might be perfectly acquainted with his temper. W hen it was agreed that a brother was to be admitted, he was required to provide himself with a good horse, a brace of pistols, and a gun to lie on the saddle bow. Theo lie is sworn upon the horns over the chimney, and having a new name conferred upon him, he is entered upon the roll, and constitute.\ a member. In the morning I presented my landlady with a second crown, and prosecuted my journey with no small de- gree of amuaeinent. Dublin. XI. J. GOSLIN. . My first you'll find to be a tree, My second, sir's a fruit? My third, let it a flower be, My fourth a garden root. An herb you'll name to find my last, So do It at your leisure; Join the Initials of the past, You 11 find my whole's for pleasure. W. STANLEY. XII. 1 am a word composed of letters ten. In me is heard the sentiments of men. 1, 5, 9, 8, a tree will soon explore. Part of a box you'll find 15,4, 4. My 4. 5, 8, Is what good men detest, My 9. 2 7, 8, is by all possest. 3, 6, 10. 8, an impost Is, you'll own, Useful to 7, 2 9- my 7, 6. I. My 6. 4. 8, well known at every feast, My 3, 2, 10, an ugly four- legg'd beast. My 10, 6, 3, his country does defend, 9, 2, 5, 4, is at your finger s end. Staffordshire Potteries. HORATIO. XIII. There is a word of letters ten, Well known to all commercial men Throughout ihe British nation. My 4, 5,6, and double 7, Is often played both morn and even, By high and low In station. The 1,2. 10,4, 5, ' tis clear, Doth name a portion ofthe year, Well koown to 1,6,3. The 4, 5, 6, 2, and 8, Is certainly a filching cheat, As- you may plainly see, A 10, 6, 7. 8, when labour's o'er, Doth 4, 5,6, 9, 10, the poor Unfriended son « f toil. Can he but 8, 2, 7, 8, 9, Of untaxed bread he'il not repine, But cheerful till thesj And In each civilized lan c* my whole Is known. From east to west, and from zone to zone. P. O. R. XIV. I'm comoosed of eight letters, my figures will prove, And « a>. h obstacle science by me does remove. My 6, 7, 8, is what we should attend to— It will make us the same while this world we're 1, 2) For surely 3, 4, 5, 6, we all shall become, The quicker, if we drink too mm h brandy or rum. And my 7, 1, 2. 3, on a fruit you may find To be yellow, if you are not got very blind j Whde 5, 4, 2,3. 7, 8, does a many announce, My 3, 7, 8, it will not wet any flounce; And providing it were wet, then my 5, 4, 2, To dry it, 6, 7. 4, 5, 6, w- uid be true. And often times have I eaten the 2, 4, 6, Which an animal with much delight goes and picks; 2,1, 6, 1, 2, mears brig. ht- 5, 1, 2, that's bad, 3, 1, 7, 6, and 8, tells ot something sad, And to destroy 2, 1,6, we should all be glad. I hope 2,1, 2, 2, 8, no man e'er will be, While in 3, 4, and 2, a colour we can see, Beside a plague it niintions with which we disagree. In two little creatures my whoie it is made known, All men will acknowledge whene'er the answer's shown. CONSTANCE. RIDDLES. I. When storms do 1, 2, 3, and 4, the landsman eyes, The boiling surf, in mute surprise ; When, lo ! the cry of 4 3, 2, 6, and 7, Ascends in piercing shrieks to heaven! The hardy 6, 3. 2, 4, with streaming locks, Strive to keep her from the rocks j Each 3, 5, I, does strain and start, Yet well does prove the builder's art. The storm is o'er, the danger's past, Before the wind she scuds at last; The 1, 2, 2, has gained her haven, And is safely moored in 4, 5, 6, 7. Her cargo of 3 5, 6, 2, On shore is quickly brought to view ; Her tars free from care, pueh round the can, While some are snug in 6, 3, 5, 1. My whole was once the pride and boast, The key of all th< c eastern coast. GROSS F RAU D S. — C AUTION TO THE PUBLIC! THE very great and unexampled success, which ha. attended the use of OLD PARR'S LIFE PILLS, Having Induced unprincipled persons to prepare vile and spurious articles und^- r the same name, purchasers, for their own protection, are cautioned to notice that the words 4 The True Old Parr's Life Pills,'' are printed on the Government Stamp, and as a further pro- tection the signature of Miss PARR. is on the side of the wrapper, without which signature the Pills cannot be genuine, and to counterfeit which is felony. Miss Parr Is lineally descended from Old Parr, whose recipe for 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 is held by a clergyman, the Hev. William Arther, of East Peckham." is TOTALLY FALSE and the Rev. William Ar- ther. of East Feckham, is not known aitd cannot be found there, as is proved by letters received from the 44 General Post- Offiee," which are to be seen at the Depot, London, and oi* 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 been directed to the Rev. William Arther, of Peckham, but there being no one known there of that name, they have in all cases when it has been passible returned to the writers. I am, Sir, Your obdt. hble. servant, THOS. LAWRENCE. Assistant Secretary, COPY. General Post- Office, 14th Aug., 1841. SIR.— With reference to your further communication ofthe 10th instant, I beg to Btate, that inquiries were made in all the districts adjacent to Peckham for the Rev. Wm. Arther, but he could not be found; the letters have therefore been returned to their writers. I am. Sir, Your obdt. humble servf., JAS. CAMPBELL., Pro. Secretary. Many persons throughout the kingdom from the extraordinary fame which Old Parr's Remedy has at quired, have desired to try i£, but induced by false statements ( and in some cases by the advice of Interested vendors) had taken the worthless counterfeit, and not finding the benefit Invariably resulting from the genuine article, have written to the " Clergyman,'* and thus had their letters re- turned. Since the exposure of the above imposition the vendors of this Vile ( ounterfeit have discontinued the use of the name of ARTHBR. and now say 44 the Clergyman,'' and more effectually to elude public detection, have changed the portrait IT/ OLB PARR on their bills, the head they now use having a long beard. The conse- quence of 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 receiv « d 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 caution and they may defy imposition. OBSERVE that the words of the Government Stamp are no pro- tection— any one being at libtrty to print whatever words they please on such stamps, for which there is no penalty. The object of designing imitations of this wonderful remedy, In directing all notice to words on the stamp is to take off public attention from the only true test, Miss Pair'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 sttength from this benign remedy— we sincerely le « ve 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 44 The True Old Parr s Life Pills," which from the experience which thousands ef 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 are 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 44 The True Old Parr s Life Pill*." and ob- serve the signature in full 44 Ann Porter Parr'' on the outside wrapper— de 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 JELONY to IMITATE THE SIGNATURE— Agt nt « , for greater profits, will sometimes try to put off the spurious, but the want of the signature wlH 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 HA © GENUINE BIRMINGHAM :— Banks, Bu 1 ring North Shields. F. KENNEDY. ANSWER TO THE FOURTH RIDDLE IN NO. 78, You are in the alphabet, you are in the squire, You are in the sequel, but not in the fire ; You are in the liquid and that Is most true, And my solution to your riddle's the letter U. Allow me to subscribe myself, and to implore You to receive me as your humble servant. AMBROSE MOORE, BILSTON :— White, Druggist. BOLTON :— La French, Druggist Cheapside. BRADFORD YORKSHIRE:- Maud Wilson— and Mr. Rogerson. CHESTER:— Piatt and Son— and the Chronicle Office. HALIFAX :— Mr. T. Denton, Old Market. HULL:— Mr. Carltou, ( late Mox- on) Drupgist, Market. Place. LEEDS :— Buckton, " ' J imes'' Of- fice, Clapham, Druggist. LEEDS : — Brlggate and Lord Druggists, Kirkgate. LIVERPOOLJohnson and Sons, Church Street,— Procter, Drug- gist, Ranelagh Street; & Wat- son, Byrom Street. MANCHESTER: — Ingham and Westrnacott, 46, Market Street. PRESTON : — Armstroi g, Drug- gist, Church Street. SHEFFIELD :— Ridgf and Jack son, ,4 Mercury Office." STOCKPORT:— Fowler, Druggist, i) ridge treet. 1 LONDON :— Printed and Published by E. LLOYD, 231, High- street, Slioreditch; and at 8, Iloljwell- street, Strand.
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