AND PEOPLE'S LONDON:— SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1841, THE SUDDEN ALARM OP EMILY HARCOURT AND MARY BENTLEY, BOW STREET. TRIGAMY., OR THE SILVER THIMBLB,— The presiding magistrate had scarcely IITCHSH STUFF. I'm flustereated!" THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR. " FOUNDED ON FACT. IT is a surprising circumstance how certain the foibles of mankind will be detected— the sacred traitor, and the midnight ruffian find Time to be the great revealer of all things. Adeline, the daughter of a wealthy quaker of Halifax, had been sued by a worthy youth ofthe same persuasion ; a reciprocal flame was kindled by the assiduous attentions of yonng Alexander, and the arrangements for speedy nuptials immediately resulted. No doubt Alexander s young heart would heat for the happy moment; the thoughts of having the beautiful and virtuous Adeline enraptured the youth, and he pictured to himself scenes of future unmeasured felicity m the society of his dear intended. The time came, and accordingly the beautiful Adeline became the wife of Alexander; and he realised all his imagination had conceived. Of course joy and pleasure were to engage the evening — innocent amuse- ment and conversation succeeded each other — Adeline's papa related a most interesting tale of his marriage. At about nine o'clock the company was disturbed by the shriek of the servant; several shrieks succeeded the first, — all milled to the kitchen to ascertain the cause of this unexpected summous. " Oh! I have seen a ghost— a frightful ghost!— he stogd in the door place— he was a man in a shroud!" in vain they attempted to convince her it was the fruits of a weak mind; to be sure the loneliness of Mary's situation, being alone in the large kitchen, and having to go through the long landing to the company, might intimidate Mary— but there was a fearful reality in the affair. After this time the spectre's visits became numerous and awful; dreadful noises attended his presence— it would appear as though an earthquake had rent the foun- dation of the bnilding— windows were heard shivering— furniture broken— walls giving way, with all attendant desolation to everything within. Sometimes the roar of flames would be heard in the chamber, as though the place was on fire: yet, on proceeding to the place, alL was found right. Though hundreds could bear testimony to these facts, no one but the servant Mary ever sawjfl ghost; to her alone he paid his visits and revealedfl cause of this disturbance. ^ B The last and most dreadful of his visitsj^ fl cellar, a large wilderness indeed. Whib^ flH one corner of the cellar she heard a dreajfl of gunpowder, at the other extrenurffl tended by the call of a miserabdH knew him to he the ghost, aj^ fl were, to the place. But, oh[ B the scene?— A mortal en^ H devoured by snakes ar^ H with these creatures f^ H succeeded. " Mary, look there.* and, lfl^^^^^^ HMffhglUHRI the wound of a beautiflMJBBpHrevain, Mary saw it breathe its last, and instantly- that apparition disap- peared. " Mary, that child is thine— I am its father— I com- mitted that wound with a chisel." Here the snakes grew ravenous, and sunktlie miserable wretch in the flames— all disappeared. The truth now came to light. Robert Ant, then de- ceased, had resided in the house before the quakers, and Mary had been his housekeeper. He was a very licentious man, an old gambler, and an inveterate drunkard. Mary proved pregnant, and was delivered of a daughter; the whole affair was kept entirely secret. Mr. Ant took the child from its mother, asserting he had found a nurse for it in Liverpool. The brute then proceeded to the cellar, ( it was midnight) and struck the poor creature with a chisel, and lodged its body below the same spot. No detection of the deed was made during the life of Mr. Ant, which, indeed, was very short alter this time. But it appears the Almighty took special means to reveal to mankind the dark doings of this wretch.— Be sure thy sins will find thee out. South Parade, Halifax. J. KNOWNOUH. THE AWFUL MISTAKE A RECEIPT. TO OBTAIN A HUSBAND. You must not think of walking out until late at night, dressier yourself in the most becoming manner. Always frequent the public places of amusements, ( Sundays, not by any means ex- cepted j) the more vulgar the place ls, the more likely to pick up with one. If by chance you see a nice young man, who would suit your purpose, cither cough loudly to attract his attention, or else look in hia face, beg his pardon, and ask hln whether his name be not Mr. Such— a— one, & c. By that means you will draw him, very likely, Into a chit- chat, and from that he may, out of gal- lantry, offer to conduct you home. Sit with your window open when you are at work; If there be three or / our of you, the better. Be seen out in wet weather without an umbrella, and hold Hp yonr petticoats very high, that you may display your legs to the greatest advantage. These delineations cannot fail to attract at- tention j if they prove Ineffectual, the case Is then desperate, and there Is no hope, TAKEN HIS SKAT - when an unusual buslle and confusion of tongues might ibe heard in the outer office ; and in a few minutes a policeman ushered in a curious knot of persons, who • oach seemed bent upon catching the magistrate's - attention. MAGISTRATE,— What Is all this ? An oily- louking young lady, about four feet nothing, and who, tike Liston, would have been greatly puzzled to point - out the small of her back, entered the witness box, aind wiping from her face, with the top ofa ging- ham « tnbrella a great quantity of liquid dripping, looked very hard at the magistrate, and shook her head to snd fro as if she meditated a spring at once into his HV'I. " MAGISTRATE.— Who are you P OILY YOUNG LAOT.— Yer washup, that's the wery • thing as the willin said. Oh I the wretch— the mon- ster. Oh! if I had— the insinuating wagabone ! MAGISTRATE.— Policeman, what does this woman < want ? POLICEMAN,— Your worship, this woman, Miss Laura Adelaide Flickias, has guved this ere prisoner in chaige for purloining a silver thimble, your worship. MAGISTRATE.— Well, Miss Firkins, state your case. Miss FLICKINS.— Flickins, yer washup— not Firkins, I- disdains Firkins. MAGISTRATE, Very well. Miss a— a—, COMB TO THE CHARGE at once. " Case be— ah !— ah 1— be thingumid," cried the pri- soner, who waBthe very reverse ia personal appearance to Miss Flickins, for he was tall and meagre, with a complexion like a piece of dirty parchment. " Case ! she has no case— no case, my worthy compatriot." MAGISTRATE.— Worthy what I I beg yon will ad- dress me by no such names. Miss FLICKINS.— No case ! — no case I Lauks a- mighty ! No case I— Yer washup, I'm bunbusticated ! MAGISTRATF..— You're what, madam ? MISS FUCKINS.— Oh! I'm macadamized and furrycum foidled. He says I have got no case! ( Roars of faroghter, in which the worthy magistrate could not help joining.) . , t0 MAGISTRATE.— Prisoner, you must not interrupt the ca complainant. Pray proceed, Miss Funkus, if you d< please. . . . , • ra Miss Laura Adelaide Flickins looked a whole paper b| of pins nt the magistrate for this second mistake as to M her name; but she did not condescend to notice it. Miss FLICKINS.— Yer washup, this here indiwidual, Muster Michael Angelo MAGISTRATE.— What! Michael Angelo? Prisoner, at is that your name ? b; PRISONER.- Not exaclly, my worthy tribune. But, ah, ah, being devoted to the arts, I— ah, ah, adopted it. v( MAGISTRATE.— What is your name, then ? gc PRISONER.— Thomas Gubbins, my worthy propounder ° fMfss'fI'ickini.— Wretch I — Willain! — Monster!— hl Beast! — Wagabone ! MAGISTRATE.— Stop— stop, Miss— a- hem— We can't w allow you to be abusive here. State your charge at in once. Miss FLICKINS ( drawing a long breath, and trembling with rage like a lump of hlanc mange).— Yer washup, f( I've been a wery respectable cook for a many years, and vas unkimmon happy till this here outrageous wagabone comes and assaults my infections. HE 01 coined, yer washup, and he had rashers of ham and kidneys. 01 PRISONER.— Ah, ah, I own to having kidneys.— ( Laughter.) w Miss FLICKINS.— And cold pastry, and sops, and a steak every day for a blessed fortnight. He always h stuck to the rump, yer washup ( great laughter). At last, yer washup, he said, as he'd make me Missus Mi- chael Angelo; and one day, as he was a pitchin' into rj summut partikler nice, he guved me a silver thimble, p and swere as he'd make me a blessed missus instead of Sl amiss. He used to come, yer washnp, every day arter tt that for his mutton. ( Roars of laughter for several cl minutes.) Then, yer washtip, I guved missus a perlite d warning; and she says, says she,' Laura, where is you tl a going to live And I says,' Mum, I aint going to tl live nowher. es, for I'm going to be married' ( a laugh), si Well, yer washup, one day the willain comed and •] took away the blessed thimble, and Bays, Good bye, old . Marrowfat, and off he scuttles, and leaves a perpetual ^ skewer a sticking in my wirgin busum. MAGISTRATE.— Well, prisoner, what have you to say t| about this thimble I tl PRISONER.— Ah, ah, my worthy Cincinnatus, I— ah, TI waa passing the subterraneous domicile, ah, of this fat, n ah, woman Miss FLICKINS Fat woman!— You wretch!— Didn t you say you prefared a woman as had a foundation I— t- Didn't you? " MAGISTRATE.— Hush ! hush ! go on, prisoner. PRISONER.— Ah, and she gave me into custodium to " this policeman ; all, ah, I will return the thimble, ah. , MAGISTRATE.— What are you, sir P J PRISONER.— Ah, ah, 1 am an artist, my worthy So- s lomon. ii The policeman here intimated that the prisoner drew k placards for haberdashers, and handed to the magistrate c a bundle of papers which were found in the prisoner's t hat. The worthy magistrate unfolded one, which was written in fanciful letter,— CHANGE OF MINISTRY ! I I a IMMENSE FAILURE !! Cotton nightcaps twopence three y OR, THE HORRORS OF MELMOTH LODGE. | Say, shrinking mortal, why dost fear? Stilt trust In God, he's ever nearj Though evil spirits lurk abroad, Spirits of love shall be thy guard. IT was on a fine afternoon in September, that two young ladies were travelling toward ail old dreary- looking mansion on the banks of the Tyne ( not far from New- castle), on wliich Time had set his seal, and Decay her " effacing fingers." It had descended from father t< S son, through a long line of ancestry, until the last of his race wasted his fortune, neglected the home of his fathers, and only returned to be huried in the family vault. The old mansion was sold by his executors for a trifle to Mr. Hafcourt, a retired merchant, who took it as men take their wives, for better or worse, intending to repair and improve it; but soon after taking possession, was seized with a fever, which carried him off in a few days ; and the squander of an ancient inheritance, and the careful plodder and projecting improver, were laid side by side, alike unneedful of the future appearance of the old building. Emily Harcourt and her friend and schoolfellow, Mary Bcntley, were the two tra- velers, Emily had never visited this newly- purchased home, but had now left school to take up her abode with her mother, who much wished for her society; and to enliven the gloom occasioned by their loss, invited her young friend to accompany her. It was with no agreeable feeling that they ( viewed the building, with its blackened walls, irregular angles, and projecting buttresses; behind whieh, to their romantic imagination, robbers might hide and start out upon them as they went to and fro. Mary broke the silence by asking what was the name of her abode. " Oh ! my father gave it the name of Melmoth Lodge ( though 1 have always di- rected to the old manor), and truly it is a most appropriate one. 1 am sure I shall never go to bed without fancying I see that being's bright and unearthly eyes glaring on me." " But you know, dear," said Mary, " our governess told us, those beings were only a personification of conscience, and surely we have no such visitor to fear." The chaise now stopped, and Emily was soon iu her mother's arms. The meeting was painful, for another was wanting; but tea was brought in, and Mary intro- duced, and all endeavoured to appear cheerful. Soon after tea Mrs. Harcourt ( whose health was much impaired), retired, telling them they must amuse themselves, but hoped she should be able to join them on the morrow in better spirits. Emily opened the piano, but the thought of the pleasure her father would have de- rived from her improvement would not allow her to find any pleasure in that, so she proposed a walk ; and the two friends sallied forth, attended by a servant, and strolled along the noble quay, admired the old wall, with its seven gates and as many turrets, the ruins of the old castle, ascended the hill to view the church of St. Ni- cholas, with its tall and beautiful spire, and were returning another way, quite delighted with their ramble, when the clouds, which had threatened rain, burst upon their heads; and sending the servant forward for umbrellas, they went up to a cot- tage, and were opening the door to ask for shelter, when they . heard a strange voice say, " Beware!" followed by a gurgling noise, like some one choking, and^ at the same moment a man, with a knife in his hand, covered with blood, and his shirt- sleeve stained with the same, ran round from the back garden ; but seeing them, re- treated, and the two girls started off, and never stopped till they reached home, which was in si^ ht. When they bad changed their clothes, and were alone, they held a debate whether they should tell the servants what they had seen, but Mary thought they had better wait till the morning, and acquaint Mrs. Harcourt. While they were at supper, in a room adjoining the drawing- room, they heard some one touching the keys of the piano, and Emily went to see who it was, but, to her asto- nishment, found no one in the room, and the instrument closed. " It must have been fancy," said Mary. '" And yet you heard it as'well as me," returned Emily. " I must persuade mamma to leave this place; I was sure we should meet with nothing but horrors in it; we must go up to our room now; I cannot stay here, ws shall be near mamma, then ;" and ringing for Susan to attend them, they followed her across the hall; but seeing a door covered with red baize, Emily asked what room that was, and being told it was the library, said she should like a book, as it was not late, and taking a light from the girl, entered the room; but bad not gone many paces before she returned, pale and trembling, and threw herself into Mary's arms, saying:—" My father ! I have seen my father !" Mary tried to convince her she had alarmed herself by her excited imagination; and Susan slammed the door, and turned the key, saying,—" We'll keep him in at any rate." She then assisted Mary to lead her young mistress to her chamber, when, after a flood of tears, Emily asked her,—" If she had ever been in that room since her father died ?" " No, ma'am," said Susan, " I have not been here above a month, and no one is allowed to go there but the old housekeeper, for fear we should touch anything of your father s, which all remain just as he left them." " ' Tis strange," said Emily; " I saw a figure in white ; it extended its arms as if to bless me, but 1 was too frightened to listen to what it might say." " We had better let Susan go," said Mary; " we shall only alarm her. Good night; you need not fear to pass the door, for you have locked the ghost in, you know." When they were alone they sat down by the window to talk over what had passed. Mary, though younger, had a stronger mind, and tried to persuade her friend she had been deceived in all, except the scene at the cottage, which was too plain, and had nothing supernatural about it, but advised her to go to bed and think no more about it now, but hear what Mrs. Harcourt would say in the morning. " Look, look yonder," cried Emily. The clouds had dispersed, and the moon, shining, clearly displayed a view of distant objects ; and the friends saw, as if rising from the earth, a group of black, demon- like figures. Two were bearing what ap- peared to be a corpse. Presently another party rose, bearing the same fearful object, and then a third. They all walked slowly, as if in funeral procession, towards the town, and were hidden from the horrorstruck pair, who, clinging to each other, sat silently, awaiting some further exhibition, but all was now still, save the gentle waving of the trees. " Were they spirits of darkness?" said Emily, " or does murder abound in this horrible place ?" " Had we not both witnessed it, I should have thought I had been dreaming," returned Mary. " I know not what to think of it; but as it is gone, let us pray to God to protect us from all evil, and go to bed." " There are two beds, but we will not part," replied Emily, and holding each other's hands, they knelt down, and commended themselves to the protection ot their Father in Heaven ; and then, trembling at every sound, crept into bed, and being tired with their journey and w alk, soon fell asleep, nor woke till the servant came to tell them breakfast was ready. The two girls were soon dressed, and found Mrs. Harcourt waiting for them, who seemed in much better spirits; and, during breakfast, questioned them upon their studies, but they were thoughtful and uneasy. Emily wished to relate the occurrences of the last night; but almost doubting their reality, feared her mamma would laugh at her; but when Mrs. Harcourt expressed her sorrow at seeing them so serious, especially Mary, who could not be affected by that which might depress her daughter, Emily found courage to say .— " Have you never met with anything strange or mysterious in this neighbourhood, mamma?" " No, my dear; what do you mean ? The house is not the most pleasing, certainly; but when 1 recover my health, I intend to make the alterations proposed by youi father, which will enliven it; but what have you seen or heard in so short a time ? Emily now related all, beginning with the cottage, during which she perceived a smile oil her hearer's countenance, until she came to the fearful procession by moon- light, when it changed ; and having heard her daughter out, she said : — " The last part 1 am truly sorry to hear, it was no phantom pageant, but one toe real, which will cause much trouble to several families ;" and, ringing the bell, sht asked a servant who attended, if he had heard of any accident in the mines last night, " Yes, ma'am," said he; " a portion of the mine gave way, and- three men whe were sleeping under it were so much hurt as to be taken to the hospital, and it is thought they will not live the day out." " That will do," said Mrs. Harcourt; " and now you see, my dears, this awful ap- pearance was the poor miners taking their unfortunate companions to the hospital; > ve must render some assistance to their families; the other part of your adven- tures will, I think, prove rather more laughable. Let us go and look for the fair; that played upon the piano ;" aud leading them into the drawing- room, she opened the instrument, and displayed a little black kitten, lying asleep on a white hand- kerchief, which got up, stetched itself, and looked at them with extended eyes, that seemed to say, " what are you all staring at." She then led them to the library, and pointed to a fine statue of the archbishop, in the act of placing the crown on the head of Victoria, which, by the light of a single candle in a large room, had de- ceived Emily the night before. When they had returned to the drawing- room, Mrs. Harcourt addressed the girls, who looked very much ashamed. " I must own," said she, " older minds then yours might have been deceived by these objects; but had you not been predisposed to believe in supernatural appear- ances, you would have examined more closely, and waited, without alarm, for an explanation; and let me add, that although we have reason to believe that spirits, both of good and evil, are ever surrounding us, yet they rarely take a visible form, or alarm us with sounds that can reach our mortal ears." " But," said Emily, " something wrong was doing at the cottage, and you will enquire into it ?" " The voice you heard," replied her mother, " was that of a magpie which Dame Button keeps in her bed- room, unknown to her poor neighbours, which often scares an idle urchin from her apple- tree; aud the deed of blood, I have no doubt I shall have notice of." " And you will acquaint the magistrate ?" said Mary. " I do not think the affair will need his interference ; but come, let me hear, Emily, what improvement you have made in your music, ' tis long since the sound of mirth has been heard iu this dwelling, but, for your sake, I must now rouse myself and be cheerful." Thus called upon, Emily played several airs, much to the satisfaction of her mother, The two then played some duets, and Mary came in for her share of praise. While they were thus employed, a servant caaie into say, that Dame Burton had killed a pig, and wished to know what part Mrs. Harcourt would like to have. This was a climax, The two girls looked at each other, and not daring to raise their eyes to Mrs. Har- court, ran up to their chamber to enjoy a heart laugh, and moialize on their idle fears. " ELIZABETH, farthings each— particularly recommended to those V> h9 have just left off whigs. MAGISTRATE.— Prisoner, yon had better make an arrangement with Miss Flickias; the evidence is very slight. Miss FMCKIKS.— Slight 1 the evidence slight! 1 am the blessed evidence. Am I Blight 1 ( Great laughter.) MAGISTRATE.— Policemaa, is anything known of the irisoner ? . I POLICEMAN.— Yonr worship, he's been up to Union Hall for bigamy. Miss FLICKINS.— BIGAMY ! Oh! support me! The — Ihe incendiary. PRISONER.— Ah, ah, you see if I were to wed the kitchen sylph, ah, ah, it would be, ah, TRIGAMY ! MAGISTRATE.— What I Trigamy J Upon my word, you have a singular stock of words. Then, I suppose, if a man had four wives it wonld be QUAORIGAMY ? ( Roars of laughter, dnring which Miss Flickins made an effort to reach the piisoner to inflict upon him con- dign punishment.) MAGISTRATE.— My good woman, you' are well rid of Ihis fellow, whoso conduct is most disgraceful. Take your thimble, and thank yonr stars he did not marry yon. MUs Flickins took the thimble and left the court, exclaiming, " The wretch 1 that I should have been so looked in, and let the wretch pitch into my mutton and missusei's. I shall absolve myself into tears, and be sold for THE PEKNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE DEATH GRASP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE ! BY THE AUTHOR OF " ELA, THE OUTCAST, ETC. the reader; and he paced the cavern with hjftty . steps, ( Continued from our last.) « M The eyes of Henri followed then^ j Various entrancing movements with a most exquisite tiansport, and the ^ pfgfctfsHi scene beloie him, possessing aim ® easlern sjlendb'ur, charnied and bewildered his senses. " But beautiful as were her companions, their charms were trifling com- pared with those of Zitella, and as the young man watched her graceful figures, and every now and then) caught her sparking- eyeslmVertted upon him with that intense expreseioft ojF admiration, which shew a how powerfully he', had t'ajje^- possession of herUiealrt, he could not help feeling for her • sentiment which no other female had excited in his bosom, save Marceline AUesaudriow; atclied liiin narrowly, and as he noticed the " excitement which moved h' 19 features, anil how plainly the ajdmiratien which his daughter had already inspired in bts breast, his satisfaction was apparent. Again the music changed toa slow and plaintive air, and Zitella and her lovely companions accompanied it With a variety of entrancing figures, twirling arbufrd Henri, and beaming upon him smiles that would liave fnnde a stoic's heart melt to love. Then suddenly it once more swelled into a lively movement, and the dance continued with an untiring vigour, until the sensfes of Henri began to reel, and he sunk into a chair, overpowered with the variety and strength of his emotions. Immediately the music ceased, Allesan- drio waved his hand, and all the dancers, wilh the ex- ception Of Zitella, tripped lightly out of the saloon, while the latter, rushing forward with the lightness of a sylph, knelt at the feet of Henri, looking up into his face with a glance of such an intense, such an indescrib- able, and passionate description, that he felt as though he was ehchanted ; someirresistible spell appeared to take . possession of his senses, and scarcely knowing what • he did, he! raised the enchanting maiden from the floor, and suffered her to sink weeping and in transport upon his bosom. ' AlleSSnd- rio was a delighted spectator ef this scene, and the brigand thought the conquest complete. But a hiome'nr dispelled the allusion, and recalled Henri to a knowledge of what he Was doing, and the danger into which he was falling. " ' Tis done, ' tis done 1" exclaimed the former, suffer- ing the bright |( hantom ef hope to take too firm a hold of his itiind. " Woman's beauty, virtue, and innocence have triumphed. Henri Le Sange MVes the daughter of the brigand chief, Allesamdrlb Robelli !"• " Oh, heavenly assurance! oh, blissful so'unds'" ejaculated the, silvery- toned voice of Zitella, as she still entwined her snow- white ar; a8 around the neck of Henri, and fixed upon him^ jook so chaste, yet so lan- guishing, that even - asensibtlity itself must have felt vVn " T*; ^ dHcmi " ill confirm it. Yes, yes, Zitella s t. eart tells her . that he v, ill (. its responsive tlirob. oiugs assiire- hcr that he lo. vek. feer!." The words of the bejiuleous giif aVioused Henri to consciousness, abiLge& tl^' disengaging himself from ber embraces, be exciairtiid— " Love, love— oh, no, no! Deceive not'yourself, fair damsel. Henri Le Sange can never love any other maiden than Mareel'ihe di Venoni!" " She shall never be yours 1" cried Allesandrio, unable to controul his feelings at the disappointment and ch^ grin which tliis occasioned to the hopes he had too nastily apd., t|) p sangujnely formed* " She shall naver be ytfiVS? 1 I swear—" " Oh, hold— hold! my father I" interrupted Zitella, • with a look, of supplication^ theu turning her soul- entrancing eyes upon the countenance of Henri, with an emotion too. ppwerful for, utterance, she added, in accents the most impressive and melancholy ;— " '- Ti, s pa& t— the spell is broken—( lie illusion is gone. The bright. hopes that daiited for a moment upon my mind, li, ke a flood of heavenly glory, are dispelled, aud Zitella is aroused to the full sense of despair. He for wJtotu- slie would make any sacrifice— nay, even life it- self— lie, the first, the only one who has or ever can hold dominion ever her heart's fondest affections, has declared he cabnot love her, and her doom is sealed. Yet, Henri, must Zitella ever love you, wilh a strength, a; fervour, no ( otW'nte can speak, no language give utterance to. $ 0 time, no change, shall ever alien her sentiments towards yoti. Her heart may break, bul in life, or in death, still must the image of Henii Le Sange ev » ir reniaiti fixed in the inmost recesses of Zi- felfa's soul. Nor will she. bate the genfle Marceline . because she loves you tuor- because sbe is the syrert that holds possession ef your heart; but—" " But you must not, shall not,!' interrupted Allesan-] drio, forgettiiiif in the power of his emotions the pru- dence and coolness that usually marked his character. ;'*. AUe » andrio Robelli, in whose" veins Hows the blood of prince ® , although now the despiied, the hunted of mankind* will ntit'suffer his only child to be made a • sactiftpe ts±- v tui< 1 < FilheP! father !" implored Zitella. " Away girl! away,, leave me for the present, sweetest; I— I— tlierfe, there, my own loved ' Zitella, retire, retire; and I will be more calm." As the ' brigand chief Ihus spoke, he drew his daugh- . ler to his bps, « m, with the ut15jKl_ parent. il affection, hurled the glossy tresses. from her marble, forehead, and . imprinted uppn . it a kiss of ardent love. The poor maiden, returned his caresses with the same effervesence f feeling;; then - fixing upon Henri a look which yarned a language too povyerful for utterance ; tears 1 1 Dilii- r ' byes, across which she passed her tiny er bosom heaved, she- sobbed hysterically, and ly away, rushed from the place with the Ipitation. 11 stood gazing at ti n doorby which 1 the saloon, for a short time in to Henri, after a moment or lii. s mind evidently unr , he said, in tones more utterance to,— • of that which is now tild lay wasle, with the P which now is so fresh, Bis Allesandrio Robelli you lhat he wiil tamely submit to seeing tiuThopes of his child crushed— her every happiness blighted, and demand not some re pat'a tion ?" " Allesandrio Robelli," returned Henri, firmly, yet desperately; " you arrogate to_ yo( irself the crcdit of being a man of sense and reason, and yet your observa- tions woulit induce molt persons to believe that you have very little " claim to eitheh1 ' However, I shall not judge of you so harshly, and, therefore, I ask you Whether J'OU would have me. besto^ v my hand upon your daughter when I cannpt'give her possession of my hcirt ?" " put- spu ajlmire ber ,},' j have before candidly told you I do." said Henri; she ismpit lovely, and, I doubt not, virtuous, and, nay, I Wiil admit, that she has made a powerful im- pression upon mc; and had she been aught bat the daughter M'n man who hath spread terror all over the country, and I had never beheld Marceline di Venoni, no one could sooner have gained a firm place in my heart's Warmest affection!). But, Marcelinn—" " You will see . her no morel" cried the brigand; " unless you constnf to become the husband of Zitella, beyoijd ihsse caverpjyou shall never more dtfpart." " Hear me, Allesandrio," said Henri, wilh eagerness, " Nay, I am in no mood to argue with you now," answered RobelU;'." but be assured that my resolution is fixed; the happiness, the very life of my child rests in your hands, and, unless you yield to my wishes, you need not expect any mercy from me." Henri was again going to speak, but Robelli waved his band impatiently, and rung a small silver bell, which was placed on the table before hi rn. - The same man who bad conducted Henri to the place then made his appearance, and, by the order of Ihe chief, re- con- ducted him lo the apartment, « r cavern, in which he bad been before confined, and Immediately left him. The strange tumult of thoughts that now crowded upon the mind of Henri, may be readily imagined by frequently giving vent to his feelings in thqino^ t veije w ment and passionate exclamations. The impassioned fondness which^ the beaut^ ns, Zitella evinced towards him, had excited a very gre; tt interest in his bosom, . ajul hejcoijJ^ I notbelpTOnkiffg trppn her with a feeling more ' iioWei? ™ even than admiration. The determina- tion whic| kllesafcdrip l » 3 expressed, filled him with th « most serious apprehension ; for he had not the least doubt but- that fte would keep his word, and so secret was the retreat of the brigands, he had no chance of being rescued from their power. Here, then, he must remain for the future; his only chance of seeing his mother or Marceline again being by uniting himself to the daughter of the brigand chief. Goed Godl he thought, and what must be the sufferings of Marceline and his mother, in this dreadful time of suspense aud anxiety ? Perhaps grief had already done its work of destruction, and they were no more 1 The idea was too horrible to dwell upon, and Henri endeavoured to banish it, but in vain. It still pursued him, and, With increasing violence, and for tw » hours, he continued to traverse the limited confines of the cavern, and to'give free indulgence to the expression of his agony. At length, as near as he could judge, it was even- ing, and he had just became more calm, and was be- ginning to indulge in a hope that something would occur to rescue him from his present situation, when he heard the key turning in the lock, and starting to his feet, by the feeble rays « f the lamp, which scarcely permitted him to penetrate into the deep obscurity, he beheld a form advancing towards him, which, on ap- proaching nearer, he discovered to be Zitella. A deep melancholy shadowed her lovely countenance, but her eyes beamed upon him the saine warm glances of un- utterable affection which they had ever done, and pene- trated to his heart irt an instant. She advanced towards Henri, with a slow and cau- tious step, and when within a few paces from htm, she paused, as if fearful of approaching nearer. Henri acted upon a sudden impulse, and hastening to her, he gently took her hand, and involuntarily raised it to his lips, with an air of the utmost respect. Zitella'started at the unexpected action, and raising her eyes towards him, with a glance of the most inexpressible delight, a tide of rapture run through her soul which she had never before experienced, but it was only transient; a moment, and it subsided, and gave place to a feeling of the deepest melancholy; and, in accents of sadness she said;— item! Mona- shul, it is half a wardrobe ; for in st « fmjMrV | 5| shajl find heoarrayed. commonlybut 1 ftbSfc^ mOefe- tu) d mantle," to be ifiiore ready for her light sprvjjfes ; in winter, and in flier travaile, it is iWblnake atitj - safeguard, and also a coverlet for hA'. lewde eSpeise. And when she hath fillled her vessel,- muliy it sUV'canhide both imi.' bnr- den and her blame; yea, and when heu' bastard is librne, it serves instead of swadling clouts. And as for all other good women which love to doe but little woi'ke, bow hand- some it is tq lye in an<} sleepe, or to douse themselves in the sunshinfc, they that lave beene but a while in Ireland can well witnes. Sure 1 am that you will ihinke it very- unfit for agood huswife to stirre iu, or to busie her selle about her huswifry in such sort as she should. These be some of tbe abuses for which I would thirike it fheet to forbid all mantles." ERNNSSTINE DE LACY I OR ™ THE JOBBER'S FOUNDLING, Bf TH « AUTHOR •! " ELA, THB OUTCAST," ETC. ( Continued from our last J Ernnestine remained transfixed to the spot," filled with TO CORRESPONDENTS. " Henri, you have said ( bat you cannot love the bri- gand girl! You have declared that the more fortunate Marceline di Ysnoni, mustever hold possession of your heart, I will show you the strength of Zitella's love for you. I come to give you liberty I" " Liberty I" " Aye, Henri le Sange," said Zitella, " the brigand girl, to whom your presence is as the light of Heaven; who feels to live only in your sight, is ready to make any self- sacrifice to save you a moment's unhappiness! all— all— will 6he cheerfully brave to restore you to peace, to freedom 1" - S Sweet, gentle,— noble hearted girl," cried Henri, again pressing Zitella's fair hand lo his lips; " and shall 1 then suffer you to run such fearful risks for my sa^ e, without the power of making you any return }" " You have the power, Henri," said Zitella, energe- tically, and a tear glistened in her eye; " nay, do not mistake me ! you have told me that Marceliae must be the sole mistress of your heart, and— no matter— all the return I will ask is, that sometimes in your prayers you will not forget the poor brigand girl;— that you will not hate or despise her, who —" Her voice faltered, and she could not proceed, and Henri, who was deeply affected, knew not scarcely how to answer for a few seconds; at length, in a voice of the deepest feeling, he exclaimed :— " Kind maiden ;— Henri will never forget you!— in bis prayers you shall constantly be remembered, and next to Marceline he will love you above all others of your sex 1" The eyes of Zitella brightened in a moment, and dashing away Ihe chrystal drops that had gathered upon her cheeks, she said in tones of cxtacy: " Delightful words! that come like music from the heavenly choir upon my ravished senses!— Henri, one soft embrace, the last that we may probably have, and then to the task I have imposed upon myself, while my father and the rest of the brigands are absent from the caverns.'' Henri enfolded the fair girl iH his arms, and pressed a fervent kiss upon her lips ; he felt her tears bedew his cheek; and Ihe most powerful emotion throbbed her bosom. It lasted, however, but a short time; she quickly conquered her feelings, and withdrawing her We assure " ZETA" that we are overstocked with Poetry, and, therefore, cannot enter into ihe arrangement he proposes. fhe Tale and the Poetry hy S. S„ ( Clapham- settle,) shall appear. W. P. JONES.— The lines sent hy you are not original. Declined :— B. B-, H. E., H. D. ANCONA ; J. T„ " TOM TIT," J. G. D., " To MY DAUGHTER," J. TiioRNE, R. GREEN, P. MULVY, S. SAMPSON, J. J., and ~ W. DEAB. ' We regret that the length of " THE DEATH OF BOADI- CEA," still precludes its insertion in our columns. " VERITAS," ( Leicester,) will find that " THE HEBREW MAIDEN" is now completed, in 104 numbers. We would rather decline the article mentioned hy F. N. G. PRICE, ( Woolwich.) We do not uniertake to anstcer such questions; if we did, our columns would he entirely occupied " DON JOSE" is thanked. Accepted:— E. J. F., S. W., and " MARY ANN." Wi will carefully peruse the articles forwarded by T, CONNELL, and, if worthy, give them immediate inser- tion. We have no recollectisn of " THE VIOLINIST." We cannot, at present, satisfy' A. M, T. MEWELL.— We have not, at present. M. W. STAPLES, ( Southampton,) and J. F. W., shall appear. *.* All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to tbe Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High- street, Shoreditch. the most indescribable astonishment at tbe. singularitybf the adventure, and g* zrd into ihe wood in the direction which the mysterious white knight lmd taken-, completely bewildered and amazed by Ills manner.' and the words he had nr.' de use of; but much mure at his last action, whieji was so sudden that " she had not time to return the ring, which to accept from a stranger sbe considered was not . only highly improper, but ini* ht be fraught with danger. She looked. at. tbe ring, which wits a very hand- some one, and curiously worked ; and when she took the whole of the cirttumstfuces Into consideration, she could not help thinking that there was more intended in this simple event than ( might appear at first sight, and that the mysterious stranger wa? thoroughly acquainted with her she could not entertain the lesst doubt, from the tamiliar tone in which he addressed her; and a variety of strange thoughts were beginning to crowd upon her brain when the portals ot tbe castle were opened, and she was admitted. She marie her way immediately to the apartment in which Lady Celenine, her son, and daughter, usually sat, and found them all three there assembled. They arose on her entrance, and welcomed her with their usual kindness ; but immediately noticing the agitation of her maimer, they requested an explanation of it. Ernnes- tine, in as few words as possible, explained to them the adventure she had met with, and their wonder may very well he imagined. " The White Knight," ejaculated Lord Raymond, while a slight scowl passed across bis bfow. " In vain have I THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES of next week will contain the Dramatic Tale of THE WHECK OF THE HEART; OR, THE STORY OF ACNES PRIMROSE. Founded on the Popular Piece of that name, now Performing at the ROYAL VICTORIA THEATRE, every Evening, to crowded and delighted audiences. THE PENNY PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. AUTHORS. Tbe following interesting subject ii continued from our last week's Leader:— Platerus confirms all this ; for he speaks of ore, who, coining to the University, suddenly fell ill, and, upon his death- bed, had so earliest a desire that he might die a doctor, that he was accordingly dubbed one,— though so late in tbe season. We shall have frequently to allude to those multifari- ous authors, who strangle us with their waste./ ertiMty. Tbe first instance is that of ALBF41TUS MAGNUS, whose works were published at. Lyons, in 1651, in no less than twenty- one volumes folio 1 - * Peter D'ALVA was rather prolix, for he published forty- eight folios on the Mysteries of the Conception. We may safely, assert that, if it required forty- eight volumes folio to clear up a mystery, that mystery has been rendered, by the endless D'Alva, still more mys- terious. Pope Alexander V. adopted another course: be issued bis bull, commanding that there should not self from his embrace, she passed her hand across her be any discussion upon such an intricate subject. brow, two or three times, as if sbe was endeavouring to collect her thoughts, and then, in silence, motioned Henri to follow her. Henri qnic'kly obeyed, and passing from the cavern, they traversed their way along several subterranean What a compliment to ADDISON, and to the sense of that day, was it, when 20,000 of the Spectator have been sold in one day. Upon authors that are multifarious:— BROWNE, the author of Religio Medici, not having the good of " llie trade " before his eyes, but thinking in Ganganelli's passages of great length, until ihey arrived at an outer , w ks in lhis heteredox stjle. . Tis nof a rae. cavern, and crossing it, Zitella was proceeding to assend I , JX I u... . tu..>.. a flight of steps, when a hasty footsiep was heard be- hind them, and a loud voice at the same moment ex- claimed :— " Ah! what do ye here ? There is treachery afloat !' Henri and Zitella turned round in consternation at the words, and ihe light emitted by the rays Of the lamp fell full upDn the person and. countenance of a brigand ; the eyes of the man and those of Henri met in an instant, and an exclamation of the most indescribable astonish lancholy wish of my own, but tbe desires of better heads, that there were a general synod; not to unite the in- compatible differences of religion, but, for the benefit of learning, to reduce it, as it lay at first, in a few and solid authors ; and to condemn to the fire those swarms and millions of rhapsodies, begotten only to distract and a- buse tbe weaker judgment of scholars, and to maintain tbe trade and mystery of typographers." To this may be added, the. remark of Cuuseus: " He that does not send some performance to the German fairs tnent followed; in the features of the brigand Henri ( the Paternoster- tows of London) twice in a year, ' - .... . ( Innl.- o Iiid i- AHiilahnn Inst , n 1rpnuh ir nl ptt. ers. recognised those ofbis father,— Adolphe de Floriville. \_ To be continued in our next.] thinks bis reputation lost in the republic of letters; from whence it happens, that we have more books| now in one day, than a shower of rain produces mush- rooms." Again, Sir Thomas Browne observes, " There are a bundle of curiosities, not only in philosophy, but in divinity, proposed aud discu « sed by men of most supposed abilities, which, indeed, are not worthy our vacant hours, much less our serious studies;— pieces A CONVENIENT DRESS Ii) bis f, View of the State of Ireland," Spenser glves- a 7 curious account of the mantle which the Irish then wore; I only'fit to be placed." in Pantagruel's library, or fcound the use of which, after confessing the convenience of it, up witj, Tartaretus tie modo cacandi." be proposes to abolish by law. " The commoditie of it, | VVe have somewbere read of six hundred volumes sajs Be, " doth not countervail tbe discommoditie ; tor .*. T. L / VLT 1. V,,. N C.(' 11* 11 M 11 OIL the inconveniences which thereby doe arise, are much more many; for it is a fit.' house for an outlaw, a meet bed for a rebel, and an apt cloke for a thief, First tbe outlaw being for his many crimes and villanyes banished from the townes of honest men, and wandritig in waste places, far from the danger of law, roaketh his mantle his house, and under it coveretli himself from file wrath of Heaven, from the offence of the earth, and from the sight of men. When it raineth it is bis pent- house ; when it bloweth it is his. tent; when it freezeth it is bis tabernacle. In sum- mer he can wear it loose, in the winter he can wrap it close; at all times be can use it; never heavy, never cumbersome. Likewise for a rebel it is as serviceable ; for in his wavre that he maketh ( if at least it deserve the having been composed by the French bishop du BELI. AY. MadamedeBouRiGNON, a visionary, born in Flanders, 1616, composed no less tlibn eighteen volumes octavo. She ranked herself equal with, the Virgin Mary, and professed to have communications with tne Deity. BURNS, whose works have inspired a delighted world, expired amid all the horrors of the most desolate poverty ! But he has a splendid monument! this is no new case. The Athenians were quite as bad as the moderns; for Miltiades, who had served them, was persecuted, and even impiisoneil : but, when he died, their eyes were opened to his merits, and they erected a monument to his memury, 011 the plains where he gained his glory. And so it is ever with painters 1.. I p . u :, name of vvarre) when he still flyeth from his foe, and ® oup( e ofthfir pictures^ when they are warranted d « ud lurketh In the thicke woods and straite. passages, waiting 1 ••• - • .,-_.<- - for advantages, it is his bed ye and almost his houshold stuff. For the wood is bis house against all weathers, and ll, is mantle is his couch to sleep iii. Therein he wrappeth himself routid, and eoucheth himself strongly against the gnats which in that couutry doe more annoy the naked rebels, whilst they lieepe the woods and doe more sharply Wound them than all their enemies' swords or speares, which can seldotne come nigh them; yea, and oftentimes their mantle serveth them, when tliey aie neere driven, being wrapped about their left anne instead of a target, for it is bard to cut through with a sword : besides it is light to beare light to throw away, and being, as they commonly are) naked, it is to them all in all. Lastly, for a thief it is so handsome, as it may seem it was first invented. for him ; for under it he may cleanly convey any fit pillage that cometh hahdttomly iu his way, and when hegoeth abroad in tbe night in free booting, it is his besrahd surest friend lying as they often do, for two or three tiiglifs toge- ther, abroad, to w. atch for their booty, with tbttt they can prettily shl'oud themselves under; a bush Or a bankside, till they may convenielly do their errand ; and when all is over, be can, in Ills mantle, passe through any town or 11 fetch more money than the painters ever earned in their lives. BUTLER was fortunate, for a time, in having Charles II. to admire his Hudibras— that monarch carried one ill his pocket: heuce his sutcess, though the work has great merit. Yet, does merit sell a work in one case out of twenty ? Butler,, after all, was left to starve ; for, according to Dennis, the author of Hudibras starved in a garret. , Samuel BOYSE, author of the Deity, a poem, was a fair author, and, at one tinje, employed by Mr. Ogle to translate some of Chaucer's Tales into modern English, - which be did, with great spirit, at the rate of threepence per Hue for his trouble. Poor Boyse wore a blanket, becauscbe was destitute of breeches; aud was, at last, found famished to death, with a pen in his hand. Dr. BF. ATTIE, for his Essay on tbe Immutability of Truth, which cost bim four years' labour, got fifty guineas.— ( Forbes's Life.) Dr. BLAIR was fortunate: he received six hundred guineas for a single volume of sermons. Dr. BURN wrote the Justice of the Peace, which company, being close hooded over his head, as he useth, wa, sold to Andrew Millar for j£ 210, who, to his credit, from knowledge of any to whom • he his jmidagered. voluntarily added one hundred guineas for every new Besides this, lie, or any man else lhat his disposed to mis- edition. More than twenty thousand pounds have chief or villany, may under his mantle goe piivily armed been gained by that book without suspicion of any, carry bis luad- peece, his skean - ' " "— ( sword), or pistol if he please, to be always in readines. Thus necessary andfitting is a mantle for a bad man, and surely for a bad huswife it is no less convenient; for some of them that bee wandering women, called of Joseph B A RETT j, author of tbe Italian Dictionary, wilfully retained, or secreted, four thousand words, for a second edition. If Baretti was handsomely paid, tliis was dishonest; if otherwise, ( as was the case with Dr. Johnson,) it was only diamond cut diamond. racked my brain to eudeavouf ft) Imagine who he is ; and yet, if 1 were inclined to be superstitious, ffludh as his noble deeds are vaunted, I should have ample cause to look upon him with caution, if not dread." " Ah ! what meat) you !" demanded Lady Celestine. " No matter— no matter," said Lord Raymond, recol lecling himself. " Thou woUldst only smile at me were I to mention particulars; and, indeed, I am ashamed that I should'have deigned to give tbe subject a second thought." " At any rate," observed Marguerite, " we should feel greatly indebted to the gallant stranger tor having rescued Ernnestine from the ruffians; and 1 hope we may some time have an opportunity of personally returning to him our acknowledgements-" " Aye," observed Lord Raymond, who had been deeply imwersed in thought upon the subject; " but why art thou looking so iuteiitly at thine hand, Ern- nestine I" " I have not yet told you the whole of this mysterious incident," replied our heroine; " on leaving me, the stranger suddenly placcd upon my finger this ring, and " " A ring !" interrupted bis lordship, a glow of anger and astonishment crimsoning bis cheeks,—" strange unparalleled effrontery ! Let me see it." He took Ernestine's hand hastily as be spoke, and removed the ring from her linger; but the moment his eye fell upon it his countenance changed, and the extreme emotion he betrayed filled them with the utmost amaze- ment. He examined it minutely, and, as be did so, his cheeks became pale and red by turns, and bis form trem- bled violently. He walked to the other side of the apart- ment with his eyes still fixed upon the ring; and, after a pause, lie exclaimed, in a voice which evinced the great emotion of his mind :— " By Heaven ! it is the very same. I cannot be mis- taken! What can this event portend?— and how, after the lapse of so many years, should it " He paused, and returning to his seat became for a short time buried in thought, and unmindful of the astonish- ment and curiosity which the singularity of his behaviour had excited. " What is the meaning of this, dear Raymond?" at length said his mother; " why does the sight of that ring cause in thee so much agitation ?" " Mother," replied Lord Raymond, " question me not at present I cannot answer thee. This ring— oh! never did I expect to see it again ! And the mysterious stran- ger— oh ! who can he be ? how could it have come into his possession ? and what could have been his motive for ( placing it ou the finger of Eniuestine ? When will the marvellous events that so rapidly succeed each other be satisfactorily explained ? Ernuestine, this ring must remain in my possession." " And what, can be thy reason for wishing to retain it, Raymond .'" eagerly inquired Lady Celestine. " Lib, a most powerful one," replied his lordship. " I would not part with it again for mines Of wealth. Tliou canst have no idea of the important matters, at least to me,. which the possession of this simple bauble maybe tbe means of bringing to light." " The ambiguity of thy words and behaviour, Ray mood," said Lidy Celestiue, " alann me. Oh! why not explain ?" " Not now, not now !" returned Lord Raymond " but the time may not be far distant, when it will b in my power to divulge everything. Would that 1 could ascertain who this white knight really is. But 1 will not rest until I have dona so." Lord Raymond then made an excuse to retire from the room for a short time, and left Ihe females to con- verse upon the mysterious circumstance, and to endea- vour to form a conjecture as to the cause of the violent agitation which his lordship had betrayed on seeing the ring. Various were their surmises upon the sub- ject, but each was equally unsatisfactory; but Lady Celestine and her daughter could not help believing that it was connected wilh that event which had de- pressed Ike spirits of Lord Raymond for so many years, ind through which secret they were never able to pene- trate. In a short time, Lord Raymond returned to the apartment, and, although he evidently endeavoured to appear more cempesed, he could not succeed in con- cealing from the eyes of all three of the females, that his mind was still very unhappy. Ernnestine will remain at tbe castle to- night, I pre- sume," said he; " and I will despatch a vassal to her friends, lo apprise them of her safety." " No," said our herolno, " the storm has subsided, and I have a particular wish not to defer my return home till the morning." Of course, then, it would be useless my attempting to persuade thee further, my love," said his lordship, and I nm therefore prepared to accompany thee." Our heroine Immediately arose to depart, and, at- tended by his lordship, quitted the castle. On their way home, Lord Raymond questioned Ernnestine more particularly about the while kirighl, aud the words he bad spoken to her, but she had already told him everything. " But, when he placed the ring on thy finger, dear Ernnestine," he inquired, " said he nothing then ?" " Not a word," replied our heroine. " And couldst thou not observe his features?" " His visor was down, and therefore I could not.", " And had no means of judging whether he vvas old or young?" " Certainly not; although, from his figure and active bearing, I should imagine tbe latter," answered Ernnestine. " By Heaven, I will by some means discover himl" exclaimed Lord Raymoud ; but he had scarcely given utterance to the words, when ihe snorting of a steed was beard near them, and looking up, by the broad light of the moon, they beheld, standing before them, looking like a speclre, or a statue of marble, the mysterious subject of their discourse. Ernnestine clung closer to Lord Raymond, and could not help giving utterance to an exclamation of terror, and his lordship was so taken by surprise, that he had uot the power of moving or speaking. " Thou wilt know who I am ere long, Lord Ray- mond St. Aswolph," said the white knight, in a hollow voice; " tbe discovery thou art so anxious for will be made, and ihou wilt then have cause to tremble. Mark me I mark me 1" " Mysterious being!" cried St. Aswolph, " that comest in such suspicious form, who art thou, and why should I tremble at thee I If thou art my foe, reveal thyself, and give me an opportunity of affording thee satisfaction." A loud and scornful laugh was the only answer which was returned to this demand, and the white knight galloping wilh the speed of lightning from the spot, was out of sight in a moment. Ernnestine was filled wilh terror at the threats which the while knight had uttered towards Lord Raymond, while he was so much surprised, that he was unable, for a short time, to speak a wor « l, or to offer to move from the spot on which thej,- we're standing. " I ^ seek in vain to fathom this," ke said, at last, ' f unless this . white knight as he h called, is some wild character, acting alone from caprice, aud a wish lo spbrt with the terrofs of. olhers. He may, however, have reason to repent his humour spine day or other." " Whoever he is, and - whatever inav be the molives for his actions," said Ernnesliiie, " he certainly has succeeded in rendering himself an object of wonder and awe." " file is some base impostor," cried Lord'( Raymond, warmly, " and should we eVer fencounten^ ench other again; and under more favourable iirdums^ ances, I will learn who he is, or perish in the rfttenfpt. " " Oh, my lord," said Ernnestine, alarmed, " beware of what thou dost; thou mayest have a tnore powerful and dangerous enemy to contend with than thou dost imagine." " Why should I fear one whom I know not ?" said St. Aswolph; " and yet the ring," he continued, " how eeuld that have fallen into his possession ?" " Come, my lord," observed Ernnestine, seeking to arouse him from his lethargy, " the night air begins to blow cold; prithee let us hasten on our way te the inn, and leave the unravelling of this ambiguous affair until some future period.'' Lord Raymond once more took her arm in silence, and they hastened from the spot. They shortly after- wards reached the ' Flagon,' where both Hubert and Maud were very glad to see them return In safety, and he scarcely allowed them to be sealed, when he de- tailed to them all the particulars of the visit of tbe white knight, and the inj unctions which he had given him, This more than ever added to the surprise of our heroine and Lord Raymond. It was very evident that the white knight was fully acquainted with the history of Ernnestine, and that he had good reasons for taking such an interest in ber fate ; but yet he had said that he was the friend of Ernnestine, and bis conduct proved htm to be so, but his injunctions that none other than Lord Raymond should become the husband of our heroine, seemed so completely at variance with the threats he had held out lo tbe former, that it was quite impossible to understand thern. And hast thou no recollection of the stranger ? inquired Lord Raymond of Hubert. How could I, my lord," answered Hubert, " when his features were so entirely concealed from view ?" " Dost thou not think it likely that he is the same man who brought Erunestine to the inn and left her in thy charge?" interrogated his lordship. " It may be," answered Hubert j " but still I had no recollection of his voice." Oh, I'm certain the white knight is no mortal man," ejaculated Maud," or he never could perform, the deeds he does. Why, is he not here, there, and everywhere, and nil at the same moment?" Psha ! if he is a devil, dame," said Hubert, " be ia a very good sort of a one, for he is noted only for noble actions. Did be not preserve Ernneitine this evening from the robbers, and—" Yes, yes," answered Maud, impatiently interrupt- ing him, " and did he not afterwards threaten his lord- ship, which I cannot conceive to be a very noble ac- tion, marry can I not ? especially as Lord Raymond is so generally and deservedly esteemed ; for who is there, I should like to know—" " There, there, my good dame," interrupted his lord- ship, who was not at all willing to hear his go « d actions vaunted ; " we shall not be able to fathom this mystery to night, depend upon It; and although he did threaten me, he cannot seriously be mi « e enemy, or he never would urge my union with the beauteous Ernnestine. We must endeavour to wait patiently until the day of the nuptials, when we shall see whether or net he will keep his promise by uniavelling the secret which so deeply interests us all." Although Lord Raymond affected to be satisfie upon this subject, he was very fat from really feeling so, and shortly afterwards took bis departure fiom the inn, and directed liis steps towards Ihe castle. He walked forward in a pensive mood, ruminating upon what had taken place within the last few hours, and was just penetrating through the deepest recesses ofthe wood, when he fell his arm suddenly arrested, an>< in an instant beheld Hal of the Glen standing by his side. ( To be continued in our next.) THE WILL OF SHAKSFERE. In the Pictorial Edition ot Sh » k » p « re, edited by Mr. Charles Koight— a note is appended to the play of As You I, ike It, re- specting the will of Shakspere, upon which it throws a new and valuable light. Shakspure, it is generally known, realised emithleroble funds by his industry as a dramatic writer and theatrical maivager, and re- tired in 1013 or 1614, to spend the evening of hli days at his na- tive town of Stratford, where he had acquired no small property in houses nnd land. His wife, Anne Hathaway W10 liad remained in Stratford during the twenty- four yeara which he spent in Lon- don, ami who was eight years ht » aepior, still Uved, and had two surviving children, Susanna and Judith, the former of whom was married to a gentleman named Hall. In his will, dated March, 1616, about a month before his dealh. he left the bulk of his pro- perty. in houses and lands, to hi » elder daughter Susanna, three hundred pounds to his youngest daughter, under certain condi- tions : to his sister, money, wearing apparel, and the life- rent of the house In which she lived; to his nephews, file pounds each; to hit grand- daughter, his plate ; to the poor, ten pounds; to va- rious trleilds, money, rings, and his aword. To Susanua and her husband Hall, ins bequeathed all the rest of Ms goods aud chattels, excepting ( and the exception was introduced by insertion after tbe will had been drawn out) his second best bed, tvlth the furniture, which he directed tojoe given to his wife. So remarkable a circumstance did not escape the notice of his many commentators, anil hitherto most of them have spoken of it with pain, as a proof that Sliakspere, while generous to his chil. dren and friends, treated his wife with contempt. There was the more force in this view, when tlle'long estrangement of the pair was considered. Malone lays—" His wife had not wholly escaped his memory; he had not forgot her— lie had recollected her- but so recollected her as more strongly to mark how little he esteemed her, he had already ( as It Is vulgarly expressed) cut her off, not, Indeed, with a shilling, but w th an old bed.' Mrlone, Steevenj, Boswell, were all of them lawyers, yet they all failed to detect a legal circumstance, calculated to give a totally new view of ill ® case, and which it has been reserved for the bookseller, Mr Knight, to point out. Mrs. Shakspere required no special provision in her husband's will, beyond tu rn; such souvenir as the second- best bed, for she was entitled, as the legal phraae is, TO DOWKR; the law gave her the life Interest of a third, part of all the properly which Sliakspere had acquired in his lifetime ( excepting one copy- hold tenement), and she would have the same interest in the houses and gardens which her hosband inherited from his father, as soon as the father should die.— Thus she would be extremvly well off by the mere operation of the English law affecting freehold property ; and th# notion that she was cut off with au old bed falls to the ground. Mr. Knight eites the will of David Cecil, Esq., grandfather of the late Lord Burleigh, as a similar case. In that will the only notice of the wife Is :—'" Item— I will that my wife have all the plate that was her's before I married her, and twepty kye and a bull." Here, the husband only concerns himself to be- stow a gift upon his wife over and above what the law would allow her. Mr. Knight has thus cleared the memory of Shakspere from the imputation of having left his wife unprovided for, or of treating her with absolute contempt. But he has done 110 more. To have no- ticed her only by afterthought, and thin, from his abundance of valuables, to give her only tbe second- best bed, affords but a doubt- ful vitw of the conjugal affection of our great bard. It se. ins a good deal like what a man would be Induced to do for decency's sake, by the persuasion of friends, and against Ids own will. This has been pointed out. in a letter to the " Athecteum," by Mr. Peter Cunn-' ngham ( son of Mr. Allan Cunningham), together with the following passage front th » will of Sir John Hayward, the his- torian, dated tli0 30th of March, 1626.—" I give to my wife the bedd wherein Bhe lleth, with all things pertayning thereunto, and two other of tiie . m- iaoest bean, for servants, which, t' g - thrr wilh all my foim- r legacies unto her, and her thirds, which she may claim, out of the laods In Tottenham before- mentioned, 1 esteeme enough, in regard of the small porclon she brought me; aod, in regard of her unquiet life and email respect towards mee, a gfeate deale too inu. h." " I would not," adds Sir. Cuunlngliam, 11 say that this was the case with Shaktpere, but the coincidence and explanation are alike curious.' Sliakspere's long absence frcrn h'S wife, and subsequent return to her ia not a solitary case. Rcmney, the eminent portrait- painter, was a married man, engaged in a rustic employment In Yorkshire, when he discovered by mere chance ttmtlie could drrttv. He left Ms wife with seventy guineas in her pockat, takirg Ihirty of his own— studied his profession In London, Parts, and Home— became the first portrait- painter of ills day, realising above three thousand a year by lilt art. He lived on and ou, corresponding affectionately with his Yorkshire spouse, and sending her money, but nev. r visiting her or sending for her; and, finally, after an ab- sence of thirty- five years, he returned to her in 1) 1 health, and re- sumed the matrimonial life to unexpectedly broken off lit his youth. For this strange conduct, 110 reason has ever been as- signed. It se, mi to have proceeded l'mm the maru eccentricity of genius. Tbe long separation of Mr. and Mrs. William Shaksptre may have arisen from the same cause, and might b. Qot lev com- patible whh a sufficient mutual regard. 1 THE KLINKENBEflCS. A TALE. BY THE LATE TIIEO'DOftE HOOK. SOME years before this, history begins and ends— for It Is as brief dg the life of a butterfly- tbe old King of Bavaria, having taken a particular dislike to his palace of itarenberg, gave the veteran ften » ral Kiinkenberg permission to inhabit a certain portion of the building. To this quiet retreat the general and hi? two daughters, Amelia and Caroline, forthwith repaired; and there they resided until the period at which I htve the honour of introducing them to the reader. • . t , Nothing could be more agreeable to the ancient warrior, after his active services, than this domicile.; and, as for the young ladies, they were abso: utely charmed with it, from its beauties ana H « proximity to Munich. . . In this Bavarian Hampton Court, time passed delightfully; the mornings went spent much as mornings are when handsome accom- plished women, and agreeable, well educated men associate much together; and although Captain Ste'nfel pnd Lieutenant Melfort had not yet ventured to hint any ulterior objects the friendship Which e- isfed brtweeri the four happy ones, seamed to require only a declaration on the part of the beaux, to convert it into a sentiment somewhat more tender, and infinitely more delightful,— and so things went on. ' ' In the midst of this agreeable intercourse, varied by the visits of the general's friends from Munich, and his neighbours at Staren- berg, an event occurred which agitated the whole country,: and changed the face of " affairs in general,"— the King of Bavaria died ! Oa every side were grief and desolation— the shops, of Munich were closed— the great bglls tolled heavUy-~- the flags hung half- stfiff high—- the sorrowing ereatiires of the monarch's bounty bowed their heads and wept— minute- gons froor the . batteries boomed upon the ear. and muffled dnims announced the ceremony with which, in all the solemn pomp of woe, the mortal remiins of the good king were deposited in the stately tomb of his ancestor's And then all was smiles and congratulations— tipsy dance and revelry,"— the shops in Munich Were opened— the cannon fired salv ies from the batteries— the bells rang merrily— the flags were hoisted to the very trucks— and the sorrowing creatures of the old king's bounty drifd their tears and doffed their sables: and, dressing thHr faces in smiles, hurred to the palace to besllme its new occupant with thpir venal adulation. « What a king we . hav •. got now !" cried'otie> Who never would ' haVe been a judge of'kings if th « late monarch had not made him what he was. " What wisdom F says a second. " ^ hat good- ness!" cries'a third. " What taste!" exclaims a fourth How affable!" a fifth. " How unlike the old king !" a sixth. And thus, not content with taking the coid " the gods provided," they sought to ingratiate th< 5mse1ve « i with, their new master by instituting Com- parisons between him and their old one; which, to say nothing of the taste ofthe system as likely to please his, majesty, savoured pot a little of that which is sometimes found even in Munich — in- gratitude. The new king, in th^. bloom of Touthv handsome, graceful, gay. and accomplished, mounted his lililk- white charger, and, attended by all his court, c, u, r. vetted and ambled through the streetswhat, condescension! FJags and bapners ' were waved. on the pal- ape ts, and flowers wore Scattered from the windows. The neit day he perambulated the. town, acc^ mnanied 07, ly. by his brovvn umbrella— what affability ) His majesty held levees; the palgfte was thrown open, and the reception*. were innumerable;; for his late father had been some time before h's death infirm and ill, and had, there- lived-. principally - at • Njmphenburg, his favorrita residence, w.< ich he h ad splendidly decorated and tastefully improved. To Nymphenburg the- new king took a decided aversion : it was closed immediately on his accession, and Count Slaphausen, whn bad regulated all his father's affairs there, was dismissed. Stiftin- croup was nam » d prime m'nister, and Snyderkins, who had never slept from the palace roof tor twenty years) Was sent ambassador to the court of Ashantee, All that the king did, the people approved. He remodelled the Bavarian code of laws— he corrected abuses in the state — he changed the colour ofthe pages'paritaloonsi from pea- green and silver to white and gold— he reversed all his father's decrees— he altered the uniform of. the foot, soldiers^— he granted Universal liberty of conscience, and gave a ball once in eVery Week; and, Strange to say, great as were the deeds, of tbty illustrious monarch 110 act of his royal life is so nearly contacted wi th the subject matter of this little story as the last named manifestation of his royal grace and bounty, • To one of those ball severe invited General Klipkenberg and his two charming daughters, an event marked with consequences which none of the parties most deeply concerned in the slightest degree anticipated.; but" wfclih. iif we have' bi^ t a little patience, we sh^ ll See fcventtrally proved of the highest importance. . General Klinkenberg was no courtier, and at sixty five no dancer; but the. invitation was a command, and even if be had hesitated as to its acceptance, the young ladies would have over- r plv ; objections, and overcome all obstacles. Amelia, the elder °> the " two, was celebrated in her: circle for her dancing; her eye* were as bright as diamonds, and ber hair, which curled profusely over a snowy forehead, was ap black a. s jet: her fiacre was sym- metrical. her ftrace. proverbiali Carol ftie. v the younger sister, was fair an$ i her'- so/ t " blue oyes'^ nd., gentle ^ emeiariDup^ tennvd'ti hearts which, would hob! dm feaitleSsly against the bolder attacks of her sprightly sparkling sister. t In the. ball- room Amelia attracted all attention, and seemed to reVel in the sunshine of the gate she\ attracted.. Caroline shunned, or seemed, to shun, the looks which were sometimes rivet! ed on her. mild and gentle countenance; but people live, not always in baJJ- j'dojpg. vnor establish their characters in crowded assemblies; and Caroline, in her own Iv me, mild, amiable, and affectionate as she was, drew arqund her the tenderer and deeper fee'ings of the heart. Caroline. bad formed the first, the ruling attachment of her life; Melfort. lud won hervhad gained her estem, her regard, her love! and these sentiments were founded upon a near and con- stant observation pf his mind and manners, character and dis- position. She had no disguise in avowing the feellnv he had inspired ; she spoke of him, felt for him. thought of h'm as .1 brother: it was only when he was absent that she could at all appreciate the value she set upon his society, and when the royal command to the ball arrived, it pained her to the very heart, that, going. withouthim was inevitable. Steinfelt was not invited : but Amelia, although. she would h » . ve been better pleased if be had been of tire party, felt no regret like Caroline y which'could for a, moment- counterbalance the pleasure she anticipated at, court— a sphere well suited In her ardent mind for a girl of her birth, appearance, and accc mnlisl mants ; arid she rallied her more sensitive sister upon the regret she expressed., and the sorrrw she too evidently felt, at Mefrort's absence. From the moment their going was decided upon, the activity of preparation evinced by Amelia, strongly contrasted as it was by the placid sufferance of Caroline, under the suggestions of the hading marchand des modes of Munich, gave strong evidence of her desire for conquest ; fill, the colours of the rainbow were tried, and those in every light, in order lo ascertain what " best became her;:" friends were appealed to* neighbours called into council,— and It was not until the day before the ball that the dress in which she was actually to appear was finally decided upon. What the police regulations « f MunHi Were, upon thole occa- sions, h'storyhas not recorded, or whether the instructions ofthe Bavarian green- Cloth for the regulation of carriages merely directed that the com puny should be set down with their horses' heads opposite to their tails, suffice it to say, that amidst a sort of civil warfare, . eminently destructive to the panels, and seriously in- jurious, to the poles, the General and the two Misses Klhikenberg were aafely deposited at the palace. . ' At, the foot, of the golden and marble staircase, which forms one ofthe splendid features of this immense building and which, upon this occasion, was lined by body guards, and plantifullv sprinkled over with porters and paees. they Were received and u< hered up to the great hall, which, together with the hall of antiquities, was most magnificently illuminated j and; after passing throuirh a suite of apartments, each vleing With the preceding one in brilliancy of decoration and company, they reached the throne- room, in w'Vich the ' visitors were presented to his majesty previous to proceeding to the bai}. His majesty's reception of the veteran general was grac'ous in the extreme; but when the royal eyes fell upon the animated countenance and sylph- like form of Ame'ia, tbe king seemed thun- der stricken. His majesty was graciously phased to express his admiration aloud, and spoke of her beauty in a very audible tone to the. Baron Stiflincroup and the Countess of Muggenstein, who were near him. Of Caroline the king said nothing ; he merely bestowed upon her one of those gently- approving smiles which great personagesAvith white tedth are frequently pleased to confer ; but of Amelia he continued to rave— continued; to point her out to each new guest with whom lie was on . familiar.' terms— until at last his majesty, having gone through th; ceremony of opening the ball with her Serene Highness the l'rlncess Wilhelmina of Stumps Giggenstein, Amelia found herself approached by one of his majesty's chamberlains. Who announced to her d » U « ? htedears that the sovereign had. been graciously pleased to select her for his partner in the next quadrille. What the Bavarian etiquette upon so striking and singular an occasion actually might be we do not pretend to understand, but it was by no means difficult to perceive, by the looks and gestures of the five hundred bsauties of the court that the royal attention had created a sensation. Its immediate effect upon Caroline Klin- kenberg was astounding! for no sooner did Baron Stiffincroup, prime minister in the Bavarian cabinet, perceive his majesty leading the. elder MIsft. Kl n'fenbt'rg to the, highest place in the dance, than he bustled through the illustrious throng, and solicited the hand of the second Miss Klinkenberg as his partner let the same set. As for Amelia, from the moment $ ha felt the pressure of the white kid- glove of 1 he right hand of Bavaria uprn the sympathetic leather on her. own left, sh « ? saw nothing understood nothing that Bhe heard, was conscious of nothing in the world, but that she was existing in a sort of ecstatic dream, and that she was still actually on her feet swinging about the palace in company with ber sove- reign, who, as has already been remarked, In addition to his crown andrdignity, possesied a person so fine, a face so handsome, and a figure GO elegftht, that the court resounded with murmurs of ad- miration, not, quite unmixed with envy, at the beautiful perform an ce° of their gracious king and his pTflcoful partner. Baron StifFiWcroup, wht> Was tall; Isolemn, formal, and grey, was not particularly well adapted for waltzing, either by age or station, figure or. activity; he went through thtf motions, and Caroline was as well pleased as the baron, when sh « found herself re- established at her ga lant fathir' 3 side, whtfnce the premier had drawn her; but Amelia's career was not yet ended— she was destined to be the belle of the evenlug. In spite of etiquette, in spite of the various claims which should have engaged the royal attention, the king graciously condescended to place her arm on his, and lead her, " nothing loth," to the room where TF freshriients- wereservsd 5 here lio presented her— he him- self— with ice ; here offered, her a wafer, while she stood the wonder ef the gizlng company, alone with h!* n, and doing something very like flirting, in the centre of a circle whose saereil. verge no sub. ject'a foot dare cross. § ut even this was not all; in the plenitude of royal grace and condescension, his majesty plucked a half- blown rose from one of tha vases which were ranged along tlie plateau, and, with a speech full of— mare than gallantry— sentiment, presented it to his lair frairtne!-, from whppj U seemed he parted m « st reluctantly, when he surrendered hsr to'the'care of her father. But as the flower blooms which the sun has ripened,• even wlren that sua is sat, Amelia, seated by the general's side, attracted e.- owds of gazer* even though the king had left her) and the remained enjoying her triu* plr. and holding affectionately in her hand the rose which had been conferred upon her by the monarch. Supper was anr- iouncad, and trumpets rent the air; and as the folding doors of the banquet- gallery were thrown open, Siuslc, the most melodious, hurst upon the ear. Amelia lingered, and looked at- ound,— for what ?.— presumptuous girl! She felt dissatisfied and disappointed because the young king did not lead her to the table. She forgQt that the Grand Duchess of. Shuffleliau? en would nata-^ rally be taken out by his majesty; and that, however much his kind heart a: nd, good taste might draw him to her side when eti- quette permitted,'^ there were certain things to be done and per- formed in his kingly capacity, with which neither kindness or feeling could be permitted to interfere. • Certain it is, that from the moment she saw him seated .011 Ills chair of state, surrounded by the officers of his household, approached with sTVe, and served with humility, amounting— or rather descending— almoat to pros- tration, she sighed, and felt as if she W^ re wearied with all that Was near her; the banquet was tasteless, the music discordant; the gaiety painful. ? f Caroline, who had been led to supper by her last partner, en- joyed everything she saw and heard< the One alloy to her grati- fication was the? absence of Melfort. and, although she; ldbkfed fdiward to the morning; when she should describe to him the • events of the. eveping,, aa the reward of her present- privation, she conquered. all. selfish feeling so far as to establish her character; as., a delightful com pant'm irt the, mind 10F the yOiing iiiblemaM Tfho. had danced With. her, ft'nd/ tO create in. his bosom'; as it' should, seeu » , an inte'rPfet fiot-' much inferior to • that Which it appeared,, her ' ani• mated sister had excited in the heart of the king. Supper over, the company resumed dancing, but the- king; not again . present hmkelf . tp the ' eyes ^ of the fascinated A, mel, ia. Baron Stiffincroup, hoWever, Weilt to; Gfehei- al Klinkeriberg, and taking him to the wind'bSv, stftted to Mm'that he had'it in COth- mand from the king to tell him that his rnaiesty ihtended t'O confer upon him the order of St. Hubert; that he could not imagine hnw his services and m « rit8 bad been so long, overlooked by his latt* father;' and that he expected to see him at the next morning's, levee, in ordfer that he might have the pleasure of investing him with . the uibaM. Kiinkenberg felt hot, and cold, and bdvved, arid sm'iled, and wan very . much pleased; for, singular as it may appeir, the late Ui- ng, for what reason nobody ever Could'discoi? er, although frequently solicited, never would give Kiinkenberg the oi- der of St. Hubert. Why he got it now, having giyeh the i'eader some idea o'f Bavarian politics, WS leave him to guess. Seated- In the carriage, on their return, what were : the feelings of the three Kilkenbergs ? Amelia was satisfied that the king was at her feet and that the favour bestowed upon her father was merely a proof of his majesty's sincerity and demotion to her; but upon a subject so high she dared not tVust herself to speak, so she declared herself tired, threW herself back in the coach, and clOsing llf- r eyes oaVv, as it were in a vision, the throne standing ready for her occupation; and while she ( almost tenderly); pressed in her hand the withering flower with which the sovereign bad presented her, felt the Bceptrp of Bavaria within her gtast). Caroline, who was no more tired than her sistsr, and who had no objsct in affecting to be so, talked over the Whole party gaily and happily* and telt inore at eafle than at any previous period of the evening 3 and , Kiinkenberg h'Mself, in high spirits at the result Of his visit to, cpurt, chuckled at Ills attainment from the new king of ft d& coration which the old one never would b? s'tow on him When next morning came, and breakfast was over, and General Kiinkenberg on his road to Munich, as usual> catire Captain Stein- felt and. " Lieutenant Melfort j the latter was received by Caroline as he always was— bpth her hands were extended to receive his, and a smile', such as thrones c< ton* t purchase nor kingdoms i- epay,. greeted the young suitor ( if such n> might be con8idefed) on his entrance to the boudoir. Amelia was gracious In her manner v Steinl'elfe, and stretche- i forth her right hand, still seated, most uncoaf5iously rested on a vase in which hui. g droopingly the royal rofte of Bavaria. . Amelia saw that the fa ' ed fiovyer h « d caught the captain's eye's ; she longed for him to ksk some questions about it, but she was spared a protracted anxiety by Caroline's Calling the attention of both the beauxs to the " floral emblem" of her sister's triumph. " Yes,,' said Amelia " the king gave it me last nigk^. j we had danced together, and while he WAS handing m^ some ice, I hap- pened to say I was ifond of roses, and he was good enough to present it to me. It therefore becomes quite an historical rose, and I shall preserve it;" " Less productive of feuds, I hope,'' said Stelnfelt, " than the rival'roses of England." >,. " And," said Melfort, " have no royal rose to boast of Caroline }* ' "• Not I » indeed," replied she ; " Amelia was the favoured lady, of the night/ " Oh ! Caroline," interrupted Amelia, " don't say so. I am sure lie' was very attentive to the Princess Wilhelmiha of Stumps Giggenstein." " Who do you mean l> y'ke. Miss Kllnkenberg?** said the captain. . 4 Why, Captain Steinfelt," said Amelia, half angry with him, and half ashamed of herself,—" I mean— I mean-— the, khrg!"'. " Oh!" said tile captain, bowing. " I only asked. Tou seem to have made considerable progress in your acquaintance with his majesty." " Yes." said the young lady; " and, besides this rose, Which , is faded I confess."— at this point of her conversation she caressed it and played with : its leaves—", besides this, the king has given papa the order of— what is it, dear Caroline? — St. Hubert " " Indeed!" said Steinfelt, whose thoughts suddenly flew from the order to ths abDey of St. Hubert in the Netherlands, which, at the moment, he did not tlilnk at all' an unsuitable receptacle eitiier for the king or the general. " Why, you come from court loaded fvith ) onourg." ' . v''.';': .' .'" "' I hat , Princess Wilhelmina of Stumps Griggenstein, is very plairi/' said Amslia. " She is to be our queen, I am told," Said the captain. Amelia said nothing, but her lip quivered and her cheek flushed. Steinfelt saw what Was passing in her mind. ' " Some people have destined the king for an English lady," said Steinfelt; " but the objection fo the match, which is insuperable; is, that she is a subject." Amelia coloured '• gain, and it wis with something like- a con- sciousness, founded, as it would seem, upon what the king had whispered the night beforej that she said, " Is that objection in- superable? . Our king is very English in. his opinions and feelings, and in Englan. d. kings marry subjects." " Not now," said Steinfelt. 41 Come, Amelia, let us. join Caroline and Melfort." " Oh, I cannot Walk to- day,'' said Amelia ; " I am tired— tired beyond belief,— besides, I should not like to leave home until— until " Sh^ i would have said, " until I know the king will be engaged at court at the levee ," for she was full of the Id a that he would visit. Starenberg. Steinfelt'todk his chaco, and humming a tuoe','' walked to the open door of the boudoir-, then played with the jasmines and honeysuckles that twined through the columns of the portico, then stepped down one step, then down another, and finally walked himself off; his pride was hurt, his heart was pained. In one short evening Am ell seemed to have . changed her whole character, and, dazzled by the attentions of her sovereign, appeared to have lost the recollection of all. that had been pausing during the previous half year. ' Steinfelt made every allowance, for the peculiarity of the circumstances, and the nature of the trial to which'she had been exposed, but he could no' discuss or argue the topic with her; he- did not love her less than he did the day before, but the day before he did not know that he loved her so much ; the approach of a rival, and such a rival as a king, gave a stimulus to his feel- ings, and they overcame him: " hiu only safety was in a retreat like a good tactitlon he adopted it. Amelia saw him depart without concern, without emotion ; the first advantage she took of his absence was to cross the room and re- arrange those ringlets, of, hers, before the looking- glass— the king bad prai « edher ringlets and har eyes; and when she ( heard footsteps in the antechamber, she hurried back to the. sofa with a fluttering heart— perhaps HE was come, perhaps a chamberlain, an usher, a page— but. no! When the " benighted " general, returned in the evening, Ame- lia's inquiries were numerous. The ceremony of investiture occu- pied about three minutes. The court. was crowded, and | the king had only spoken a few words to Klink< inberg; but those few words were important., and sounded like the music of sweet bells in Amelia's ear. " General," said his majesty, " I am going very soon to look at Starenberg. I think I should like it for a summ? r residence." These words tiie general repeated meruly as a common- place expression of the king's intention ; but Amelia read them differ- ently. He had never been to Starenberg— never thought he should like it as a summer residence, until lie had seen her, and he was coming very soon. It seemed as if - her towering hopes were to be realized. Nor could she look at the glittering decoration which sparkled on her father's breast without believing herself to have been fhe csuse of its appearance there. Stelnfelt was not present when the general returned; he had made some plea for being away from Starenberg for two days, during which period Amelia continued in a state. of feverish agita- tion, which none but ladies who have flown ' at quarries as high as hers can possibly appreciate; nor did the piaeld happinens of Caroline and Melfort at all disturb her. The rose was quite dead, bnt yet its withered stalk was her. solace ; and hour after hour passed in anxious expectation exf the event which, as she reasonably enqujgh believf d, was destined to decide her fate. One evening, tjie fourth after the ball, the general, Amelia, Melfort, and Caroline, were sitting in the garden pavilion, when a servant was seen hurrying along the Walk which led to it, holding in his hand a letter. Tha very sight of a letter in the existing state of Amelia's mind, threw her into a terrible agitation; but when she heard hur father exclaira, as he read the superscription,— " From the palace!" it was with difficulty she could retain her seat or her senses-. " H w did this cpmei" said the general to his servant. " By an orderly, general," replied the servant. " I will read it, papa," said Amelia, " for you." " Child," said the knight of St. Hubert, " read it; it comes from the king's secretary, and is marked ' Private and confidential,'— let me- see." Saying which, the general having placed " his spectacles onnose," read— first to hiniflelfj, and secondly aloud— what follows:— " Private.— Dear General,, " Tha king proposes, I believe, to visit Starenberg to- morrow about one o'clock. He wishes to avoid ail ceremony, but as I thought, under the jyeculiar. circumstances of his visit, you might wish to be there, I have written to let yqp know what I balleve to be his majesty's intention. It may be as wall not to say to any body that I have apprized you of it. " Ever yours, dear General, " C. FENANINK." " To- morrow!"' murmured Amelia, in a suppressed toae. " Now what had wr beat do V sMd Kiinkenberg. " I suppose, young ladies, you will take care that a collation is prepared for his majesty ?" " I will take care of that, sir," said Amelia. " Why," said Mclfort, " if the reports of royal visits are at all correct, collations form no inconsiderable portion of the perform- ance. A court party in progress takes more feeding than a steam- engine." " The king would make this place very gay If he came to live here,'' said the general. " Itis/ yery odd, I thought by bis manner the other day that he meant to come, but " " I think/' said Caroline," gay a » U13 ltfug'g residence may make it, we are much ha^ ibr. in truth without him ; living in the coh-' 1 lines ofa court is like living en a tight rope-^ it requires a constant effort to keep oneself balanced, while an attempt to jump is mist- likely to produce a fall." . r « - " Figurative as'ytfu are, Caroline," said Melfort, " depend upon if;- you are right; however, I suspect the palace is not the object of the king's visit.'* " What then, Melton? 1' said the general. ' - " It is said, sir," said Melfort, " that Amelia has caught the king's heart." " Psha 1 psha l" said Klkikenbei g, upray let me hear nothing of the sort'. Ridiculous !" and so tha conversation ended. ~ Nobody could adequately describe the hurry and flurry, and bustling and scrambling, in which the evening was passed, nor the renewal . of all the efforts in. the mDrni' g of. the. Kiinkenberg family to complete the preparations for the reception of. the king. The Gunter of Munich, 011 the shortest notice, had before noon spread a banquet iu the large saloon. W dch opened in to the g irden, and th; e old plate of the Jtlinkenbe'gi Was " paraded up'pn temporary sideboards in the recesses. , Ths choicest fruits, the finest wines, everything tWt could gratify the royal palate, were furnished forth; and by one o'clock. It Was announced that ihe king m'ght come Whenever he pieaSed. .. . : Early in the morning, however, Caroline and Melfort had. a con- versation the m- 3st- intere; sti'rg of, their lives. Ihe orderly Who had brought the general's letter fr « rt » Count Penanlnk,. the secretary, Jttd . also brought . orders from the Gomm^ pder- in- chief to Captain Steinfelt and- Ueutenant M'eU'art toJom t& eir- reg'mwnt with their ftroop now doing duty as the kirg's guard rat. S$ arenb, arg — they Were to much the follcW'' g day. The nature of this conversation the reader may guess, Meifort made the declaration Which Caro- iiiie had long e. xpected j and, kno^ itig her sentiments with regard to Melfort, there can be little dQubt. how she received it: suffice it to say that Mellort W is the happiest of Bleu. Steintelt who was jaWare Ql. M& ton** intentions, although too much piqued and morUfied by Amelia s recent conduct to risk an iaterview with her on his return. addresse'i to her a letter explana- tory of hfs feelings, and requiring - an answer to the offer of his attachment^, to whUh a cold r.- ply and refusal Was returned.: - " ileartless, cruel girl'." said Steinfelt,. as he dashed this note upon the table. " She whcM t. idalized — she who has been all the world to fiiand Whose taith is as much plighted to me as if wa had sworn to love eternally— she whom It- Would have been ffly pride to have taken into the boscm pi m. y family— she to whom I looked as the comfort of my life, the-:——' . V Turn out th'a guard f" said the sentry at the gates. A Way went Aiiialia's letter, Sruffipliid IntQ. the sabretache; onW.- nt the sword and chaco; doWa stairs ran'the captain, and ia two minutes, mounted 011 his paw. pg charg- r, he was at tha head of his men. A royal carri^ gj drove into the quadrangle} it Was not the king. Count Pen ani itic Rodantaye, the surveyor of the works, and Skaffeld., the king's architect, were the inhabitants of the vehicle. The guard turned in 1 the architect and surveyor proceeded up the great staircase, and Count Pen& nink Want to Klinkenbergs apart- ments. " Do you thitlr, count, that the king is likely to reside here I" said Kliukenberg. " Upon % Ward,' said the count, " I cannot venture to surprise at present; there are great rtttractSonSllere"— Amelia's heartbeat— '• and circumstances may occur which Would render it a very agreeable residence. The distance from town is so convenient— not that I am at all aware wnat his majesty's intentions are— it Was quite sudden his majesty's desire ot visiting it; I -" - This Sv is all honey and nectar to Miss Kimkenbf; g, who was j jst preparing to question the count, whan ; th'e saloon door was tliroWa violently open, and one ot rhe- king's servants ran in un ceremonious!?, and exclaimed} ( " Count! Cjunt! the king is coming !" Away went Penanink, away went kiinkenberg, leaving Amelia in a state ot dreadful ag tation, and Caroline in a dreadful fit of laughing, to see the cola, cautious secretary, who had been measur- ing out his words with the most precise primness, take a start as • if the palace were on fire, and to see her venerable and Venerated father regenerated into a racer by the magical- sound of the " king is coming," Wire too much for her unsophwticated mind, and it was only after a severe lccture frofil her majesty elect that she could sumuen gtavity enough to lot k out of the wiudcWs to see the arrival. At length the moment arrived; Amelia could not hear her own heart heat; her father's voice sounded in the anterOom, and forth- with thedoofs were thrown open, and there entered Count Penan- ink, Captain Spyhauseii, and Major Sneukanburgh, the equerries, Mr. Skaffeldj- the- architect, Mr. Borlantape, the surveyor- general, and Lieutenant MelfdrCj df the king's g, uard. Considering these inferiors to be but the leaders of the proces- sion, the he. au of the'column, as her father would have phrased it, Amelia was ail smiles and graclousness; but when she heard her father give Orders to" throw open the'room where stood the roya1 collati. n, and Count Penanink came up to her and offered her his arm to lead her to table, she felt overwhelmed with wonder and amazeliient. iier feelings were too powerful to permit her to be silent. " Where is the king, sir?" said she to. the count, as they passed frtm one room to the other. He is gone," said the count; " he never eats luncheons." Gone !' aaid Amelia—" luncheon 1" Yes," replied the count, " he is quite del ghted with the palace, and means almost immediately to take up his residence here." Amelia felt iu a trance— a dream— a dreadful dream. '• Mr. Rodantape," cried General Kiinkenberg, " will you sit next my eldest daughter ?," Poor- Amelia! instead ofthe Bavarian monarch, to have the sur- veyor- gent- ral of the Wvjrka placed at her left h ind,! At this period it became a question with Miss Amelia Klinken- bferg whether she would faint or not; but still hoping that the kpng's absence was oWUig to same etiquette of- which she was not rWare, she resolved to endure what was in progress, and devote herself tp'the count, from whom the hoped to extract some courtly intelligence. •* You are acquainted wilh Captain Stelufelt?" said the count. . " Yes," stammered Amelia, rather wavered by the question,— " Yes." " The king has made him a happy man this morning," said tha count; •" he has given him one of the beat appointments he could hold." " Indeed!" said Amelia. " And one which will afford him a most . delightful opportunity of travelling," said the count, " for ha will go on the special mis- sion which to be sent to bring home our new queen." To this Amelia made no answer, for she could not utter. " And though/' continued the count, " in consequence of the king's choosing to live here after . his marriage, your father will lose the advantage of these apartments, still——" At this period the option of fainting or not was no longer left to Wins. Amelia K'Hnkenberg— ahe fell senseless . from heV chair, and escaped the contamination of sitting next the aurveyor- gt'neral of th* works, by being Carried in a lifeless state to her bed- room. * * # * * In three weeks from that day the King of Bavaria was married ; in six weeks from that day Caroline became the wife of Melfort; In three months from that- day Steinfelt was united'to the: wealthy Dowager Duchess of Oldanfatt; and twenty years from that day Miss Amelia KRnkenbe- g was Miss Amelia Kiinkenberg • still, and without any prospect of changing her condition for the better. Proud and poor, the disappointment of hopes which never had any foundation except in her own vanity, and which converted the gracious condescension of a monarch into the devotion of a lover, preyed upon her mind, and induced her prudentially to declare her resolution ot never marrying; a resolution which, as the" story of her mistake about the king and her mia'conduct towards Steinfe'lt got known, nobody ever persuaded her to rescind; and s. he passes her time^ now in preaching prudence to her lovely nieces with a constant exhortation to them never to g ve up the cert un. ty ol happiness for the chance of" splendour, but always to rec- i » Uect the homely English proverb, that4' ONE BIRD IN HAND IS WORTH TWO I. N THE BUSH," ffloM OF MADAME LAFARGE, WRI'ITEN BY HKKSK1. K. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH EXPRESSLY FOR THIS WORK. ( Continued from our last.) Amongst the friends we saw the moat frequently were many young ladies and some young men; the Made- moiselles de T ' s, my old friends, became so lovely and so disdainful, that 1 knew much better how to ad- mire than to like them; their cousins, three nullities, wearisome enough; M. ML de Bussiere, well informed, witty, and cheerful J in short, M. de Meuiieval, son of Napoleon's intimate secretary, who had a pretty little figure, a pretty little foot, a' pretty litle wit, and an immense love far Mathilde de Coehorn. Mathilde, a charming, person, resembled one of those lovely German Madona's in calm and sweet expression, and if, she was a little more animated thau a statue, she sometimes through nonchalancy and ennui forgot to live; she was an esceilent musician, a good and tender creature, not having altogether heart enough to really love her friends, but reflecting so well their affections, that they might imagine she did so; her soul was like the fine Venetian mirrors, which faithfully render the features, the expression, the smile, of those we love,— but of which the even surface has preserved nothing ; whefi in the days of absence we interrogate them, we ask from them those we regret aud those we have lost. Sophie, M. de Coehorn's youngest sister, had an ex- cellent heart, and much originality; she would have been extremely elever but for tier constant pre- occupa- tion, and her deep vexation against an unfortunate Roman nose, which had monopolized the whole of her face, and of which ihe magnificent proportions had only the immense defect of beins; extra natural. 11 lived a little like a savage in the midst of all this company, preserving my great child's habits and tastes, which was a natural consequence of my education. My mother had so often repeated to me that 1 was ugly, I saw it so plainly by comparing my head in the glass with the pretty curly head of Antonine, that I had sworn to acquire talent enough to make my deficiencies be for- gotten, sufticient amiability to render me pretty. All my days were devoted to study; during mealtimes, or at the evening conversations, I tried to make myself quite imperceptible; and my mother, at ten, with a look, sent me to bed. I was so habituated not to importune others with my insignificant person, that it seemed to me very surpri- ing a stranger should believe himself obliged to say an amiable word. to me. M. Esmond de Coehorn having one day kissed my hand, 1 was so asto- nished, so proud, so happy at it, that 1 said " thank you," to him. During the whole of that summer, 1 had the happi- ness of reading Sir Walter Scott's romances 5 their pe- rusal enchanted me, I was no longer alone— my imagi- tion had friends in Fergus, the Master of Raveuswood, Caleb, Flora Mac- IWf, and Diana Vernon, the noble and frank young girl, whom I made the companiou of my dreams, and the sister of my thoughts. Every even- ing, before going to sleep, I called her to me, or I went to seek her, to gallop by her side, when she followed the chace upon her white mare across the heaths of Scot- land; she told me her joys, her tastes; which were my joys, my tastes ; she spoke to me of her heart, and 1 felt that if I were one day to love, 1 should love as she loved. This intimacy, between my thought and the thought conceived hy the genius of Walter Scott, lasted a very long time ; it even some years later had a great influence over nfy life, and now I still evoke the imaee of the noblest . creation of the Scotch poet as a sweet remem- brance and as a friendly phantom. The. German lessons given me by M. detCoehorn suffered a little from the animated life that had invaded our solitude, but 1 studied a great deal by myself, and went in search of counsel and encouragement to one of her aunts, whose little manor was only separated from Ittenwillers by a meadow. All my mother's new relations were amiable and kind to us. Madame de Fontanille, who had comprehended me above all tbiogs, had need of being beloved, had made for as an affectionate kindred in her heart; she called us her children, and we called her dear aunt, the . same as her nieces, It was impossible to be more indul- gent, to forget herself for others more completely than she did. 1 was quite happy when 1 had obtained per- mission to go and pass the morning with her; her eyes not allowing her to read, 1 placed mine at her service,— aud, as recompense, she recited to me her charminjand naive translations of Schiller and Goethe; and her verses were so original, so perfect, they seemed rather transfused than translated. Madame de Fontanille had no children, but a husband quite as good as she herself was good, and whose mar- riage with her formed a little romance. M. de Fonta- nille had left Gascony to come and lead a joyous bache- lor's life at Paris ; loving all the pretty things of this world, he only adored pretty little feet; and so he had made a collection of all the delicately small slippers that had excited his enthusiasm, and he always wore next to his heart the coquettish and satiny shoe of his most re- cent amour. Business calling him to Strasbourg, he there met with 111 a saloou, resting upon the gilt sphynx of enormous gothic round table, a mischievous, lovely, charming foot, of an admirable puritv of form, no longer, 110 broader, than a finger biscuit. Astonished and ravisjjed at the same time, M. de Fontanille pro- cured himself an introduction to the mother of the deli- cious little foot. He saw it everv day, became ena- moured of ir; he discovered that the provincial arrut to whom was assigned the task of making the shoes for that foot was unworthy the noble mission, that, he might rub, wound it.; perhaps, dishonour it, by giving it a corn. His uheasiness became frightful, unbearable, and to save this little masterpiece, he wanted to become its lord and master, to make of it his God, and offer it his name, his heart, his hand; he was accepted. Since his marriage , M. de Fontanille goes to Paris almost everv year to have his wife's shoes made under his own eyes ISABELLE, THE MANIAC. On visiting au apartment in Bacilajn sume few years since, I directed my attention to a young lady, \ vhose appearance had Something of superior dig'iiity. Her faco, though pale and wasted, tiad still some truCea ot t'ormjtr'. bi'auty remaining; she Stood g ii g on a ling she had on, And kissing it with the utmost transport, and then the would seem unmindful of anything around hsr. Her air showed a dejection ot that decent kind which moves our pity, unmixed with horror. The keeper who accompanied me, at my request related tlie following particulars of her :—" Isabelle," he said, " was horn to ride in her coach and six ; she loved, and was beloved in return, by William •, a young gentleman, her equal ty birth, though tar from it In fortune. They had courted some time unknown' to her father; she, therefore, oue day told him nf their attachment, and solicited him to sanction their union, but h- biting oi an avaricious disposition, had another object in vi#; w oil whom to bestow his daughter, uhireupon he repulsed her. and would not hear . of lier being uiiited to one .0 muih be- neath her in fortune, threatening at the. same time to sh it his floor against her for ever, if she uared 10 see or'communic. tta with William ag tin. But. hjwever, notwithstanding wh it her father had s lid, the obtained an interview with her lover by stealth, and told him what her father had said. WiiKimi had resolved upon, and. therefore, told 1 lahelle bis intentions of, going to the West Indies; and as h; kllJiild go in the course of a day or IWJ, he would then bid her adieu. He told her he WAS going with the intent to better his fortune, if poislbie, and then to return and claim her hand. Thay then bid each other adieu, and parted, which wai a hard struggle to them both 1 bnt they hoped it would not be long ere they ahoidd meet , g tin, anu th it assisted them to bear up under their trial. But mat pirl. ii g ivai for ever! for scare ! y had William landed in India, when he wasse zed with one of tiie fev. TS common In those islands, and he died in a few days after, lamented hy all that knew him The awful news soon readied Isabelle, who at the same time \ va. pressed hy her father to marry a miserly old man, more lit lor her grandfather, liut grief for the death of her lover,, plunged her in a severe illness, i'uuth, however, prevailed over tlie malady, and she gradually re- covered her strength. Neither her iltbe. s or the death of her lover had any weight with her father, fur he', on her recovery, became more argent ill seeing her married to the miserly old man wh mi she could not ever respect, s. that the death of William, tig. ther with her father's ill treatment, and her aversion to the old man. reduced her to the state.. in which you now see her. Remorse haunted U r falh jr's conscience, aud suffered his fortune to go to ivreck, and soon after died almost a beggar.' CHAPTER XI. CHINISX OtmioN ON IHE BODV.— The BadMsts speak of It most contemptuously. - It is at best," they say. *' but a loath- some hag,' a sentiment probably generated by the successive trans- migrations to whirh It is thought one s » ui may be subjected. Since the body is a mere vehicle of preparation to the spirit for its higher destinies, without any share in the enjoyments secured by a triumphant course of v. rtue, it is necessarily degraded far below the dignity ascribed ; to the immaterial and immortal pa; t. It is, however, honoured more highly than animals, which, according to the notions of this sect, are also receptacles of souls sent back from Hades in fulfilment of judicious decrees awarded to them In different halls of ju'grnent through which They pass to undergo the ordeal instituted tor humaa btlng « in these invisible regions.— rrofesaor KiM's China, WHEN autumn came, the vintage and the fresh days, rather gilt 1 han warmed by the suu, we made long, de- licious mountain parties. Baron Hallez, who possessed some of the richest mountain peaks of the Vosges, with their forests, their meadows, and the antique ruins of their feudal ch^ teaos, gave us climbing mornings that were ravishing. We rode the first part of the way on little mountain galloways, then we came to the perpen- dicular rock, where the spiral path had been only worn by some shepherds or some wild goats ; we trusted our- selves to Our own powers, and each di » p! ayed more or less agility in liis or her ascension. There were falls— faces quite red, and out of breath— rocks gracefully seated— riyulets cleared with talent; if a false step was hissed, a bold and graceful leap was applauded. At length, at noon,. we reached some of the towers, where « ve by chance met with shade, mossy dwan, an excel- lent dinner. Most frequently wind instruments, distributed in the underwood, formed delicious echoes; the musicians executed national and exciting " licuders ;" at, first we listened to them, then danced them, with the bounding and enthusiastic enthusiasm of mountaineers; who stopped till at the command of all powerful fatigue, and when the purple and crimson clouds of the setting suu announced the hour of departure; we had scarcely suf- Scient strength remaining to let ourselves slide down on the dried trunks of tbe fir trees to the place where the galloways and horses were waiting. These courses enchanted me, pleasure and impatience used to keep me awake the whole of the night that pre- ceded them ; M. Haltez' two sons were generally my squires; they were seventeen or eighteen years old, were lively and sensible lads. They, like myself, were in a category by no means marriageable, and we raced, and hunted'each other, and laughed like mad, without any fear of compromising ourselves; only, as they danced very ill, 1 left them at hall time for my step- lather, or Mr. Edmond de Coehorn, cxcell- ntdancers, who turned me round, aud raised me like a feather. The Alsatian dances are a compound of the waltz and the gallopade. The rythm, at first rather slow, becomes more and move quick ; the dancers balance themselves, they turn carelessly togethei ; then the arms are en- twined, and they form a thousaud graceful passes ; they separate, they rejoin— the dancers mark the measure by beating the ground with their feet; they seemed to fly as they twirl round ; then, when the last strain is heard, they raise their partner in their arms, give a short wild shout, and still iu cadence again set her down, making a bow of thanks and farewell. Iu the month of December, M. Edmond de Coehorn, seat as secretary of embassy tg Constantinopla, left us charged with all our commissions, all our kindest vows fdr Madame de Martens, who had now been gone six mo. n, ths. to the east to rejoin her husband, appointed Prussian Ambassador at the Sublime Porte. My poor aunt's health had suffered cruelly during the passage; we knew her to be melancholy, ill,— we were very often, and very painfully, thinking of het, and M. de Coehorn promised to love and take care of her forour sakes. We passed the whole of the winter at Strasbourg. I was presented to a few persons, and made wliat is called my entrance into the world ; that is to say, I had the honour of seeing my name written upon some invitation cards— of going to a few balls— of receiving a few salutes in the street— and some common- place compliments in a saloon. 1 w as extremely fii'td of dancing; doubtless, 011 account of the rapidity of the motion; perhaps, also, because I danced well,— that I heard it repeated around me,— and that hecause self- love, or vanity, has always some little influence on our tastes. In revenge, the talking part of the ball was odious to me ; 1 did not know how to repeal ready made phrases ; cud my mo- ther had forbidden me so many subjects of conversa- tion, that I could not avoid the possibility of appearing stupid, as my vocabulary was only composed of the rain and the fine weather, or of remaining mute like a fool. Sometimes, tired of my nullity, and of all those shackles imposed by custom and precedent, I shook oft the yoke for a second, and dared say to my partner that I was— a little by taste, a little by order— a dancing machine— and that I begged him to be indulgent, to put off for some years the proof of our imaginations in the inter- change of our thoughts, I most frequently resigned myself to my part without giving warning, and only tried to put the little grains of wit that couldn't be in my mouth in the point of my feet. If to these little ball- room tortures are added the sermons of the next day 011 the text of some little want of propriety, too sleepy an air, or too animated a look ; it will be com- prehended that I, with regret, accepted mv dignity of young woman, and that I was, for a long time, some- what uncivilized and somewhat childish. The society of Strasbourg had been flourishing pre- vious to the Revolution of July, but that event had paused a necessitv of fusion that paralyzed gaiety anil good humour. The haughty nobility, the majority of whuse fortunes were ruined, willingly accepted the in- " vitations of Jiie rich plebians, but brought with them to their balls a very^ rude and very frozen air of vain condescendauce. The rich '< panenus" of. the middle class, on their side, o'H going to their adversaries, smiled at the faded liveries, the tarnished escutcheons of the pretentious nobles, and m the determination to oppose the pride of wealth to til. e pride of ancestry, seemed to consider it as more than an equivalent for their inferiority in accomplishments, education, and courtly politeness. However, the frank and joyous cordiality of the former days were again to be found in some houses; the luxury of the heart, in the place of all the luxury of fortune or of vanity. In these balls the national waltz triumphed over the contre- danse; galopades, cotillons, boulan- g& res, succeeded each other till daybreak, the moment when, to put the finale to so many pleasures and fa- tigues, the salad of potatoes, and the fat liver ( foie graf) pasty was brought in, to refresh the dancers. General Brayer was the only oue amongst the autho- rities who paid any attention to the amusement of the tqwns- people ; he gave pretty balls, and his daughter, Madame Marchand, did the honours of them with per- fect grace. M. Marchand, Napoleon's head valet- de- chambre, was well informed, but he w as sad, reserved, and he bore in his look ihe expression of a great " sou- venir," and of great regret. At the beginning of spring ou'. r poor little sister was taken ill; it was a frightful affliction to my poor mo- ther— a great grief to me. I did not love Jeanne as I loved Antonine; but my affection, that was bestowed rather on the infant than on the sister, was very great, and almost maternal. How many times I have cradled heron my knees!— how many times I have ma Je her tiny chaise roll along- the avenues of the park !— rum.-' ng quite fast, as she cried out to me, with her little voice-- ' Again, Marie- again, again!" for her so pale face face would become rosy and animated; and if I sank down breathless, she would put her two little arms round my neck, embrace me, and cover me with the flowers of her favourite nosegays. No specific complaint had declared itself; yet every day took from the poor little thing some portion of her strength and colour; she every day became more lovely, more adorable; it seemed as if the infant was trans forming itself into an angei, and its poor mother might comprehend by the perfection pf her treasure, that it was going to return to heaven. What despair ! to feel ourself powerless to preserve the life w'e have given, to sec one's infant languish, suffer, die, upoli our bosom ! And that agony of adieu, without the possibility of illu- sion, lasted six months; Jeanne expired without suffer- ing, similar to thoje lovely stars that shine at night in the firmament, that turn pale at the dawn, and that we no longer find iu the morning. When my mother locked at the little angel's now empty cradle, her grief became almost madness; some- times our caresses gave her pain, and she pushed us violently away ; at other times, on seeing us weep with her, she kissed our tears, and seemed to gather them to console her; she would now try to banish the remem- brance of her infant, most frequently she seemed to exist only upon it. Jeanne was fond of going to sleep with her little haeds passed through one of my curls; my mother made me cut that curl off, and give it to her ; Jeaune loved Autonine above all, Antonine became more than ever the favourite of that poor mother. The little tomb of the infant had been hid under a white rose- Tee, not far from the house ; my mother and M. de Coehorn were there continually. Their grief thus continually renewed, became every day more violent; it was indispensable to tear them from Ittenwillers. and mak « them set out for Villers- Hellou. My aunt Garat came to rejoin us there, and the three sisters were soon all reunited by the arrival of my aunt De Martens, \ had been driven from Constantinople by the " mal pays" ( home- sick), The preconception of this return, which 1 my mother her sister, her most intimate frier good ; she presented M. de Coehoin to iug the sufferings, and all the joys, each other iu her heart since the d; regret, at ce ising to be the her soul, became a calm longer gave us any fear of soon seeing another ' It was seven years quilted France, her l' the day of her arriva one another weeping through smiles aud t: they had loved, and were astonished, they other; ques- tions were exchanged like their kisses : 1 again repeat it, that was a great day. I had been brought up in the love of my aunt, and a firm belief in the superiority of ber mind ; now that I could put my faith to theproofof reality and teasoning, it became every day more lovely, more comple e ; Ma- damede Martens Is notonly au amiable, a witty woman, but there is an infinite attraction, and a charm about her that renders her irresistible ; her thought takes, to plea- e, all forms, all the graces, all the coquetries, lu company the depth of her understanding is veiled, but often a single word is sufficient to awaken it, and un- known echoes escape from it. Her mind illuminated by rays from the heart sparkles with imagination, CHAPTER XII. MY two cousins were cordially welcomed, and made jnucb of amongst us; they were both pretty. They bad both of them brought back from Germany, from Italy, from the East, a little foreign perfume, which made them deliriously original. Hermine, with her flaxen hair and pale complexion, was the young maiden dreamt of by poets; Bertha had great eyes, a saucy, turned up, nose— the heart of a little angel— the spirit of a little demon. The model education of iny cousins was tile dearest pie- occupation of their mother; according to her system she taught them their thoughts as WJ learn our lessons. They had officially all the tastes, ail the ideas, all the creeds of their mother; a perfect behaviour, received and corrected every day ; talents, learning enough ; in short, a governess, whom ihey governed,— and who was a kind of responsible minister, wearisome to the executive, still more wearisome to the administifees, alternately scoldiug and being scolded. My grandfather was happy in this complete reuniou of all bis family. His three daughters, still young, still lovely,— always gracious and kind, did the honours of his house with as much ease as distinction. His son presided over his fields, over his woods, and even over his shep- herdesses.] ( 7' 0 } e continued in our next.) THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' 1 POLICE GAZETTE; ^ Fragments for © uricus?. GENERAL RUN OF FACULTIES.— Society is a more level surfaee than we imagine. Wise men or absolute fools are hard to be met with, as there are few giants or dwarfs. The heaviest charge we ean bring against the general texture of society is, that It is com- mon- place ; and many of those who are singular had better be common- place. Our fancied superiority to others Is in some one thing, which we think most of because we excel in it, or have paid most attention to It; whilst we overlook their superiority to us in something else, which they set equal and exclusive store by. This 3s fortunate for all parties. I never felt myself superior to any one who did not go out of his way to affect qualities which he had not. In his own individual character and line of pursuit, every one has knowledge, experience, and skill; and. who shall say which pur- suit requires most, thereby proving his own narrowness and in. competency to decide I Particular talent or genius does not imply general capacity. Those who are more versatile are seldom great in any one department; and. the stupidest people can generally do something. The highest pre- eminence in any one study commonly arises from the concentration ef the attention and faculties OH that one study. He who expects from a great name in politics, in phi- losophy, in art, equal greatness in other things, is little versed in human nature. Our strength lies in our weakness. The learned ! n books are ignorant of the world. He who is ignorant of books is often well acquainted with other things; for lite is of the same length in the learned and the unlearned. The mind cannot be idle; if it Is not taken up with one thing, it attends to another, through choice or necessity; and the degree of previous capacity in one class or another is a mere lottery.— Havlitt's Characteristics, SONG, Written for " The Penny Sunday Times.'* The Knight of the Rose, so gallant and brave, On the pinions of hope speeds over the wave, With victory crown'd, and laurels of fame, He hastens his " Lady Love's " hand to claim j And that lady her " Heart of Heart's " bestows, With her hand, on her own brave Knight of the Rose. " The Knight of the Rose " hath rear'd a bower, Wherein to transplant his own lov'd flower, Which he purchaa'd with so much toll and care, And will shield it from ev'ry blighting air; There, nurtur'd in love, it « leaves will unclose, And fondly expand to the Knight of the Hose. ANNA, MINSTREL OF THE HEATH. * R PASSION FOR FOX- HUNTING.—• Considering the Duke of Cleve- land's acknowledged cultivation and accomplishments, he is one of the most remarkable living instances of the passion ( for fox- hunting). During seme years he hunted his own hounds regul ^ rly six days in the week. He had a change of clothes at all t^ e prin- cipal inns within his hunt, to the nearest of which he always re- paired after his sport was over; aud putting himself iatl0 a chaise and four, ready dressed for the evening, a sma'A field- piece at his park- lodge announced his approach to the c^' stle, and by the time he arrived dinner wag on the table. Th.- e ruling passion " strong in death,'' was never more strongly exemplified than in Mr. T. Shafto, a disstinguished follower oi the Raby hounds. He was on hia way to Ireland with a sporting friend, when the captain of the vessel came down to their cabin and informed them that all hope was over. Instead of giving vent to the ordinary exclamations of terror, he heaved a tf. aep sigh, and thus apostrophised his com- panion in distress, « « 1 say, Bob, no more Uikenby Whin!" ( a iavourlte covert within the hunt.) ZELIE'S BLUSH. "^ WRITTEN BY A. KYNE. AS late I press'd to greet my fair, She strove against the bold intrusion j When from its folds her ringlet hair Fell down in elegant confusion. ' Twas Virtue's ruse to hide her charms, That glow'd like roses ripe in blossom j For love's fond touch had spread alarm, Add blushes o'er her face and bosom. * Twas vain to spread the veil of hair, And seek to hide the sweet suffusion; Could she suppose its spreading there Would check the vision's fond intrusion? Ah ! no— the blush, though it may prize Bright as the hyacinthine blossom j Each curl another grace supplies, And lures the gaze to face and bosom. While clasp'd. within my fond embrace, Thougn co retiring sense distressing, Intense i gazed upon her face, That was such gentle fears confessing; Though smiles half chastened down the frown, She shrank like nature's feeling blossom, And with a language of its own, The blush repell'd me frem her bosom. The blush is lost when lorg the mind Has subject been to daring boldness, But in the timid heart confined, It sleeps at rest in virtuous coldness. Thus when some deed the thought confounds, Bright as the sun- enlightened blossom, It rushes from its prison- bounds, And spreads its li& ht o'er face and boscm, Those maidens seek the pigment's aid, W hose cheeks have lost tneir pristine beauty j One florid glare is then displayed, And no warm blush performs its duty. But Zelie claims no aid from art, To heighten bfeauty's roseate blossom j Chaste rectitude sends from her heart The IfVush that paints her face and bosom, Tfv<! richest stole may deck a queen, Her crown may blaze with jewel'd splendour, But can the diamond's bright serene Supply the grace the blush can lend her ? Though Ze. Ue wears a meaner guise, A wreath of simple myrtle blossom, The want of state her worth supplies, While blushes paint her face and bosom. AIDS TO CONTENTMENT.— A great deal of discomfort arises from over- sensitiveness about what people may say of you, or your ac- tions. This requires to be blunted. Consider whether anything that you can do will have much connexion with what they will say. And besides, it may be doubted whether they will say anything at all about you. Many unhappy persons seem to imagine that they are always in an amphitheatre, with the assembled world as spec- tators; whereas, all the while they are playing to empty benches. They fancy, too, they form the particular theme of every passer- by. If, however, they must listen to imaginary conversations about themselves, they might at any rate defy the proverb, and insist on hearing themselves well spoken of. NIGHT. ' Tis grand to see the morn with shining facc, When high above the sea's dark bluest deep, At time ot night, when brightly shine the stars With splendid light— when all the spangl'd host With sanction one, give their confession sure— When shadows shew their forms on things below, And give the night n solemn aspect all— When wayward on the trav'ller bends his way, And strives to reach the nearest timely inn— t'When sweetly sings the bird, the watch of night, gives to nature all its music rare— n. likely accents of a music's pipe, £ test sounds smuse the list'ning ear, jjtor'd streaks of coming day, '"•^ lendours over highest head, £ v? « peak their partner's place, jtvdp'ng day to come, ^ arth, all that's worth— |^ of the scene, ^ cope. A READER, f Aisiasm is in its nature fcrlng, and is Cbnfined to ftf its exultation— it de- | » s violent and extrava- Tie revolTTmH^^^^^^^^^ BPF^ n. It is conquered and surpassed by the genlu^^ PBj^ Tand regular civilization— is exhausted, decayed and powerless ; it is dead, beyond the possi. bility of resurrection* The genius of civilization alone is eternal nourished by a great people, it is inexhaustible. Its knowledge and its resources grow with the obstacles opposed to them. Its power and its fecundity are boundless, for it is progress itself. DRINK!! Let us drink— wine has the power To give pleasure— to give pleasure} Let us laugh the present hour— Mirlh is better far than treasure, Are you poor? Drink the more- Drink without rf gard to measure. Let us drink if care assail us— Drink won't hurt so much as grief} Let us drink, whatever ail us— It will bring a sure relief. Are you Bad ? Drink makes glad— Drinking is a sure relief. Let us drli k if we, forsaken, Find both false our hope and friends- Let us drink— we were mistaken- Drink will make us full amends. For in this We find bliss, When all other pleasure ends. ZETA. THE BITER BIT.—" Stop! stop!" cried a gentleman to an om. nlbus cad, but the cad would neither hear nor stop. " Stupid fellow," said the gentleman, " he'll find it out to his cost by and by, lor I have given him a counterfeit five shilling piece!" But on looking at the change he exclaimed,—" Well, I never! hang me if the rascal hasn't given 4 « . 6d. bad money-, But, never mind, I've had my ride for nothing!— George CruikshanJc's Omnibus. THE PLAY. " Pray when are you going to finish your play V* A gent to an author lately did say; " Why, did not I tell you it was finish'*? quite, And that ' twould appear in about a fortnight? So, sir, I hope your mind is at ease." Yes, but you said you'd only written a piece." ALEXANDER* JOHN KETCH; OR, THE HANGMAN'S BRIDE. A LEAF FROM TYBURN TREE. [ Continuedfrom our last.) George smiled as he looked on Us lovely butthen, and finding not one at hand, bent his head to Indulge with the maiden's his own ruffian Hp, when the landlady entering swiftly In at once, baffled his Intention, by immediately removing the fainting Barbara. ****** On a chair, at the heart of a table covered with flsggons and fruits of all climes and the season, supported by a strong attend ance of Jacobite gentry, sat Sir George Lynx. The song had been " Why not tell me by words/ asked the laird. " For this reason," replied the forlorn i " that the words written here will hare greater force, while appealing to heart and aye, when I am away far distant.'' " You'll farglve me,' said Jamls. " I will/' she replied, and the*, for the first time, met th. lr lips i the moment eras brief, but It was a happy one. * * When the laird had departed, and his form, to her eye. was no longer seen, Barbara tore from the tablets a leaf, and taking the crayon connected Wilh them, « h » rapidly wrote; lllen snatching from her head the straw bonnet she wore, she attached to It the letter which sh. placed on the banks of lh « river j next wildly observing the running stream, ihe cast herself into the water, and they closed over her. ****** John Ketch, In the prison well known as the City Tun, stood waiting Ills doom in chains j and Barabas, with a coll of rope sung, and the feast swept from the board, when rising, and at the which he significantly handled, stood by lilin, MAMA MM. FPNM 1,1. - L.„ TL,.. N IN T. IN... I IT ' I* T. ,1. . . , . . • same time from his pocket producing a letter, he thus, In a lone oratorical and pointed, addressed himself to the assembly:— " My friends and gentlemen,— before we pursue the business of the night for which we have met, I must warn you to preserve a proper caution, for spies are abroad, as I am told by this," and he pointed his linger to the unfolded letter. " Spies 1 spies I" said his followers, rising simultaneously. '* Even so,'' said the knight, " and by this I am taught that one will Intrude, masked, in Gipsy garb, on our midnight con- sulfation.*' " The reptile!'' ejaculated a voice from the table's end. " A reptile In truth,'* was Sir Gregory's quick reply, " and one, too, I warrant, most willing and anxlons to lower our heads to the block,'' and while speaking thus, his eye wandering round, encountered the steady and almost basilisk striking ga « e of the gipsy— Iron Grey. He quailed at it but for a moment only, and rising, directed the attention of the agitated party to the seated old woman. She arose, grasped her crooked crutch, and folding her mantle more close round her time- worn and attenuated form- Then you will sot beccme what I would have you, and save yo » r life— no, not for my daughter's hand, that of Barbara I" No, not even for Barbara,' replied poor Jack. Here— here," said the tempter, " ls the coll— the coll you cut once from k rope of your own spinning, man, and the same that encircled the neck of Gipsy George,' and, advancing, he tcnched Jack's shoulder. The felon shrunk from It, exclaiming, " Hold back If yon are wlsei there's a something within ine as desperate and black as these dark walls. Tempt ray nature no more if you are wise, or these chains,"— and he raised them, npon which the old hangman at once departed, and In his place stood the Laird Lawson. " Strike me, and not him,' said mildly the new comer, " for perhaps I have most deserved It." " Not so," answered John. " I robbed yen, and you did but your duty. Laird, when you brought me h « re— or rather I brought myself. Where's Barbara ?" Jamie gave him the letter. Jack read It, and learnt the worst i that Barbara could be no longer a gem to contend for, either to 1.1 l. I_ _ i , r . . . » . . . . , * .... seemed about to go, when Sir Gregory seised her arm, and at the him or his rival, for, wretched and maddened, she had sought the HRTLNLLT AF KLA IRATNN « .. ~... ^.. J*.. 1 .. -. .1 - ANN KN I — T J 1 1. , , .... height of his voice, a most powerful and sonorous one, he abruptly exclaimed: — " This— this is the spy, by the letter named !— our safety is now at stake, and from this spot she departs not alive." At these words, every rapier there worn was bared? their points were at Iron Grey's heart, while their edges were brandished above her head. " Help ! help !" cried the crone ; " but what help can the deso late hope for ? What hope for me ?'' They pressed upon her still Her spirit rose. " Off cravens and curs,'' she screamed; " I scorn ye all, and were but my son— my Gipsy George among ye now, you would shrink and consume before his eye of fire, as the wheateg. straw would in the glowing furnace.'' Upon hearing his name, George leaning his elbcw upon the wlndow- cill, and who was listlessly gazing into the court below, rushed eagerly forward, and with hurried and eager manner^ quired:— " Who called on Gipsy George " I— I," cried the woman assailed. " You— you,'' answered George ; " yes! it is,*' and opening his arms, they eneircled the figure of one, by the whole world despised save him ;— his mother— " She is our's,'' said Sir Gregory Lynx. " She is mine,'' answered George, and stand from her side, or I'll make you eat your teeth with a Bauce you deserve, of heavy blows for your dinner." " Upon him, and hew him down,'' was the joint reply. 1 A thing easily said, is not always as easily performed,'' re- marked George; " and prithee, sire, who of ye will do it ?" " ' Pshaw! advance nearer a step to do this female harm— I know well your secrets, and well what you all desire; and I'll hang you unto a man, like dogs; you may take my word for it, They paused— nay, they even went back at this— what, in their ing the culprit Geoffrey Lynx, John Ketch, the hangman now, river to drown herselt and her own destruction. * * * * * * Again was poor Jack alone, when, drawing his rose frcm his breast, and from hia rival taken, he gazed at it mournfully, a strain of music stealing upon his ear from without, performed hy some wandering minstrel passing by, and the air," The Last Rose of Sammsr," before those last words were written, well to him knew j Jack burst into tears, when a touch on the shoulder aroused him — it came from George. " You here," said poor Jack,—" my friend, and my only one, Where's my father's knife ?" George extended his hand with the weapon within it, exclaiming, " Look." Quick! give It me," said Jack. On condition, I will," said the other—" that you harg that immeasurable villain, Sir Gregory with the Gash." " But he never wronged me," replied Ketch. " Not wronged you ?" waa George's stern reply. " He killed your father; that scar on his visage was given by your father's blow in self defence, aud with this,"— projecting the knife—" aud with which I would gladly arm an orphan's hand to revenge > lather's murder." " I will strike It unto his villain heart!" said Jack. " Say at once tl. at you will hang him," said George," and the knife is yours. Do you premise ?" " I do," said Jack, as the waapon relinquished by George he seized; " and now say as much to the sheriff." THE EXECUTION. At the door of the old Bowl public house, stood a cart contain- sinking hearts they might call his blunt presumption. George laughed, and then loudly continued thus ;— " You would have me surrender, eh ?— Surrender you, and first of the number, Sir Gregory with the Scar, cast down your sword." Sir Gregory drew, but still held his weapon. ' " The ' Morning Star!' " uttered George. The sword fell from the holder's grip to the floor, and unarmed, with a lofty look, and with his mother upon his arm, the unabashed, fearless George, strode haughtily from that tavern chamber. CONCLUSION. All's well, that ends well.— SHAKSPERE GEORGE having quitted the chamber, a light word from a youth named Sir Dlgby Lloyd, in a wondering application to the courage of Sir Gregory Lynx, for permitting a single and an unarmed man to beard him, as has been described, produced a brawl, and in which Sir Digby met his death, by a sudden and an unwarrantable attack from the sword of Sir Gregory, and for which the latter was incarcerated in a prison, and finally condemned t. o death for the murder of the former ; but as we are condensing now a dra- matic plot, we may as well give to our actors more license still, tfyat, by speaking themselves, they may be, by our readers, better understood, and more clearly develop this, a dramatic story. ****** On the banks of a river which flowed by the Moated Grange, with rod and with line, sat angling, one beautiful morning in May, Master Boreas Bluster, accompanied by Titus Tremor, his friend. A newspaper over the blockmaker's knees was spread, and on which was he as much intent as on his flock. What news ?" asked his friend. Oh! pleasant— most pleasant," answered the clt," Sir George Lynx is to be hanged this morning at ten, for the murder of Sir Digby Lloyd.*' " Good news," said the other, " for I always despised that man.'* Good news! indeed. Good news.— Ah, that's good enough, said the bloekmaker, heaving a sigh ; but now cc- mes words, and he thus read on:—" and, at the same time, for a theft upon Law- son, the laird— my apprentice, of former times, John Kfttch." " Oh ! for him ; then there is no hop*,'' enquired Sir Titus.' Nay— I don't know that,'' replied hia friend, still reading, then, by way of parenthesis— less pertinently than Impertinently, begged to observe, that while he was reading, if his brother pis- cator should observe any lobsters or saline herrings swimming about to let him knew, and then clearing his ' voice, with an un- harmonlous ahem, he recommended, or rather he continued It is said that the executioner, Barabas has suddenly, and with some spleen resigned his calling, and that the council, in cons'- deration of certain circumstances in favour of Ketch, have deter- mined to give Jack his liberty, on condition of Ketch becoming the executioner of Sir Gregory Lynx himself, but which, rather preferring death to degradation, has refused.'' " The noble, spirited youth,' said Sir Titus. " The fool!'' thought Boreas Bluster. * * * * * Down the terrace of the Grange— the property not now of the schoolmaster, but the enriched Laird Lawson, accompanied by Lord Egerton Oldcastle, his guest— came its master— George fol- lowing at a respectful distance— cloaked, booted, and spurred, with whip in hand— a government courier. " But the letter that you were about to read to me,'* said the laird to the lord. It is here,'' was the lord's reply. " It is strange and singular," and drawing it from his pocket vest, in the opening, or drawing it forth, he let fall his tablets for writing on, unperceived, and thus he read :— My lord,— I am loth to say, that with this, you will receive a packet, bearing proof to the guilt of one Gipsy George, who I accuse of piracy on the high seas, aboard a corsair galliot, called « The Morning Star.' To you alone, the facts I confide. You will, therefore, use all despatch to arrest my former friend, that his fate may be as my own, and that I may die well avenged and happy. GREGORY LYNX." The wretch," sighed the laird, " you have named him, and without scandal too." And how would you have me act 1" asked Lord Oldcastle," at this crisis.' I will tell you, and without pause,'' said the kind- hearted Scot. " Burn the letter at once, and by so doing, baffle the greater rogue, that the minor may live for repentance.'' " I will do so," said the peer. George started and clasped his hands, and then raising hi- s eyes to Heaven, he involuntarily exclaimed, " then I cm saved.'' At the abrupt and sharp sound of the action, Lord Oldcastle as abruptly turned, and looking suspiciously at the new- made courier, he demanded of liim the reason that he so suddenly and singularly struck his palms together. Gorege paused, but recovering his usual mood, replied:— " As a signal, ray lord, for yon boat to cross the ferry." " Enough,'' said the peer, " and now, my good man, I would have you most strictly observe me,'' and he produced a small and a well- sealed parchment packet, which to George he most care- fully delivered, with these words :— " It is not the intention of the ministry or cabinet, that this knight should die.'' Not die !' said Laird James, with no little surprise. and an open coffin ; the mob at the felon hooting, at which he rose, and contemptuously thus addressed them :— " Keep silence, you clamorous curs, who hoot at what most you should praise, and admire what is most unworthy, who weep pleasure f, om scenes of . death, and most bitterly weep when your own time's come for dying." Here the bowl, called the " Bowl of St. Giles," was offered to him, which he^ haughtily declined with the remark, " If I drink not, I know that my end will thke place full five minutes sooner j but I would not prolong that life the hun- dredth part of a second, and would give to this hangman my hid- den wealth to drive a sharp knife to my heart at this vsry mo- ment." Jack rose and his hand wandered into his breait for the steel seereted there; when George, cloaked and mantled, crept unto the cart wheel, and significantly, unseen by the rest, put his fingsr to his lip, exclaiming In an under tone, " Jack, remember your pro- mise— to hang him." " I did so," said Jack, " and I'll do it." And the cart, with its load of woe and ignominy, moved on to the place of execution. There he rides In his pride, and goes to his end/ the unpitled, and poor man's oppressor," said the mother of Gipsy Georg » .— " Aye, aye," continued she, " a felon's end, as the bloodspiller should; and Jack by his side as his hangman too, as the finger of fata to me long pointed out. But how is this ? Lord Egerton Old- • astle, and with him the lover laird; come, this is well, and good news the lord shall have from my lips should he liberal be— good jtsws. Aha! yes, most excellent news for his money. Alms, alms, gentles, great and rich," as she met the two named advancing. " I have nothing, dame, less than a golden George, and a guinea Is too much for a peer to give upon all occasions." " But not upon this," answered she, " for I ' 11 tell you some tidings worthy of it." The guinea dropped into her palm, her « ye Wame still more bright, and she continued—" You once loit a daughter, did you not ?" " Have you found her?" asked he,—" umphP I know thit you lost her," she replied. " Do you juggle with me, woman T angrily asked the lord. " I do not," replied Iron Grey. Stay," said Jamie. " How is this Interruption, then? A crowd bends this way; can the execution be already performed >" " Why, my masters," said the landlord of the far- famed " fcowl," with that loquacity peculiar to his race, " it certainly wants some minutes to the period; the culprit refused to take the usual draught, and so his end he expedited." " Alas ! then I see it all," said Jamie, clasping his hands. " The pardon has come too late, which, by the way, be it known, Georg* had delayed for his ewn revenge; — but just are the ways of heaven." With despair at his heart, and a knife in his hand, rushed in the now hangman Jack. It was raised to his throat, and by his own hand would our hero have met his end; when George, from the multitude, still wrapped in his riding cloak, came forward, ex- claiming,— " Hold!— nay, I am sure that you will not attempt your own life! Hold !— hold for me!" " On condition I will," said the desperate Jack—" that you Bar- bara Allen bring frcm the river's depths— alive." *' I cannot, in truth, from the river's depths, but I will from my mantle— behold!" It unfolded, and Barbara, under it till then concealed, came forward. " My child!— oh! my child!— you are at last then found,'' said Barabas. " Child of thine she is not," replied Iron Grey; " and you know it, for together we robbed her frcmyou," running to Lord Old- eastle. Barabas detected, stayed to hear no more; upon which Iron Grey at him pointed, continuing, " There, behold the truth, for he flies, and dare not deny it; and the hangman's Intended bride " " Hangs her arms round the neck," said Barbara, embracing Lord Oldcastle, " of her real father." The lord turned to the Scot," Will you take her, good laird said he. " Aye, with Jack's consent, and not otherwise," answered Jamie, casting an imploring look at his good- hearted rival. What Jack felt at that moment heaven alone can tell j how he acted we will record. He placed Barbara's hand in the laird's, with these words—" Keep— keep her, for yeu are worthier to be her possessor than myself; but still I will keep the rose, and with It, I trust, your friendship, laird, though brief that enjoyment will be, fori feel that I am hastening towards my end." Oh! not so, dear John," said Barbara. Alas! Barbara," sighed poor John,—" alas ! so It is, and one favour I'll ask of you, a simple one, and It is only this— that when I am coffined and its lid for ever above me closed, you will come to me, and alone, and take from my hand this withered flower, and place It with yours, that I may, and for ever, sleep with it in death on the broken heart of John Ketch. STUeatm. " — Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." SKAKSPERE. COVENT GARDEN.— Si nee the appearance of our last, Miss A. Kemble has made her debut at this theatre, in th, character of Norma, m the opera of that name, and a more enthusiastic reception no vocalist has met with on the English boards for many years. To the brilliant talents of Miss Kemble, o « r limits will not allow us to do adequate justice in the present number, and we shall, therefore, deler the pleasing task till our next. HAYMARKET.— The long- announced tragedy of Nina Sforza, by R. Zance L. Froughtoli, Esq., was produced, for the first time, on Monday, November 1, at Miss Helen Faucit's benefit, and was entirely successful. The plot, & c., will be amply detailed in a future number. The cast is a very powerful one. embracing the names of Macready. Wallack, H. Wallack, G. Bennett, J. Webster, T. P. Mathews, Miss Helen Faucit, Mrs. W. Clifford, Miss Charles, & c. ADELPHI.— A new burletta, founded, as the play- bills state, on a conrt anecdote, called The Maid of Honour, in which Mr. and Mrs. Yates perform, has been very well received. The attraction ol Die Hexen am Rhein, and Cocorico, is unabated. OLYMPIC.— A new comedietta, called The Maid of Biscay, in which Mrs Waylett sustains the principal part, has become a favorite at this theatre, and is well deserving the applause it nightly elicits. The new farce, called Angels and L'leifers, Cousin Peter; and the burlesque of Giles Scroggins, have also con- tinued to excite roars of laughter. QUEEN'S.— This theatre has greatly increased its popu- larity, by the production of the splendid spectacle of Giselle, which seems likely to run for a considerable period, and to well reward the manager for the expense with which he has got it up. The other entertain- ments that have been presented to the public, have given the highest satisfaction. SADLER'S WELLS.— The new and successful domestic drama, called Margaret May field i or, the Murder of the Lone Farm House: the romantic drama of Meg Murnoch; and the drama of The Farm of Sterwick; or, the Signal Fire, have been the performances since our last, and have drawn crowded houses. Some extraor- dinary novelties, which are in a forward state of pre- paration, shall receive every attention from us. CITY.— Nothing can exceed the success which Mr. Pitt's deeply interesting new drama, called The Beggar's Petition, has met with, and it will, doubtless, continue to delight overflowing audiences for many nights to come. Every representation that we have witnessed of this excellent piece, increases our admiration of it, and we do not wonder that it has created quite a sensation in the theatrical world. The drama of Intemperance has also been revived, and very well received. PAVILION.— Giselle, and Wealth and Poverty, have filled this theatre every evening, and have afforded such a treat to the West- end denizens, as they have not ex- perienced for some time. While Mr. Denvil conducts the theatre in the same spirited manner, we heartily wish him every success, and we have not the least doubt but that he will meet with it. VICTORIA. — The immensely- successful drama of Susan Hopley, has been withdrawn for the present, to make way for the production of another new drama, en- titled Simon Lee; or, the Murder of the Five Field's Copse. It is a piece of the most original construction, and powerful effect; and the acting of Mr. E. F. Saville and Miss Vincent, in it, is the very acme of excellence. Another new domestic drama, from the inexhaustible pen of Mr. Dibdin Pitt, called Kntty O'Shiel, and The Follower of the Fa. milu, has also been played with the greatest applause; and Miss Vincent, as the hero- ine, plays with a degree of excellence which astonishes and delights the audience. Persons must go early to get a chance of obtaining a seat at this most popular theatre, as every part is thronged to suffocation imme- diately on the opening of the doors. CHARADES. I. A heavenly orb that shines divinely hrlsht, And on this earth diffuses splendid light; A game was played In times of old, Is what you'll tfrat have to unfold , A Roman klrg noC bring to view. Who, In a quarrel, his brother slew. A saint, by God's snprenr* command. Drove pagan darkness from o\'> r land • A kingdom now you will explore, By none surpassed this World all o cr; The name of him you will find out. Who did his Lord and Master doubt | T! » e elyslum of peace, tor my final say, Where God will sit on the great accounting day. Combine the Initials, and a name unfold. That should be enshrined In letters of gold. Manor Street, Dublin. OWKN KBOOIT. Splendid Engraving, Gratis! with THE ROMANCE OF REALITY-, OR, THE LAWLESS OP LONDON. By a " Man who has Seen the World," and " Who Knows a Thing or Two." N. wr Publishing, In Penny Numbers, by P. H- xtall, 11, Catherine- street, Strand, and sold Everywhere. WAT TYLER, PAUL JONES, CAPTAIN MACHKATH, and ROBIN HOOD ( th. most Popular Works of the day) may alsa be had of the same Publisher. T1 IMPORTANT TO THE PUBLIC ! I NIXON'S UNIVERSAL HERBAL OINTMENT. IHIS OINTMENT IS NO LONGER AMONG those of doubtful utility: it has passed away from the hundreds that are daily launched upon the tide of experiment, and now stands before the public, higher In reputation than any other in use, and as extensively used In all parti of the country, as any Ointment that has hitherto been discovered for the relief of suffering man. The excellence and efficacy of this ointment, has been estab- lished, beyond doubt, and will be found to merit the notice of all persons and all ages. The most unequivocal and convincing testimonies have, unsolicited, been sent to the proprietor, by persons who have experienced its rapid and salutary effects i some of which will be seen on th « wrapper with each box, and directions for use, and at once prove to the public its wonderful cleansing and healing qualities. Nixon's Universal Herbal Ointment will be found t « possess superior virtue over any other preparation yet known; being composed of ingredients purely vegetable, and of the most haim- less and Inoffensive qualities. In short, to convince those per* on4 suffering under any of the following complaints, « f the efficacy of this ointment, the proprietor underta& ea, that should it full to cure, after a fair trial, ( which it never yet has,) upon applica- tion to h m, he will give them five pounds, knowing it has no rival in curing Inflammations, Abscesses, Green Wounds, Ulcers, Gatherings, Gathered Breasts, Scurvy, Erysipela*, or St. An- thony's Fire, Burns, Scalds, Bolls, Chapt Hands, Piles, Buatlons, White Swellings, Chilblains, Ring Worms, Scald Heads, Gout, snd Rheumatic Pains, Scorbutic Eruptions, or ether similar complaints. Nixon s Universal Herbal Ointment is sold in Boxes aft If. Ud. and 2s. 9d. eaeh, and may be obtained, wholesale and retail, of the Proprietor, JOHN NIXON, Martin's Bank, Talk- oMh- MH. near Tunstall, Staffordshire, and by MESSRS. MANDER, WEAVER, and Co., Wolverhampton; and also retailed by H. Leeae, J. Seckeraon, W. Edge, Tunstall; Harper, Hawthorn, R. Tlmmls, Buraitm; Jones, Dixon, Hanley; Barnett, Congletonf F. Mason, Oxford 8treet, Manchester; Pierce, Shelton; Jones, Stoke; Slbrary, Lane- end; Mort, Hughes, Newcastle; Johnson, Blades. Leek; W. and R. Wright, Hodfclnson, Wardle, Macclcs- fleld, and by most respectable Patent Medicine Venders in the United Kingdom. N. B.— Be sure you ask for " NIXON'S HEBBAL OINT- MENT." OCCASIONAL THOUGHTS. Marriage ls a serious engagfment; too many are led into it without first consulting their own hearts. And why is itf— because It Is merely for the sake of being married before their companions! Young girls, forbear this rivalship; you may learn, when too late, the fatal effects of such folly. Extravagance In dress is a lamentable fact In the rising genera- tion ; and, as a certain author observes, " If this extravagance were confined to the wealthiest classes, it would be productive of more good than evil. But if the rich have a new dress every fort- ight, people of moderate fortune will have one every month." A ralnd possessed of a good education Is rich; it Is such as will rise him in the estimation of the world, and be his solace in the hour of affliction. Be very careful how you divulge family secrets; for he that can- not govern his own tongue, and will dress anything unguardly, may be very properly conjectured to contain nothirg. Tale- bearing is the most detestable fault that a peraon can pos- sibly have— what can be more dlfguating than an officious person conveying tales from one to the other, and thereby creating quar- rels, and setting people by the ears, for the sake of gratifying their own malignity? It ls well If such be not at length found out and derided. It is better to forgive an Injury than endeavour to avenge it; for to do that would be only making it worse, and make you more ene- mies. Beware of ridiculing any person for the sake of evincing that you understand more than he does; nothing displays ignorance sooner, nor lowers you in the estimation of the world. To be kind and soothing to the unfortunate, in the hour of dis- MURDER DISCOVERED. Tn the year 1840, as will be seen by the following handbill, a most horrible murder was committed on the r body of Elizabeth Tebbntt, in the. parish of Kegworth, " No, but to give him a foretaste of death, by " bringing him to I hi this county. Copy : " One hundred guineas reward the spot of execution, and when there, grant pardon. Now, mas- j Whereas, a most barbarous and cruel murder was corn- ier courier," and here George advanced and bowed most lowly. mltted on the body of Elizabeth Tebbutt, of Kegworth Sir^ regory Lynx! 8 S man IFFS^ KFTS J^ N ^ ehours of ten at night of the tenth of Decern- you, deliver his pardon, this full live minutes before, and by these her last, and SIX on the following morning. This IS to means, prevent tha execution. Use spur and whip, and mind that give notice, that if any person will give information so you do your duty'' that the offender or offenders uiay be brought to justice, " I will do,'' with a curled, quivering lip, said the mysterious , yjan receive a reward of one hundred gnineis to be GVTeefoM\ C^ ar^ dttitinVh:' ycourt on that day at the I Paid ° P of the ° « ? nders, . by Palace at Kensington held, and the courier, GeO'ge, upon his journey, leavlrg James aloae to his own melancholy reflections, which were instantly Interrupted by the presence of Barbara Allen. Barbara 1 even so. In rags— pate— wan, and miserable. " You here V' said the Scot, In surprise—" you, dearest Barbara, and in want.'' "^ la « riUa ™ dfth]" br « ^ come from your I « Roper, who at the time was a confidential servant in brave wooing. If I enter a dwelling for shelter, you soon at the the family of the deceased, on being pronounced, in the threshhold appear to drive me hence, and as for my garments, opinion of the doctors, on the bed which is the preface they are what the hedgethorns have left when I forced through to « ti, at bourne from whence no traveller returns," and the brambles guardian care, to share with the birds their meal;- whose . d wrecked with the torments which await, the vv Id nut of the woods, and the hawthorn's berry. But John I . .. , „„ . nf i - j„ Ketch dies to- day. Well/ well; ' tis not death Itself, but its cause M him as the punishment of his guilty deeds admitted that imparts the agony. To fall by a foe is a common fall; to fall having first abused her person, and atterwards having by a friend— a cruel one. for the last ls Ingratitude's crime, and the thrown her into the canal, from which she thrice escaped, eagle shrunk not from the arrow which pierced his breast, till he tl]\ 8 event would not satisfy the feelings of this blood saw that his own feather winged It. Did you murder John Ketch, ' -- - • • — In the hope, that, with me, you might marry!— Answer 1" " Not so," said the laird. " The depositions from me was unfairly gained. Besides, Barbara, the life of John has been begged from the court by me, upon certain terms, and by him me, James Tebbutt. Kegworth, January 6th, 1841: Previous to this no tidings of the murderer were discover- ed, but an overruling Providence, which is always the tormentor of the consciences of the wicked, had ordained that the veil of obscurity should not be allowed to over hang for ever this horrible murder. A man named Thorn tress and trouble, ls the action of a Christian. J. H. B. thirsty defiler of the earth ; he effected that object by strangulation from which the waters recoiled, as if with horror. Instead, however, of lying on the bed of death , , _ . Providence ordained his recovery, and he now stands coin- refused. You have wronged me, he said, with a sigh, nor would j m; tted to our county gaol to await that sentence which our 11 „. « IM the wretch you have hinted at- to be what I most desire j reijgjon teaches us to pass on the man who dares to dis- - belovedbyyou.' , , , obey one of our holy commandments, " Thou shall com- Ing f^ omUher\ " We'par^^ o^ n'tor a S^ Ind ra wX upt mifno murder." This man it appears, was one of the this." Suddenly lifting from the ground the tablet left there by Undividuals who afterwards assisted in bearing his victim the Lord Oldcastle, " what I think, and on yonder bank leave it, [ je the grave, he being considered by the family as a trust- whlch you'll find here on your return," | Worthy individual,— Leicester Journal* RIDDLES. I. I am not to the great confin'd, But, where possess'd, my power Can elevate the meanest hind Above, earth's richest dower: Kings cannot hold me in controul, All trammels I defy ; I grasp time's wonder- working scroll, And touch eternity. Fair seience owns my potent power, The arts confess my sway— I laid the first atone of their tower, I clear'd the mists away : I am in man, " the great first cause " Of high and vast design; I span stupenduous nature's laws, And make her powers mine. No sea so boundless, but I grasp Its farthest wnfound shore— No sea so deep, but I its last Unfathom'd depths explore; With " Newton" climb the starry height, " Where worlds unnumbered' shine, Or in the glow- worm's puny light Adore the Hand dlviae. / I compass many a trackless path, Where human foot ne'er trod; Without me, mm were little worth— I am the gift of God ! Whate'er is noblest- greatest— best, Hath been achiev'd by roe; Reader, I ihlnk I stand contest— Say— what am I— in thee? ANNA, MINSTREL OF THB HKATH. ANSWER TO THIS SECOND CHARADE, BY 1. T., IN NO. 81, The LARK that pours his rapturous trill, Piercing the cloud with pinion strong | The SPUR, by horsemen's often worn, To urge the fiery steed along. Connect the two, I do aver, ' Twill name my favorite flower, LARKSPUR. ANSWER ro THE FIRST RIDDLE, BT J. E. PARKER, IN NO. 81. ' Pis certain that without an EAR, At music none could e'er excel; And certain, that without a RING, A married woman looks not well. The two combined, will name the thing That's meant— I ween it is EAR- RING. Ipswltch. H. BOWMAN. ANSWER TO THE SECOND RIDDLE IN NO. 81. Sure PADDY S the name you say is a NICK, Your second I think is a thumping great stick; In Paddy's SHILELAH your whole will be seen— Sure Paddy will lie, die, or light for the queen. A. W. FISHER. ANSWER TO THE THIRD CHARADE IN NO. 81, Oh! that I'd the power to cause, That youth of every station, Should have, by Engl » nd's noble laws, A first- rate EDUCATION. MAC MAHON. GROSS FRAUDS. — CAUTION TO THE PUBLIC! THE very great and unexampled success, which has attended the use of OLD PARR'S LIFE PILLS, Having Induced unprincipled persons to prepare vile and spurious articles under the same name, purchasers, for their own protection, are cautioned to notice that the words " The True Old Psrr's Life Pills,*' are printed on the Government Stamp, and as a further pro* tectlon the signature of Miss PARR. C( Pat* Is on the side of th. wrapper, without which signature the P1B » cannot be genuine, and to counterfeit which is felony. Miss Parr ls lineally descended from Old Purr, whosa recipe for preparing this truly w. nderful remedy, she discovered about twelve years ago, since which time It has not been oat of h « r pos- session. " The statement made hy the vendors ofa spwiout article, that " the document il held by a clergyman, the Heo. William Arther, of East Peckham." is TOTALLY FALSK, and the Rev. WWWarn Ar- thcr, of East Peckham, is not known and cannot be / oimd there. as Is proved by letters received from the " General Post- Offiiee, which are to be seen at th. Depot, London, and ot which tbe fol- lowing are copies :— COPY. General Post- Office, 31st July, 1841. StR.— In reply to your communication of the 14th Instant, I beg to state that many letters have been directed to the Rev. Wllllmm Arther, of Peckham, but there being no on. known there of that name, they have la all cases when It has been passible returned to the writers. I am, Sir, Vour obdt, hble. servant, THOS. LAWRKNCK. Assistant Secretary. COPY. General Post- Office, 14th Aug.. 1841. 8m.— With reference to your further communication of the 10th instant, I beg to state, that Inquiries were made In all the district, adjacent to Petkham for the Rev. Wm. Arther, but he could not be found; the letters have therefore been returned to their writer. I am. Sir, Your obdt. humble servt., JAS. CAMFBKI. T,,, Pro. Secretary. Many persons throughout the kingdom from the extraordinary fame which Old Parr's Remedy has acquired, have desire* to try It, but Induced by falsa 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 gennln. article have written to the " Clergyman," and thus had their letter, re- turned. Since the exposure of the above imposition the vendors of this Vile ( eunterfeit have discontinued the use of the name of A BTBBK, and note say " the Clergyman,'' and more effectually to elude public detection, have'ehnnged the portrait of OLU PARR on their bills, the head they now use having a long beard. The conse- quence ot Ibis redoubling and changing Is, that unless parchaser. are very cautions In noticing the signature of Miss Parr, they are certain to get the Counterfeit. Complaint, are constantly being recelvsd 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, OBSERVK that the words of the Government Stamp are no pro- teetion— any one being at liberty to print whatever words they please on mch stamps, for which there is no penalty. The oMect of designing imitations ot this wonderful remedy, In directing all notice to words on the stamp Is to tahe off public attention from the only true test, Miss Parr's Signature, tvhich they dare not imi- tate. To the hest of persons labouring under all kinds of diseases — many hitherto hopelessly afflicted— who are now daily receiving re- newed lite and strength from this benign remedy— we sincerely leave the circulation of its wonderful fame— but to those unfortunate sufferers who hare been Induced by heartless falsehood to take of spurious articles, and thus had their hopes ef cure hli. hted we ad vise only a trial of " The True Old Parr a Life Pills," which from the experience which thousands ef cases have how famished, many is confidently and solemnly recommended to all— to those wtlo 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 auch ben. fielal effect, from it as no other medicine ever did or can produce. Be carefnl to ask for " The True Old Parr's Life Pills," and ob- serve the signature in full " Ann Porter Parr' on the outside wrapper— do not ba induced to take any piils as Old Parr's which are without it, as thty are sure to be spurious— any one may imi- tate the words on the stamp,— but It is FKLONY to IMITATX TUB SIGNATURE— Agants, for greater profits, will sometime, try to nut off the spurious, but the wa » t < f ( he signature will at once detect the Imposition. PREPARED ONLY AT THE DEPOT, I, BRIDE- LAKE CITY, LONDON. ' THK FOLLOWINO ARK WHOLESALE AND RETAIL A0ENT8 FOR THIS MKD1CTNK, FROM WHOM IT MAT AT ALL TTMBS BE HAD GENUINE BIRMINGHAM:— Banks, BU'I ring 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. Carlton, ( late Mor- on) Druggist, Market Place. LEEDS :— Buckton, " Times' Of- fice, Clapham, Druggist. LEEDS : — Brlggate and Lord Druggists, Klrkgate. LIVERPOOL!— Johnson and Sons, Church Street,— Pro. ter, Drug, gist, Ranelagh Street j & Wat- son, Byrom Street. MANCHESTER : — Ingham and Westmacott, 46, Market Street. PRESTON: — Armstrong, Drue- gist, Church Street. SHEFFIELD :— Ridge and Jack- son, " Mercury Office." STOCKPORT:— Fowler, Drumrlat Bridge street. B ' LONDOW :— Printed and Published by E. LLOYD, 231, High- street, Shoreditch s and at 8, Holvwell- street, Strand.