THE PROPHETIC WARNING; OR, THE TREASURE REVEALED NO. 86, LONDON:— SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1841. Vol- 2. ttnfcig AND PEOPLE'S • Oh, lovely yeuth of sportive mind, Who can dispute that yon'll be wealthy, If thus you always are inclined To live so cheap,- so light,- , o healthy ? < iOUCE. In a retired part of the Yorkshire Wolds, stood, some years ago, theGastle < f l^ unsborough, an ancient seat of the noble bouse of Cavendish, which had long been in such a state of desertion and deeay, that it has lately been thought expedient to demolish it altogether. At the commencement of the great civil war, on Sir Charles Hothain taking possession of Hull for the parliament, is had been, for several years, a place of refuge for several wealty royalists. For this reason, perhaps, or for some others more valid, a tradition had long prevailed in the neighbouring villages, that many hidden treasures had been discovered at different times, about the house and grounds of Lounsborou^ h Castle. The noble owners, of course, treated these rumours with contempt, and never took any steps for asserting their manorial rights, or investigating their supposed claims. About the middle of the last century, the charge of the ancient domain was com- mitted to a man of the name of Christopher Hobson, who, with his wife and two daughters, censtituted its sole occupants. The females were employed in keeping the house in decent order, whilst Christopher, or, as he was commonly called. Hester, busied himself in the gardens and grounds,— so that in case of an unexpected visit from tbe noble owners, whieh sometimes happened, the family were not wholly unprepared for their reception. Kester Hobson was in the habit of spending two or three evenings a- week at a small public- house in the adjacent village, where a few of the peasants and small farmers in the neighbourhood usually assembled. At the period we are speaking of many of the lingering superstitions of the darker ages still maintained their ground in various parts of tbe kingdom, and in none did they keep their hold with greater tenacity than in the villages of tbe Yorkshire Wolds. At their fire- side meetings the conversation frequently turned on various old traditions respecting Lounsborough Castle; and amongst other legends, equally veracious, it was affirmed that on one occasion, towards the close of the civil war, a band of round head Guerillas, under Harrison, having suddenly surprised ihe castle, where some Baltic met chants from Hull, of the king's party, had taken refuge, the unfortunate cavaliers had been obliged to bury their money, and having afterwards made a desperate resistance, were all killed in defence of their precious deposits. So strong, however, was the attachment of these worthy traders to their beloved wealth, that even after dea'li, their shadowy forms had often been seen hovering round the obscure places of the castle domain, like the ghosts of unburied heroes on the banks of Styx. Indeed it is well known to have been one of the most deep- rooted opinions of the olden time, that if any person had buried money or jewels during his life time, his spirit could take no repose till the treasure was discovered. It may seem strange to some readers that, at thii late period of history, there should have prevailed " surli utter darkness in the laud, aud such gross darkness in the people ;" but the author of this little narrative is well assured of their reality. These ol't- re pea ted and well- attested stories made a deep impression on Kester's mind ; and often, whilst sitting alone ill his chimney- corner, he would muse on these marvellous circumstances, and reflect with bitterness on his own misfortune, in being doomed to live ill poverty amidst these countless hoards of wealth, and perhaps, day after day, to tiead it under his feet, without being able to reach even a single noble, but compelled to toil throughout his whole life, for a miserable pittance of a few IT IITlfYC n- Vltaol/ Miwt Hflntnn'e , , I .. l-> lilir'mi. » -/-, fri .1 * 1- wwl f. , 1 I . . C tU^ i » miiUnAi,..!.. turned to his hotel. He was not much disappointed at the ill success of his first essay, as two more nights still remained. The second night passed exactly like the first, and he began to be a little disheartened. He commenced, however, the labours ofthe third night, with renovated hope;— but when he heard the deep- mouthed bell again toll eignt o'clock, his spirits sunk within him. With a heavy heart he prepared to quit the bridge, Inwardly cursing Ins own credulity, and the devices of Satan, who, he doubted not, had lured him on this ill fated expedition. It may be necessary to remind some of our readers that, at the period we are speak- ing of, the entire length of London Bridge was flanked by two rows of houses and shops, and a great retail business was carried on in this smgular situation. On one of thes- shops, decorated by the sign of a Negro boy, with a pipe in his mouth, Kester Hobson happened to cast his eye as he was about to quit the bridge— and it reminded him that his tobacco box was empty; for the necessities of established habit will duly recur, even amidst our sorrows and disappointments. He entered the shop, therefore, with a view of purchasing a small supply: he found behind the counter, an elderly sedate- looking quaker, whose contented and well- fed person indicated the prosperity of his calling. Whilst weighing the tobacco, he surveyed our Vorkshire- man with some earnestness, and then, in a tone which expressed a sort of good- natured curiosity, accosted him as follows:—" I have observed, friend, with some surprise, that for several nights thou hast employed thyself for a considerable time in walkiug to and fro across this bridge, and thy anxious looks seemed to expect some- thing very particular ; 1 am afraid thou hast been waiting for some person who has disappointed thee and failed in his engagement. If any advice or information of mine can be of use, as thou seeinest to be a stranger in London, I should be glad to offer thee any assistance iu my power." Our hearts arc never more warmed than by an offer of kindness in a strange place, and amongst strange people. Kester Hobson possessed, perhaps, a greater portion than usual of that mixture of simplicity atid cunning, which has been so often ascribed to his countrymen, but though always a little on his guard, he was not quite proof against this open and disinterested kind- ness. He expressed his thanks very heartily, but declared he was quite ashamed to confess his business in London, and the nature of those night- walks which had ex- cited tbe attention of the honest tobacconist. By degrees, however, his inquisitive friend got out of him, that be had, in fact, been deeply mortified and disappointed; that lie had expected to meet with a very particular person or occurrence on London Bridge; and, in short, that he had undeitaken a long, expensive, and laborious journey to London, meiely at the instigation of a dream. He suppressed, however, his name and residence, from a vague apprehension that such disclosure might, by possibility,' expose him to ridicule, or to some other unpleasant consequence. The quaker heard this strange confession with much surprise, and then replied, with great solemnity, " It strikes me with astonishment, my good friend, that a man of thy decent and sober appearance should have come a journey of two or three hundred miles 011 such an errand as this I I thought such vain imaginations and weak superstitions has long since been eschewed by all men of sense, and abandoned to children and old women. It is deplorable to think that thy parents and instructors did not take care to root out all such idle fancics in early life, and then wisdom might, peradventure, have come with years and experience. However," continued he, " it thoughts, lie fell into a deep sleep ; and dreamed that a sober, business, looking man, with a ledger under his arm, and pen behind his ear, appeared at his bed- Side, and, after giving him a solemn and sepulchral look, such as beseemed a messenger from the tomb, delivered a portentous injunction to tbe following effect:— Christopher Hobson was commanded to depart immediately for London, and when arrived there, was ordered to walk backwards and forwards over London Bridge for an hour, on three successive nights, immediately after dark, during which he would hear of soro*- very important event that materially concerned himself and family. This vision was so much more vivid, consistent, and striking, than an ordinary dream, that it left a very deep impression on Kester's mint), and he thought of little else the whole of the following day. But though sufficiently superstitious, yet the expense and trouble of a journey to Loudon, were at that time matter of such serious import, that he could not bring himself to resolve oil so perilous au undertaking, ou grounds which he could not help feelinn to be raiher equivocal. The next night, however, the same visitation was repeated, and in terms and manner still more awful and peremptory. His mind now became quite bewildered, aud he began to think seriously that an admonition, thus solemnly repeated, eould not with safety be dis- regarded. Biut on the third night the spectre again appeared, and delivered the same injunction with such au alarming and menacing aspect, that on awaking the next morning, Christopher hesitated 110 longer, but began instantly to make pre- parations for his journey. He told his family that an aflair of importance, which lie could not then explain, required his immediate presence iu Londuu; and begged them to defer asking any questions till his return. He next applied to an old friend, a neighbouring farmer and a tenant of his master, for the loan of a steady old horse, which he had sometimes borrowed for short jour- neys; assuring him, with a mysterious air, that he was going ou an affair of great importance, iu which, if he succeeded, the favour he was now asking should be amply compensated. He then took out from a small secret store which had long been accumulating, a sum which he thought sufficient for the journey; and thus equipped and provided, he boldly set out for the metropolis. Though the autumn was far advanced, and the roads, consequently, very bail, he arrived in town without any accident, and put up at a small inn iu the Borough, to which he had been recommended. Though he had never been in London before, he resolved to lose no time, but to proceed immediately to business. The night after his arrival, therefore, he betook himself to the foot of London Bridge ; and as soon at he beard St. Paul's clock strike seven, by which time it was quite dark, be com- mcnecd his walk backwards and forwards " over the bridge. He continued this ex- ercise till lie heard the same clock strike eight; when, having observed nothing more remarkitble than the coming and going masses of a busy crowd of passengers, he re- her, therefore, but not to his daughter, he determined to reveal the sccret. They used their treasure catrtionsly and discreetly, so as to avoid particular remark of con- jecture ; and he laughed in his sleeve at the good quaher s sage discourse, and airs of lofty superiority. He though* himself dispensed from making any disclosure to his noble master ; for, though a man ot fair character, and reasonably honest wiien temptation did not press him too hard, yet on the present occasion, he thought all he had got was the fair reward of his own acutetiess and per- severance. RODOLPH D£ VELA SCO, THE ITALIAN BRIGAND. BY W. C. BOWDELL. AUTHOR OP " THS MAPL'C JTRFUITV; OB. 5AREKTAL AFFECTION J'' AND " THE AMERICAN RLRATE. At the close of the sixteenth century, tbe alps had been for many year. Infested by a daring band of brigands. who, under tbe command of their chieftain, Rodolph de Velasco, had sprsad terror and devastation for milts round, and set at defiance the power of the government, who had made many unsuccessful attempts at their destractlfln. , _ ... One morning, while Rodolph was conversing with Marianne, hi* wife, at the mouth of the cavern, he obaerved Bertrand, tils lle » - tenant, hastening towards him With looks ot great terror, and lie left her, and went to meet him. ... , " What has happened now, Bertrand f he exclaimed, a, lie ap- proached him. " your looks Indicate that you have bad news to inform me ot ?*' " Treachery has—" returned the lieutenant. " Treachery!' exclaimed Rodolph, in a voico of thunder, " has any of our band dared to betray their leader?" " Kven so, most noble captain,'' answered Bertrand •. Theodore, whom you chastised the other day, for Insolence and negieet of duty, h. s turned traitor, and betrayed u » ; and a detachment ot troops are now marching towards us under his command, whn are certain of victory from their superior narabers ( therefore, not a moment must be lost.'' " By the Internal host he shall die," returned the chieftain, " 1 will seek fur him in the midst of the battle, and either he or Ho- dolph de Velasco shall cease to live; but do you know,'' he ex- claimed, after a pause, 41 what number there is of them " I should think about one hundred and fifty," answered the lieutenant, " and, to conquer them, would be very sharp woik, as we mus'er only thirty- eight.*' " Never mind j— we'll try for it," cried Rodolph j " but we mult not be idle;" and, at the same time applying a imall whistle to his mouth, he was instantly surrounded by a » cor « of armedj brigands. " Prepare,'' he exclaimed, addreising them, " for a determin resistance, the villain Theodore has betrayed n « , and is ncij vanciug with a troop of aoldiers to destroy us. Retire! secret ambuicade, and when I give llie signal, rush J^ the attack. Place your trust in the Holy Virgin, arj' of victory." A few minutes had scarcely elapsed, whenj the military were heard at a short dittajj affectionate leave of hts beloved wife^ J On the soldiers approaching, be | followers rushed trim their ttt' with terrific fury. Rodolph s^ engagement, and approaching " Now, wretch I thou shq, He was answered by a I that he rushed upon the I giving h'm a desperate thfl feet. A . mile of exultation^ he rushed into the midst ^^^^^^^^^^• Wffnting 1 side of hl « brave lieutenant, whoN^ PHQ^ cu him in the foU head, and he fell backwards with a groan, aud expired. The rei of the brigands seeing no chance of a conquest, aud di• heart « ned, at the death cf their leader, surrendered— were taken prisoners, and perished by the hand of the executioner. Marianne, the \ vlf « of lheodore, obtained pardon, and passed the remainder of her life in a convent in pious seclusion. v shillings a- week. One winter's night, having retired to bed full of these melancholy f4) oes not become me to erect mine horn aloft, and look down upon the weak and llinilvlitt. tif f< » ll int.. n Hue,, clpon » iirul d >• » •,,, m I lliat . nlm, 1m> c in. c c. 1.... 1,- i... > r> » .. :.„... , i 1.. > i,„„ r. il... ;.. .. I...... I. T Un.... i,^.,.. 1.'.. V .— .,. ignorant, because my own lot has fallen in better places. If I have been hitherto en- abled to tuin aside from all such vain devices, it is not because,, having been brought ap, as it were, at the feet of Gamaliel, I have learut from the lessons of a wise father the ways of truth and soberness I And yet," added he, smiling at Christopher, " I ran assure thee, friend, that if I have constantly kept clear of all such delusions, it has not been from lack of temptation. I have, all my life long, been a great dreamer; and often iny midnight visions have been so express and surprising, that it has re- quired the strong arm of truth and reason to resist their allurements. Even this very last night, I was beset wilh this temptation. 1 dreamed that an elderly man, in a snuff- brown coat, with a pen stuck behind his ear, came to my bed- side, and told ine, that if I went into a back garden, belonging to an ancient castle in Yorkshire, and dug the ground under tbe stone seat of an old Gothic summer- house, I should tind a great treasure. Now," continued he, with a louk of conscious superiority, " if I had been so foolish as thou, I might have neglected my business, and set off on a toilsome journey, iu search of this imaginary treasure." Here Kesier Hobson, who had thus far thought the good quaker's harangue rather prosing and tedious, began to prick up his ears, as the ancient poets express it; for he was well aware, that there was exactly such an old summer- house as this, in a retired garden, in the grounds of Lounsborough Castle. His countenance betrayed a visible agitation ; but fortun- ately he stood in a dark part of ( fie shop, where tbe light did not fall upon liis face: He could hardly forbear shouting with exultation; but, by a violent effort, he sup- pressed his emotion, and replied as indifferently as he could, that it was true he had indeed been guilty of a great weakness, but he hoped he should be wiser for the future. It is useless to say that Kester treasured up this momentous information carefully in bis mind, and soon after took leave of his valuable friend. " We shall soon see," thought he, exultingly, *' which of ns two is the vviser mail in liis generation." The next day he took his departure for Yorkshire, and in about a week reached his home in safety. On the very night of his arrival, he dismissed liis family to bed in good time, telling them that he had some accounts to settle, which required him to be alone. When the household was all sunk in repose, he took a spade and a lantern, and re- paired in silence to the old summer- house. He removed the stone seat, took up the pavement, and after digging about three feet deep, he felt the spade strike against some hard substance. His nerves were all agitation,— but he went on, and soon drew out a large earthen jar, of the capacity ot about halt' a bushel, fastened with a wooden cover. He eagerly broke it open and found it quite filled with the gold coins of the reign of Elizabeth, James the First, and Charles the First. He instantly conveyed it home, and got It safely locked up in his desk without the least appearance of interruption. Kester Hobson's wife was, like himself, famous for prudence and reserve;— and to A FRAGMENT. BY ROBIN HOOD. WHAT maiden form is lhat, with cheeks so pallid, and with those rich raven tresses hanging so wildly o'er her shoulder— her tears flowing in streams from her beautiful orbs of light, her heart rent with despair? Now she strikes up music— what a sweet melodious voice, but how wild her strains; she sings of her Edwin, who to the Holy Land has gone, there to dispel the pagan crew. See, see, she tears her hair— her heart is fast breaking— those beautiful eyes start from their spheres— those pallid cheeks grow still more pale. Her e^ es are nowdiied, her despair still more wild; her senses have fled their tenement, and she is indeed ihe victim of despair. Now she gives way to melancholy; now once more her eyes are filled with tears, her lips quiver. See, see, she kneels in the attitude of prayer, she calls aloud the name of her Edwin, and prays to meet him in eternity. Now she rises once more on her feet, she lilts her eyes to Heaven with a look of supplication ; she gives one sob, one sigh, and now she lies a corse. Unhappy maiden for an untimely grave to be thy lot. What form so noble, with heart so light, comes to meet his lady fair ? He seeks her, but in vain ; he calls aloud " IMy Eliza." Ah I a sad tale to him, indeed, to hear Eliza's fate. See, see, now to the churchyard he goes— he kneels o'er her grave— he pours forth one prayer for her he loved so dearly— drops one tear o'er her grave— one sigh escapes his bosom; and now, with throbbing heart and downcast looks, lie bends his course away. Every eve brings the sighing Edwin to this silent grave ; every eve he moistens his cheeks with tears, and spends some time in penitent prayer. But now no longer you see the unhapyy youth— what has become of him— where is he ? Alas ! he has followed his beloved Eliza to her house of clay; and now the violet and the blue- bell alone tell where rests the warrior and his heart- broken mistress. PENNY POLICE GAZETTE. A COLD DINNER. A middle i - B0W STREET. Darenthetlr- * ed , wt>" p of dimin, lt' » e mature, wilh years v a face npon which 11,15 8° ot " f many ii,,. 38 encrusted, and whose eyes were embellished ,. i a ' red border, was charged with annoying and jpublidly Assaulting Miss Molly Mahony, a purveyor • Of sprats aliv » o' to her Majesty's liege subjects, the jJIsiritliF had a frontispiece ofthe most extraordinary • desofiption, and it was prefaced by a nose of the most rosmstkable length, and adorned with as many pimples • asifiiere are plums in a moderate slued Christmas pud- ding. Her mouth was a zig- zag, turn- lhe- corners kind • of an opening, and displayed to considerable advantage a row of tusks of the complexion of the chnmmy's face, and which would have made an excellent racking comb Tor a horse. Her ( Igure could not be said to be ap- proaching to en ban paint, being nil point, or rather a parcel of benes tied together after the most curious fashion. She looked poinard* at the gentleman in black, who, in return, looked remarkably sentimental at her, clapped his hand to his right side, and breathed such a sigh as might have been expected to come from • pair of blacksmith's bellows. Miss Molly was proceeding to state the nature of the « dharge, when she was interrupted by the defendant. DEFENDANT.— Yer vnrship, I maans te say as how " If 1 am tried here, I shall be a inaalid. MAGISTRATE.— You should be an invalid I What do you mean } DEPENDANT— Vy, isn't it clear ennff? If I am tried B « re it vouldn't be legal. iMAOiSTRATE^ Why not ? DEFENDANT.—." Vy, fer this here wery good and sub- itanshull reason, acos I ought to be tried at the heck. Heesy- ass- tickle court. ( Loud laughter,) MAGISTRATE.— And how do you claim that privilege1 DEFENDANT— Vy, as clear as possible, yer vorship: am 11 von o' th' clergy > ( Laughter.) Pont yer vor- ship, vy should any von have a action brought agin' yrirbecos o their passions ? Th'whole on it is, that Miss Molly Mahony and I vos wery pertikler hintimate a snort time ago, and—• PLAINTIFF.— Parjury,' yer worship I Parjury I He's « base, deceitful villain I I never gived him not no hmcouragement I I'll swear I dicVt, the nasty, sooty, wretch I I knowed myself too veH, and looked a little higher than that here. I lm ready to take my solemn oath, and he knows it., « ' iat I have been twice out- asked f' ™ " r. c. h T'! h » spectabel running dustman; it's a lUely thing. -, nd « ed, that I should go for te throw my- self ava, - 0„ B djrty chnmmy> 8 J ENDANT.— I means to say as how I am the von ought to feel ' grieved, en' no mistake. She vos bin- tvinale vith me, yer vorahip, and I'll leave yer to guess • vbether she didn't not giv' me no encouragement, vhen rite used for to treat me to baked taters and faggots, and aftsr hav' a game at tiddleyvink vith me. PLAINTIFF—( Shrieking.) Oh, the warmint 1 it's all false, yer vorship. 1 declare it's all false '. DEFENDANT.— It's as true as th' gospel, yer ver- ehlp;— an' re used to go to glory together. MAGISTRATE.— Go to glory t I don't understand yo » . DEFENDANT.— I, it possibel ? And yet it's wery plain, too. Veil, then, ve ased to have a tannersvorth among th' gods at the gaff! But she picks up vith Jack Jeppy, th' runnin' dustman, yer vorship, who raited a bit of a dust vith me, aud she guv'd ma th' sack i told me to brush, and to cut it short, she regularly seut me tj pot. MAGISTRATE. — You haven't stated the nature of jour charge yet, Miss Mahony. PLAINTIFF.— No, yer vorship, but I soon Till. - charges bim with a hinterruptin' me in my purfeshinal dooties, an' a sendin' pistols to me, to my residence in Charlgs- ftreet, Doory- lane. MAGISTRATE.— God bless my soul; sending pistols to you ! that's a most extraordinary thing ; What could be his motive for lhat} PLAINTIFF.— I can't tell, bul here is voe on ' em. Here Ihe plaintiff handed to the magistrate a very dirty letter folded into a sort of a puzzle. MAOISTRATB.— Oh, I see, you mean that he sends epistles te yuu. PLAINTIFF— Yes, yer vorship, but just have the kindness to. iead that here infusion, usmy Jack calls it, an' you'll ", ec th' imperence of the willain. The Magistrate handed the letter to his clerk, wh » read it aloud, as follows:— " My lover. ly fair, an' all that here, My waxlnatin' Molly; Vith Coopld's dart you've pierced my hart, An' I'm no longer jolly I It's a cruel fac, yau've guv the . sack To me, vhich there's no tun in, But pity me, my iovyer be. And send th' dusty runnin'.'' MAGISTRATE— A very pretty appeal to any young lady's affections, and do you admit sending this letter, prisoner ? DUFBNDAKT.— I does, yer vorship, and I'm not ashamed on it, for I made it all out ov my own head. PLAINTIFF.— He's alwas a sendin' ' em, yer vor& hip, an' they're wery hurtful to my feelin's. Not only that here, whenever he meets me in the street, he's alwus a insultin' me villi his odorous passion. Yesterday morn- in'as ever vos, hornet me in Doory- lane, and threw his nasty sooty arms round my waist, and kigied me, up- setting a basket of sprats vhich I had on my head at the ime. So I took out a summons, and here he is, yer vorship. The clergyman having pleaded gniltytothe charge^ and giving the mugistiate his word nnd hononr that he would not so offend again, was, by the consent of Miss Mary Mahony, discharged. A DAUGHTER OF HERRING! ( ERIN^ Fair sample of the Emerald'isle, Thy looks good humour wonld provoke ; A'pipe thy moments doth beguile, Thy troubles ever end in smoke. iii i TETE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE DEATH GRASP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE! BY THE AUTHOR OF " FLA, THE OUTCAST," ETC, ( Continued from our last.) After Marie had quitted the room, Marceline Bat for a few minutes buried in profound meditation on her situation, but at length recollecting what the girt had said to her about the books, and, in ord^ r that she might abstract her thoughts from the melancholy sub- ject which occupied them, ^ he totflc forth the volume old Jacqttelina had given her, and read the following, in conclusion ofthe tale which had before so deeply in- terested her :— The baroness could scarcely conceal her satisfaction as she secu red the casket, and f'lorian turning to his brother, said, in a pettish tone :— " How silly it was of you, J ulto; see what you have done. 1 am sorry you should bave stooped for it, madam." And as the boy spoke he extended his hand to receive tbe casket, but it was not the intention of the baroness to give it up. " That hand so prettily held forth, must not be drawn back empty ; here, here is money for you both," she said, with a gracious smile, and at the same time placing a purse in Florian's bat> d. " Goraldo trill accompany you to- morrow to the adjacent town, where you will buy whatever trinkets you may fancy," " A purse of money," said tire delighted Julio, " oh, my good madam." " Thank ' you, good madam," observed Florian, " but the box is — At that moment Gtiraldo, to draw the attention ofthe boys from the casket, crossed over to them and said : — Should you not like to see the castle gardens ? they are s « beautiful." " Are they ?" ejaculated Julio, " oh, I should like it of aH things." " But the box, you know, Julio," said Florian, who fell very uneasy at the treasure which he so much prized being detained for a moment from him. " We miist have the box, you know." " Pooh!" returned Julio, " do you think such a Strand lady as that wants to cheat us ? We shall be back • directly." " ^ by, to be sure we shall," said his brother, more satis!' » d, " and so, kind sir, if you please, we are ready to attend you." '" Y< m can go by yourselves, my lads," said Geraldo, pointing towards the right; " that is your way; you cannot iniss it," " Ob, thank yon, sir," said Julio, " coma along Flurfcm, tor 1 do long to see the gardens which, no (! i> uSt, very grand." Thus speaking J ulio took the hand of his brother and • Ihey both hurried away towards the gardens. Geraldo ami the baroness looked after them until tlicy were out • of sight, when tbe former turned eagerly towards the baroness, ittlc suspecting that they were watched, or ihat * aiiy one had been a spectator of this scene ; but there wns one who bad observed everything wilh the deepest interest, and ibat was old Gaspard, the supposed deaf porter, nod he now concealed himself in a place nearer lo \ yb? rc Geraldo and the baroness were stand- ing, and where tbey might r. ot observe him, and ap- peared \„ listen attentively to all that passed between ilic Ki'llty pair. " I'hat casket." said Geraldo, " quiets or confirms Oil I' present fears." " Tbe superscription says, ' never open this box till Ploriau lias attained his eighteenth year.' " "' l, et B> « inspect it, madam;'' said Geraldo, eagerly. " What can this mean i" said Gaspard to himself, unil be stretched his head forward, as if to catch the lowest murmur. " M ay we not be observed J" said the baroness, look, ing fearfully around the court- yard. " No, madam," replied hermyrmidom, " I have per- mitted ( lie domestics to attend . the festival; no soul remains wilhin tbe castle but your own guard, who are al! upon the posts, excepting Gaspard, and he is deaf and superannuated." The baroness gave the casket into his hands, and he untwiste. d tbe binding, and broke tbe seal. " Be expeditious, then," ejaculated the baroness,: lest we should be surprised." t Geraldo took two portraits from the box, but he no • dower galsed upon them than his countenance under- went a great change. " Cenfnsion !" he exclaimed, " the portraits of the Couttt Alieuburg and Imogine, Ids wife. These brats < bej>. must be theirs '." Gaspard evinced the greatest emotion at this moment, and clasping his hands, he raised his eyes towards Hea- ven, Mini gave utterance to an exclamation of surprise and agitation. Geraldo and the lmroncss were startled by I be sound, and turning round, they observed Gaspard, who stifled his feelings as well as lie could,- and pre- tended lo be walking backwards and forwards across the yard, without taking any notice or understanding what was p& tsing between the baroness aud the villain Ge- ralds Geraldo waved bishand menacingly towards him, and then in a fierce and commanding tone, said :— •" Fellow, begorie !" Gaspnrd immediately retired, but concealcd himself vithin bearwig, and listened attentively to the conver- sation that was passing between the, baroness and her hfiiture. 1' was very evident that his deafness was ed, for the lowest murmur seemed to catch his bis countenance betrayed the anguish of his ley proceeded. man be dangerous?" said the ba- fcldo had ordered Gaspard to be gone ; essing upon our footsteps." " u, who was busy in searching old fool's zeal. Ah I forward, and listened Ldat* instructs, twelve our suspicions were too Joe count, did save the [ them from us, when we Tims, and ped that they '• Rend— read—" said the baroness, impatiently, and in a stale of the greatest agitation. Geraldo obeyed, Mild read as follows:— " Dearest sister— I wtite ibis letter on mv death bed, by a proved friend, who will recount to you a story - of wretchedness and horror. 1 send to you, my dear lord, the Count of Altenhurg's two sons, whom their intentional murderers think dead, and whom ( hank heaven, I have saved. Kodolph and Sigismund are ( heir name", but for caution's sake let tlicm be callcd Julio and l loriau. Disclose not to them ( heir high pa- rentage till riper years bave given ( hem pitideuce aud caution lo ai- sert tbeir birthrights." " f hat they shall never do !" exclaimed the baroness in a terrified tone. " Madam," said . Geraldo, " dismiss your fears; 1 have not yet finished ihe letter." Geraldo read the remainder of the epistle, which briefly concluded in the following words :— , " Poor as you are, shelter them as your own, end thould yon, my sister, die, while ibey. are boys, then may the AlinjgUty Providence watch over them." " They shall not escape!" cried Geraldo;—" now ( heir certain death must be our only sure pledge of safety." ' ° " Death!" repeated the baroness, turning very pale; " Is there no other way ? Oh, my heart sickens at means which we have tried too much already." " Madam, madam !'' returnedGeraldo, hastily, " would you abide in fear forever? The breath of these two boys is like the glaive of justice burning above our beads, suspended by a hair. While Ihey exist, you your- self, each moment, fire in danger of dying, and dying iiitnnKMial « ' " could you use violence ?" infamously " They are so Interestin demanded the baldness. " You shall' « *•, while this arm hath power for their defence^ 1 muttered Gaspjid to himself. " Beware!" continued the baroness, after a brief pause; " they are now the adopted of the village, and their sudden disappearance Would create suspicion, ( hat " " Hush all those alarms;" interrupted Geraldo;— " no suddenness— ng violence, noble lady— a subtle and slow potopn- fcl have it in> piy apartment." " Horrible villain rt ejaculated the old porter. " See, f the boys approach this way, madam;" added Geraldo, " T scarce dare look upon them," faltered out the baroness'. At that moment Julio and his brother made ( heir re- appearance, and were evidently highly gratified by what ihey bad seen. " Well,'' A'Xclaiitcd Julio, " of all the fine gardens tlist ever I saw, that is the finest— there's fountains, statues, and grottos. Whai's that stout marble man, with a broad sword in his band, sir, at the end of the great Walk ?" " That's a gladiator;" answered Geraldo-, " but after your ramble, i suppose, you will be glad of sums: refresh- ment ?" " Yes, if you please, slr>' v said Julio. " Bat, you know, brother," observed Florian, " that we promised Mr. Ricardo we would be back soou, aud we must keep our word." " Yes,— yes," said Geraldo, " a slight repast first;— and shouldn't you like it in that pretty arbour ? Here, Gaspard !" The old porter came forward, and Geraldo motioned him to bring refreshments into the arbour. Gaspard hast- ened to obey hitn, but there was an expression in his countenance as he turned away, which plainly shewed that be had determined to thwart the monstrous designs of the villain, even at the hazard of bis own life. The two boys walked into the arbour, and took their scats at the table. " This is a nice place, Florian, isn't it?" said Julio ; " 1 like it mightily." ' " Yes, and so do I," answered Florian ; " and to say the truth, 1 atn very hunsty." " Most opportunely," said Geraldo to himself, as he turned to go away. " Stay, Geraldo," said the baroness, catching hold of bis arm ; " Whither are you going ?" " Only to bring them something, madam, as a slight ad- dition to their meal." " Oh, spare them!" supplicated the baroness, in a low and fearful voice. " Nay, it must be so!" he said, and disengaging him- self, lie hurried away. The extraordinary emotion betrayed by the baroness, caught the observation of Julio, and speaking to his bro- ther, be said :— " Only see, Florian, how she looks;" he then addetl, addressing himself to the baroness; " Are you not well, madam ?" " Yes, yes, boys;" replied tbe baroness, trying to col- lect herself. " I am very glad of that, madam," said Julio ; " to be sure you can bave nothing to make you uneasy, because you are so rich." " Do riches always ease the mind ?" said the baroness. " Yes," answered Julio, " rich folks must always'he happy, for they can make everybody else so." " And if we were rich, madam," said Florian, " we would try to be as good as vou, and do no harm to any- body." The baroness averted ber face to conceal the power of her emotion, aud whispered to herself:— " Tlieir artless observations ti- rtire nie." " Oh, here comes Mr. Gaspard!" exclaimed Florian, evidently impatient for tbe refreshments. " Then you and I, brother," said Julio, " must assist him." The deaf porter now entered with a small tray of re- freshments, and a basket, with two partitions, in one of which was a bottle of wine. This they placed on the ground, and Gaspard having lqoked at them anxiously for P. moment or two, retired to the back. Julio and his brother now quickly arranged tbe table for their meal, and seating themselves, proceeded to eat without any further ceremony; but the moment they had begun, Geraldo returned bringing with him the fatal means of death, the bottle which contained the poison. " This," he said, whispering aside to the baroness, " this will lull our fears to rest, and render their sleep eternal." " What, Mr. Geraldo," said Julio, " have you brought us more wine? Only see, here's a whole bottle already." " I knew not that," said the wretch, wilh well affected surprise; " but this is very choice; come then, theie's fellowship iu exchange; you, niy young friends, shall drink of mine ; and I, of your's." " Monster!" cried Gaspard, aside, and he watched Geraldo narrowly. " Thank you, sir," said Julio, iu answer to the propo- sition of Geraldo, " it shall be just as you please." Geraldo placed the fatal bottle he had brought with him in tbe empty partition, near the boys, and Gaspard never* removed his eyes from him. " So," said Geraldo, speaking to himself, " that nearest them is their portion. Now tt. en, boys," he added, aloud, " eat away, and when you are thirsty, we will drink a health to tbe worthy baroness." " We must eat a little more before we drink, sir," said Julio, During this time, Gaspard never removed his eyes from the actions of Geraldo, but his distress was much aggra- vated by ihe villain remaining neat- the basket. " 1 cannot bear to look upon them,'* salt) the baroness, averting ber face;—" no— it must not— it shall not he." Geraldo noticed t| ie eosdjict of the baroness, who was about to make her way to the table at which the two boys were seated, when Geraldo rushed hastily up to her, and taking her hand, said to her apart • — " Stay, stay! I entreat yon, madam." While Geraldo crossed " o> er to the baroness, Gaspard seized tbe opportunity for which he had been so anxiously w atching, and approaching the basket, turned it. " Madam," cpiiiinuecl Geraldo, aside tQ the baroness; " we are partners in bur feats, we must be partners too in the attio'n that removes them." " I cannot;— my heart te volts;" she said, breaking from him ; " let ine go hence !" As she thus spoke the guilty woman rushed away, in a state of agitation which needs no description, " What, is the baroness gone, Mr. Gfraldo ?" said Julio, looking up. " She will soon return," answered Geraldo, " in the meantime we will drink her health." " It you please, sir," said Floriui, timidly. " Ay, with all my heart," said Julio, " 1 should like to drink something nice now." " Come, then, we arc to exchange you know ; the one nearest the arbour, is your bottle, and this mine;" ob- served Geraldo, aud he tilled their glasses and his own too. " What, bumpers!" exclaimed Florian ; " dear sir, wt shall be fuddled." " Never mind that, brother," returned Julio, with a smile ; " it is good stuff, I'll be bound." " Yes, yes." said Geraldo, " in my opinion, it's all that can be wished for. Health and happiness to the baroness." Geraldo and the two boys, raised their glasses to their lips, and instantly quaffed off the contents, and Gaspard, who bad been watching the success of his scheme wilh tbe must painful anxiety, raised his hands and eyes to- wards heaven, and mentally ejaculated :— " Merciful Providence! thus may each remorseless vil- lain meet his doom 1" " That draught secures us," said the wretch Geraido, aside, " aud ensures their fate !" " There, we have had quite enough ;" said Julio, rising. " And now, if you please, sir, adde'u. Florian, " we will go back to keep our promise with Mr. lticardp." " Ob, there is no hurry, none in the least," said Ge- raido. " No hurry!" repeated Julio, with astonishment, " Why, you told him you would bring us back almost di- rectly." " Oh," answered Gpraldo, carelessly, " 1 might have said so; but ihe baroness has changed ber mind ; ' tis her order lhat you pass the night in tbe castle." . " Phoh ! plioh !" ejaculated Julio, " the baroness has been very kind to us, to be sure ; but then a promise is a prpipise, all ihe world over, and no we must and will; so now that's flat. Come, brother." " Stir not, at your peril," exclaimed Geraldo. " Peril!" repeated Julio, pertly;—" lioity, toity ! and who are you, pray ? If your mistress was here, she wouldn't use us so, Mr. Bantam." " No, good lady, that she wouldn't;" observed Floiian, " but don't be so furious, Juiio ; you frighten me so." " You are always frightened," returned Juiio, " 1 tell you, we will go; we have a right, and pray who's to bin- der us? We shall walk by ourselves, for we don't want your company, Mr. Bantam. Come along, Klor- iau." " How, urchins ?' r cried Geraldo, stopping them;— " Are you mutinous ? This," he added, aside, " will give a colour to the peasants for their detention, and ' twere best they languished here. You woitld go then j" he said to Julio. " Would !" repeated the high spirited lad, " we will, and by ourselves, too." " Whlihbr you go now, you must he accompanied," said Geraldo. ' " What, ho ! the castle guard !" " Oh, dear, Julio," said Florian 5 " I am frightened on of my wits I" _ <! t dr. n't out that ftjr hito I' 1 said julio, snapping his ] lirgeis, » 1 will anjiiaiiit the baroness "' He had no sooner sptdtrpThese words than the castle guard entered, and Geraldo ordered tbem to seize the lads, and place tbem separately in closeCQiiniiement; onfe in the square tower, and the other ih tlib duhgbon beneath the terrace. In vain Florian implored, and Julio strug- gled, they were both seized, aud Gerahlo having sternly motioned Gaspard to open tbe doors of their prison, into which they wete thrust. Geraldo then commanded all the castle guard, but one, to retire. " Remain you here," he said aloud, aiid addressing himself to tbe guard 5 " conceal yourself from their sight; but should they converse, and utter ought you think should be communicated, bring me word forthwith ; be vigilant." He retired as he spoke, and the guard concealed him- self as he had been commanded ; the minute afterwards Julio appeared at the dungeon window, and Florian at the gate of bis dungeon. " Florian ; brother Fioiian 5" cried Julio, " don't you hear me ?" " Yes, julio," replied Florian, " but I do not see you; oh, we shall never see each other again." " Isn't that Geraldo a great rascal ?" said Julio. " A sad wicked man, indeed," replied Florian. " Old Gaspard, that we thought a savage, wouMn't have used us so." " That he wouldn't, I'm sure," coincided Julio, " it was only out of kindness that he frightened us away be- fore from this devil of a casbe." " Did you see how sorry he was when we were locked up?" asked his brother. " He'd have prevented it, if he could," replied Julio, " and 1 hope he will yet be able to get us out." " So ihen," said the guard, " Gaspard is their friend ; I must immediately make Geiaido acquainted with this." Thus speaking wc retired, and had Hot done so a se- cond, when Gaspard, who had evidently been watching him, carne cautiously from behind the arbour, and crossed over to tbe dungeon of Julio. [ To be continued in our TO CORRESPONDENTS. J. C.— The very popular Romance, written expressly for the columns of this paper, by the author of "' AM. E- LINA," " ERSNESTTNE DE L. TCY," & C., called *' THE DEATH GRASP ; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE!'' is nb » publishing in Penny weetcly tiumbers, and monthly part*, price Pourpence, elegantly illustrated. To be had of all booksellers in the United Kingdom. The conclusion of " A TALE FOUNDED ON FACTS," by A. B., has been received, and will be immediately in- serted. " A LOVER OF FICTION," ( Durham.) To your first jfsesfioH,— jVb. To your sccond,— We cannot say, at present. To your third,— The work is not published by us. G. P. B. ( Leeds.) " THE ROYAL FAVOURITE," was written by the gentleman mentioned ; the other work is by the author if " AVOF. LIMA," tfc. The Tale and Poem, by this correspondent, are under consideration Accepted:— GEORGE EDWIRD'S Charade. TheTalebyJ, FLORIAN , wiU not exactly suit. Under consideration :— V. S. L., D. S N, " THE SHIPWRECK ;" " L'o MARIE ;" S. WOOD ; " TNE VIL- LAGE MAY DAY;" and " OCCASIONAL THOUGHTS." Declined:— E. H. P. B.— We should be happy to see the manuscript. %* All communications to" be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High- street, Shoreditch. equally true; but ihe same is true, also, in regard to everything else. Every human action is liable to pro- duce unhappy results, unless regulated by proper dis » cretienj and governed by wholesome rules; and if these are disregarded, the very highest blessings become the deepest curses. How often are children denied par- ticipation in the most simple and innocent rufjoyments because their parents ate not able to comprehencUthe springs of their delight and the causes pf their gladness, Thes « enjoyments soften the nspetiticfr of tlieif disjiosif tions, while disappointment and vexation sharpens and strengthens them. Search ( he wide field of human existence, ahd where are Found those recreations and amusements proper to each sepatdte age, Ifeast per- mitted and enjoyed, there will be found the most hatred, envy, superstition, bigotry, asceticism, and hypocrisy. The hunfan m} nd can nfever endtlre the rigours of that discipline, whrtih lutlfis ii id a single chabllel, to what- ever end it may lead, any more tliiln the bony can support for any iength of time, a given position, with- out change and without pain ; and to endeavour, by any system of training, to make it possible, would be just as absurd in one caseas theolher. The mind, bent upon the highest purposes of virtue, without change oi- relaxation, may at length becotlle degraded by mean- ness or gangrened by jealousy. The same holds true in regard to the judgment, for he whose life is devoted exclusively to the consideration of a single subject, Is, of all others, the most unfit to judge of it with impar- tiality, and truth. But we are wandering from our subject. Smoking, not as an annoyance, not as an expense, and not as a crime, but as a habit, without utility and without reason, meets the disapprobation, and receives ihe shafts of its enemies j and it is not strange. It is natural for man to look with envy and dissatis- faction upon the blessings and comforts in which he can never participate ; and instead of seeking those tranquil pleasures which are within his reach, he endeavours to console himself in attempting to destroy the solaces and comforts of othefS. On what other principles than these cati we adcoutit for those attempts so frequently made, to wrench from the lips of Ihe well- ordered bachelor, that cigar, which imparts strength and ability to endure the loneliness of celibacy, and consolation to that mind which can behold no happier pro. scetts in the future. That profound moralist, Doctor Johnson, has said that " marriage has many pains, but telibacv bo pleasures.'' He never smoked. He never knew the latent joys which lie buried in a principle. He never felt those delicious transports which absorb a smoker's soul. There is one pleasure, if only one, and whenever, If evvr the dictates of an en- vious world should place that beyond our reach, then, and not til] then, will otlf sky he all darkness, and our prospect all gloom. We see nothing wrong iu the prin- ciple, that a married man should submit to the circum- stances aiitl visissitud- 5 hy which lie is surrounded ; and if it must he So, renounce that boon so necessary to a bachelor's happiness, but which ought to be regarded as insignificant by him. Whenever he enters through the uares Of matrimoriv, that only blissful paradise of earth, the flvetiriK joys and unsubstantial delights of his former life should be left behind and forgotten. His quadrant lifted to anothef sun— he wanders at will thf. iuah the nmbraeeous groves, and beside the gushing fountains which adorn the landscape of we'lded life, and be may tread heavily 011 the a « hes of departed joy. But with him who treads life's thorny path alone, ntismiled on, save by the laughing hyena, the case is materially dif- ferent. Thfe coldest and highest room in the house— the hardest and most uncomfortable seat at table, are good ennilgh for a " single man." If he is sick, oh ! horrid thought, the greasy hands of tbe cook are nice enough to administer to Aim the nauseous drugs, aud the brogue of an Ir sli waiter can c. nry sympathy and conso'ation enough to a " single man's" car: but when the mantle nf health is about bim, he has one re- source of which tbe malice of au unpitying worl. i has not as yet deprived him. He cait retire to his glorious attic, far a iove the sounds of mortal activity, atid ar- ranging him'elf upon a brace of chairs, who- e youth and manhood have been wasted in the parlour below, he can there, while fragrant clouds, curling and undulating about his head, are mounting upwards to the dim and dingy ceiling, indulge in brighter visions of paradise, than ever gladdeneil the slumbers of the Mussulman. No thoughts of earth intrude themselves upon his silent and lofty meditations. Deep contemplation sits in ma- jesty upon his tranquil brow, as hour after hour dies away on tiie calender of recorded time, and joins the uncounted cycles of the past. His mind wanders at THE l^ ENNY PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. beating his breast, and at intervals muttering incoherent sentences, that sufficiently proved the mental agony he was undergoing. At length he threw himself into a chair, and, leaning his head upon his hand, he gave himself up entirely to the intensity of his dismal thoughts. He brooded over the past events of his lite— events which he had kept secretly coiiftned to his own breast; and at times he reproached himself for the imprudeuce of which he had « fei" e. a guilty, ijJjd then partially reconciled his mind by.-. tjideavouring to, believe that there were many ext$ i) uating iiicumstances, and upon that point he at length succeeded iti becoming more composed than he hatWieeif for some time: His thoughts then reverted to Ertiiiestine, and the trouble which was predicted to him- self il he were to persist in making her his wife ; but the utter Impfobability of this ever being realztd was so itfong, that it was impossible_/ or him to think upon it frith any degree of patience. , * " Ernnestine lie thecause'of bring'hg misery upon my jiead !" he exclaimed 3 " never !— it could not be ! It is a bdse libel upon her gent'e aud virtuous nature to encou- rage such Sir idea for a moment, and 1 will drive it from my mind. Ernnestine, thon shalt— thou must be mine, and I will brave the Consequences, whatever they may be!" No sootier had Lord Raymond spoken the latter words, than again that loud, scornful, and almost unearthly laugh which he had beard it) the morning, smote his eats, He started to his feet with astonishment, and, gazing in the direction from whence it had proceeded, no language Can describe his amazement and agitatiC! 1, when be beheld, standing at no great distance from hlii!/ the tall figure of the mysterious monk. He was fixed in his usual attitude, with his arms folded across his chest, and so closely was bis cowl drawn over his face, that all that could be seen were his large, black, and powerfully- expressive eyes, that were fixed Upon Lord Raymond with a look which we are completely at a loss to describe. His lordship was ( Juite paralyzed at this unexpected ap- pearance, and stood gazing with a vacant stare upon the tnoi. k, unable to move, or to utter a syllable. The mys- terious visitor seemed to enjoy his astonishment and alarm, and once more he laughed, in a voice of derision and exultation. lie had entered the room bv a sliding pan « l, which opened with a spring, and which he had not again closed j but in what manner had be gained access to the castle, and by what means could he have become acquainted with the apartment in which Lord Raymond was, aud the manlier in which to effect his secret entrance?— These were t( ie thoughts that darted upon the biain of Lord Hiaymoud in a inoment, and before he doyld utter a word; but these were questions that he would after- wards find a difficulty in solving to his satisfaction. " By heaven!" he cried at last, " this must be some wild delusion ! My eyes must deceive me 1 Again dost thou present thyself to me, mysterious being! Manor devil!— reveal thyself; I am ready to encounter any hor- ror rather than endure this suspense." " For awhile longer, Lord Raymond St. Aswolph," said the monk, in a deep and hollow- toned voice; " for awhile longer thou must endure thy suspense ; but, fear uot, the mystery will be shortly unravelled, though not much to thy satisfaction !" " Strange, ambiguous man, if man thou art," £. x" claimed Lord Raymond; " again I ask thee, why dost thou so often appear to me ?" " Because 1 delight to torture thee,"— replied th « monk. Lord Raymond placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword, but another loud and scornful laugh from t'ns awful visitor, arrested his purpose. " idiot!" cried the supposed monk, " keep thy weaporf iu its shealh ; tbou hast already seen ils inutility when opposed to me. It is not thy liie 1 seek, or 1 bave hatl plenty of opportunities of accomplishing my wishes, and tliqu wonldst Iottg ere this have been an inmate of the tomb. No! I. seek a more terrible revenge than that} my vengeance could not be satiated hy thy death alone." " And why shouldst thou seek to revenge thyself upon me?" demanded Lord Raymond, still remaining fixed to the spot on which lie was standing, atidgazitjg upon tbe monk with a feeling of awe which lie found it impossible to conquer. " Because I am, and have reason to be thy mortal enemy," answered the monk; " beware, Lord Raymond, the time is coming— quickly coming! And then will it be my turn to triumph and exnlt over the misery— the shame— the maddening torture I shall see thee endure." The monk made a move towards the secret entrance as he spoke, waving his band in a menacing manner to- wards his lordship. " By heavens! thou shalt not quit this place until I know who thou art!" cried Lord Raymond, acting upon the random in the tractless realms of unmeasured space, j i'mpoVse of'his exqited hYsXvord'," and and be beholds the stars spread oirt before him, like rushing towards the mysterious man. The former was islands that slumber on the bosom of the ocean, until sleep, defending in confused and shadowy beauty, throws over him her downy mantle, and bids him dream of heaven. That all mankind are in the pursuit of happiness none will dispute. That all those pursuits, contrivances, and objects which contribute fo that end, are each warred upon by many, is equally ceitain ; but of all the cdlnforts which, by the blessing of heaven we are permitted to enjoy, there are but few which have to conlend with such constant and powerful opposition as that of smoking. Every ear that is not proof against the artillery of heaven, is constantly Saluted tVith the mur/ nur of dissatisfaction and the clamour of complaint, yet a large portion of mankind expect to obtain that happiness which they pursue with so much eagerness, only when the means necessary to its attainment are defeated and destroyed. To them " Man never is, but always to he blessed." They are not satisfied wi( h the provisions of the present hour, but look with earnestness to fhe undeveloped resources of the future. They must trample undei foot, and frown into disuse, all those simple and prac- ticable sources of enjoyment which surround them On every side, before they can approach those " Elysian fields" which their imaginations have created, and which their longing fancies have stored with a ( liousand new delights and unpractised joys ; and notwithstanding disappointment inevitably overtakes him who Beeks in his expectations of the future that consolation and con- tentment which the present denies, it seldom overtakes them in season fo produce any happy results ; for while they live the same visionary abject* are dancing before their eyes, and when dealharlast overtakes thetn, they do not repine because they have neglected to extract svVeets from the blossoms scattered along their paths, but because their strength failed ( hem ere they reached that region whose atmosphere is all fragrance, and whose productions ail dowers. Those whose opposition to the habit of smoking is most laud and clamorous, are not they who: have fell its effects or have tasted its rich delights; and they are by no means those only who are annoyed by the fumes which it creates, or the ex- pense which atlends it. They are generally ( hat un- fortunate class of beings who are denied by nature that nice perception of taste, which others possessing, enables them to draw from a plant apparently unpalat- able, the most delicious sweets; and they seem to make war against it for no other tangible reason than because others seem to enjoy it. That disposition which seeks, under the painted pur- poses of reform, the destruction of every species of amusement iu which itself can experience no gratifica- tion of delight, is the same which, under a ditfarent direction, would invade tbe sacred silence of the sepul- chre for the jewels and ornaments that adorn the dead. That age cannot shake off the palsy of years, and find happiness in the pastimes of youth, is 110 reason why youth itself sl| puld renounce ils happy privileges to mimic the decrepitude and scrupulosity of age Each period of human existence has its own peculiar delights, and it becomes men, active in life's most im- portant concerns, not to forget that the rattle and the top once had charms for them. That theie is a time and place for all these thingB none will doubt. That there are ages, places, times, aud occasions where smoking should uot be indulged is ERNNESTINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. BY THK AUTHOR ov " KLA, THB OUTCAST," ETC. ( Continued from our last. J there was; however; more difficulty in fulfilling this resolution than he had at first itnagitied, for such was the effect that his singular and impressive adventure had made upon his mind, and so deeply did the remarkable prognostications of Hal of the Glen prey upon bis mind, and also the encounter he had had with the grey monk, that they kept him in a constant state of agitation. Who the latter individual Bonld really be, and tin- motives for his extraordinary conduct, he was at a loss to conceive.; bur, in spite , of all his efforts to the contrary, he could not help thinking on him with a feeling of tbe most un- conquerable dread, and was determined to leave 110 means untried to discover who lie was, and to unravel the mys- t. erv of bis conduct. Tbe whole of that day he passed at the castle, keeping principally to his own room, for he was too much agi- tated to enter into the society of his mother and sister, and he was fearful to see Ernnestine, lest be should not be able sufficiently to conquer his feelings to keep con- cealed, from her the circumstance which we have been de- tailing. As we have bufore observed, Lady Celestine and her daughter were both very much disturbed by the mystery of his lordship's- behaviour, aud felt convinced that some- thing had occurred to him; but they were, fearful of questioning him, thinking that, in all probability, it would but increase his agitation, aud throw him into one of those paroxysms of intense grief they had frequently witnessed some years before, soon after his return from abroad, and the occasion of which tbey had never been able to fathom ; and lhat his present emotion sprang from the same source, they were fully disposed to ima"- gine. Although Lord Raymond did not leave the castle, he sent a domestic to " The Flagon," to enquire after Ern- nestine, and to make ati excuse for not seeing her that day, giving, as the reasou, that be had some particular business to attend to ; and with this message, of course, our heroine was satisfied. " But am I not weak to let this wild adventure disturb my mind?" he soliloquized, as he traversed bis apart- ment, and after his mind had been for some time brood- ing upon the circumstances ; " wbv should I thick seri- ously upon the predictions of this Hal of the Glen, as he has chosen to call himself, yvho may be an impostor, after all, taking advantage of thfe credulous, aud delighting in distracting their minds? But no," he added, after a pause, " be cannot be an impostor. No mortal man could perform tbe things that 1 have seen him elo. The visions raised by bis a. viul incantations ought to be suffi- cient to convince me of his supernatural powers, and to make me. place the firmer reliance upon his prognostica- tions. And the frightful phadtoms I saw iu the Glen- all— all strengthen that conviction which I now feel it impossible for my mind to reject Who, then, is this mysterious monk? Is he the same individual as the White Knight ? and it be is, why should he thus con- tinually obtrude himself uuou my presence, and threaten tne with his'vengeance ? There was but one man who-' but why should I think of him ? the cold grave has Ions since confined His mouldering remains; and even had he been living, I feel certain iliat were we to meet acain, instead of his proving my enemy, 1 should be able ro convince Mm how much he wronged me by his suspi- cions, and how severely I have suffered for any indiscre- tion of which I may have been guilty. Oh, Marian, Ma- rian !" Here his lordship's agitation became so violent that he was uuable to proceed, and traversed the apanmetit, abont 10 dart upon bim, when he seized his arm with a, u iron gripe, aud wresting the s word from his hand, dashed it to the floor, and, laying hold of Lord Raymond with tbe same ease as he had before done In the morning, he laid liitn prostrate. Burning with Indignation, Lord Raymond arose again, as quickly as the shock he had received would permit him, but 1 be fictitious monk was gone, and closed tbe panel after him. " liven at tbe hazard of my life !" cried St. Aswolph, " I will pursue thee." He touched the secret spring as he spoke, and dashing through the aperture, boafi. ded like lightning through the suite ot ro injs beyond, the opi. n dnors of which pointed out the way tbe monk had fled. When he arrived at the end of the gallery, he thonghthe cangi;' a glimpse of his person, turning the angle at the bottom 01' ' he staircase, and hastily descending, he lonked around him, but could not see the least signs of bim; and not knowing which way to proceed, and thinking of the uselessness of >..' s doing so, as be had no doubt but the object of his pur- suit had gained the otitside of the castle by that time, he abandoned it. He made bis way to the old and faithful porter at the gate, and inquited whether he bad seen any pctsdn an- swering the description of the monk pass in or oat. The bid man seemed surprised at the question, - especially when he noticed the agitated manner ot his lord, and im- mediately replied iu ihe negative, with which answer Lord Raymond was satisfied, aud couclsded that bis sin- gular visitor knew if a secret entrance 10 tbe castle, by which means he had been enabled to make his appear- ance befote him, without the knowledge of any other person, aud without any fear of his retreat being cut off. He reiurned to lii » chamber in a state of mind which may easily be conceived, and soon became immersed iu a train of reflections of the most bewildering description. CHAPTER XXII. " And wailing shrieks were heard When the hlack mantle of tbe night was spread ' Around. And tbe owl screech'd, And ghastly phantoms were seen to glide In the pale moonbeams, ' mid The crumbling ruins of that dreary pile." ETHELRIDA. "* IT was night, and tbe party of gossipers we have before described as frequenters of the back parlour of the hos- telrie of Master Hubert Clensham, were assembled as usual, with the exception of one individual, whose ab- sence was considerably missed by them, as he happened tb be^ the most important and talkative personage amongst tlum; and upon an average being cupahle of drinking about as much as three of theip, the landlord was one vVho had . not the less cause to regret that he was not pre- sent. Various conjectures were formed, and it was at last concluded that the absentee was ill; and they had just proposed that a deputation should depart straightway to his residence, when the door was suddetily burst open, and the person about whom they were so much concerned, rushed in, pale, trembling, and his teeth chattering in the most violent manuer. He sunk into - a . chair, and, staring about him, his knees knocked together, aud, in fact, he presented one of the most perfect pictures of terror that could possibly be imagined. His associates stared at him in amazement, and then ihey all together enquired what had happened to alarm liiin in such a manner. He made several efforts to reply, but they w. re ail im ff- ctual; he opened his mouth very wide, looked remarkab'y stupid, and touud it Impossible to give utterauce to a syllable, ( To be continued in our next.) HOT PISHES.— Th - RE Is a Frenchman in Maine so fond of hot dishes, tha'. tie can swallow nothing t> ut m. lted lead. He trltd toiling brandy and cayenne pepper, but his throat was so. froeeu i* l> by the experiment, that he had to ile iu a furnace gix weeks before his cicc'iilstkia was restored. TETE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. what I have seen of you, 1 think you deserved it." O, w hero bowed, and for a minute there was a dead pause. " The re is," continued the father of Miss ftarrlett, " something else I know you would wish, and your eye seems to say, ' May T venture W ask itNow I will save you what I know you consider a delt '.' ate question, by saying at once I would feel great pleasure ill ha. Ing yon for a son- in law i therefore, I leave it with yourselves to lie. cide on the day of your union." The reader can fancy with wli at unbounded joy our her ® received those glad tidings; and with a heart overflowing with gratitude to the old g- ntleman, he wvi about expressing the same, when who should enter but his in- tended, and her father immediately retired, to enable Lieutenant Willoughby to communicate the joyful news to Harriett, whose joy on hearing of her father's free consent, was only equalled hy that of her lover. Suffice it to say. In a week after this event she became Hou Lieutenant Wliloughhy; " And the village bells, the village bells did ring" on that happy day. In less than twelve months after she pre- sented her husband with a fine boy, and a happier pair than Mr, and Mrs. WlllougKL- y, never lived together. MEMOIRS OF Marie related to me in a half whisper, rthat one day, in the beginning of Winter, having gone out on foot with her femme- de- chambre, to make some purchases, she had been obliged to take refuge from the rain in an om- nibus; a yellow glove, of the most orthodox shade, of- fered itself to facilitate her ascent, and, raising her eyes, to charge them with thanking the amiable glove, Marie saw it belonged to a young man of fine figure and fea- tures, who had the manners of a gentleman andfthe " fac. ins" of a nobleman. The Rue Sain'- Honors is very long, and to regain the Rue tl'Angoul& me, It was necessary to pass along the whole of It, during which ti re they mutually cXami- ert each other very well, were pleased,' and showed by their looks that they were so. Marie, while negligently play- ing wilh her handkerchief, let her pretty name be seen, embroidered in full, and surmounted With a little proud an l coquettish countess's Mrohet} the Stranger, on re- ceiving some big tl£ ly soils as chance against quite a new and shilling silver piece, disdainfully begged the driver to rid him of the dirty load, by throwing it to some heggar; at length, when Marie wanted to alight, lie grit, down the first, again offered his hand, then respect fully bowing, remained motionless in the middle of the rain and mud till the moment when the great gate of tbe hotel was close I between her and himself. Marie was thinkiug the whole of ( he day, the whnle of tlie night, ofher morning's " rencontre." On the morrow an irresistible impulse directed her promenade aloug tbe Rue Saint- Honore, bnt he was not there, and she only found in her remembrance the image that, chance had deposited in her heart. Mademoiselle de Nicolai went every Sunday with her governess to ihe church of Saitit-^ liilippe; the church is small, and when, olle day, there was a crowd anxious to hear a charity sermon by the Abb6 Dugerry, ail the seats Were taken; the ladies were in vain looking for one, when a grave voice, with a slight accent, came to offer them two chairs, and make Marie start; it was him I They accepted them wilh thanks, and the young man immediately went to lean against One of the near- est pillars. Daring the whole of the sermon, tlie ardent look of the unknown remained fixed upon Marie, she felt it weigh upon herejelids; she wished to avoid it— she was ashamed— and yet, if it turned away from her, she suf fered— and her eye, despite herself, sought for it again to bring it back. Since that day they met very frequently, ihthe Champs Etysees, in tlie Tnillerio-, at Saint Philipne. Without speaking they said everytbiug to each other. They had days of confidence and" of happiness ; soifowful days, full of jealousy and yefcation. Did he come late to the rendezvous that had been guessed the day before with out its being given, Marie avoided his looks,— laughed, chatted— returned with exaggerated amiability the salu- tations addressed to her by the young men of her ac- quaintance. Did he then become depressed, jealous ; or, better still, indifferent: she uttered phrases quite loud, that he cnuld understand to Mademoiselle Delvaux, em- ployed A thousand little stratagems to console, to bring him back, let fall a flower from her bouquet, and smiled to hint permission to pick it up, and adorn his button- hole with it, & c. held) of the Edgecombe Park, richly clad with nature's provisioa, and those studded on the sloping lawn, casting a luxuriant shade by their spreading branches, and the long- wished for to win of Plymouth was at hand. Buf there was a pain mixed with the pleasures in which tie was now enjoying— pultl at the thought that those dear girls with whem he had so often dancetl and talked, and who had so often shared his joys, and now so many thousand miles distant, and whom, perhaps, he might never sec again; or if by chance he were to come across, to behold them wives of others more fortunate than himself. After a short time the P Was put out of commission, com- monly called paid off; therefore, every person on board is at liberty to go where he likes. Our hero, therefore, booked himself for in; first coai h going to A . which is the nearest town to 11— tiie native plage of George Willoui hby. The Hiralet of a .. Is one of those delightful and picturesque country plnces, for which our talr isle Is ttoted, and which a person who ( to us-; tile expression), has a soul, would delight to live in all their life; indeed the scenery round about there Js so surpass- ing); beautiful, that my feeble pen has cot either the power, or its holder the ability, to describe with justice to It; and a person would not wonder, that after being brought up In such a paradise, ( If I may be allowed to use the comparison,) that our hero was naturally of so romantic a turn of mind. After travelling a day and night in the stage- coach, he arrived at A , and taking a post- chaise from thence in the evening, just as the bllthesem: haymakers were trudging to their happy homes, after their daily toil was over. Our hero entered the well known Hamlet of R ; how oft, when passing some well known object, did his youthful heart seem ready to sprit g from Its boundries and burst forth into the field of bliss. At this moment the village clock slowly and solemnly struck six; what crowded thoughts, at each stroke of ihe bell, then rushed into his mind— it bro'ight at once to his memory many hundred scenes of his schoolboy days, " When all seemed calm nnd smooth.' Since last he had heard its fatal strike, how many had It sum- moned to their last and long home; and many, too. in the prime and youth of life, and who were once as blooming and healthy as himself. The numbers of fleecy white tombstones, and newly- raised graves, surrounding the ancient sacred edifice, could prove the melancholy fact. At last he espies the long- wiihed- for cottage t the postillion rang the bell, and having paid " the damrge," he entered the home he had been absent from so long. I shalt not pretend to— Indeed it would be t'ollv on my part to attempt to describe the joy of ail the Inmates of Hnmm- rton Cottage that evening, oa the re- turn of the only son and brother. On the third'day following that of the arrival of George, Mr. Willoughby gave an entertainment to a few select, friends, to cele- brate ihe joyful occasion of the safe arrival of their son, after so long an absence. Among the number was a gentleman and his only daughter, Ellen. Gentle reader, this Ellen will be the hero- ine of this title. She wis about eighteen, with eyes as black as sloes, and beautiful coal- black hair, Hanging In tresses over a high and noble forehead, wltll all the expression of sentiment im printed on that lovely face, which, to gale OD, was to admire. Directly George was introduced to this model of perfection, he was awed by her presence ; and when he could not resist ihe temp- tation of gazing on her lovely f, » rm, he would often catch her eye as she, in timid glances, ventured to lot k at our young voyager. Every time ths dance went round, was he the first to solicit the pleasure of being lier partner for the lime, and wilh a jealous eye did many girl that evenir g look upon our heroine. Miss Harriet Dudley was. as we have before slated, the only daughter ot a wealthy gentlemau who resided in the neighbourhood ot Bir- mingham, and had amassed a great fortune. Harriet, at the time we speak of, had just finished her education at H , and was with her father ( her mother died when the was young), on a visit to some friends they tiad living at R , and witn whom the Willoughbys were 7ery intimate. Unfortunately for George, the Dudleys Intended starting the very day following that on which they were at Wiiloughby's, for Birmingham. Miss Harriet had, informed George of this on the previous evening, which seemed like a death blow to him; but prudence restrained him from appearing to shew signs of tbe feel- ings which struggled within his breast, at the thoughts of never, pei haps, seeing her more. WRITTEN BY HERSELF. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH KXFRKSSLY FOR THIS WORK. ( Continued from our last. J GEORGE W1LL0UCHBY. A TALK FOUNDED ON FACTS. CHAPTER I. " How very unfortunate I am," said the hero of our tale, as he was one day sitting at table with some ten or twelve others of his f-* llow adventurers on the briny ocean, when they had just set sail from the land of their birth, for the West India station, probably for four or live years. But before I proeeed farther with my narrative, I will give the reader some account of the life of George Willoughby, prior to the time I commenced tbe tale. George Wllloughby was born of respectable, and although not affluent parents, had sufficient Income to procure enough to make this life comfortable, and give their son ( who was an only one) a liberal education. He had three sisters living, who were all younger than himself. George was of a very ambitious turn of mind, and of a very amiable and pleasing disposition— so much so, that when he was at school, he w. is liked by all his companions, and beloved by his masters. He had, from a boy, always cherished the Idea of going to sea, and was delighted when with a party of pleasure or picuic, thry had occasion to cross a stream in a ferry; indeed whenever he had au oppor- tunity, and could spare time from his numerous avocations at school, Instead of seeing him playing leap- frog or crliket, as the other boys would do, you would see George wilh bis little boat at the horse pond near the play- ground highly delighted with his amusement in sailing Ids frail barque over Us threat- ening billows; and used to wonder within himself how they could find so much pleasure in recreations of the bat, & c., in- stead of joining in his amusements. In short, he was so taken up with the thought of going to sea, that he has frequently been heard to say, " He would go to sea, If it were In a boat," and had so bent ids mind on It, that nut ail the persuatlons of papa, or entreaties of mamma, couid alter his determination. Consequently, at the age of fourteen, he was taken frcm school, and placed on board a ship- of- war, which was fitting out for a foreign station, on the 20th of Sept. 1825. Then, when removed trom all the comforts of a happy home, and placed in the midst of strangers, and in so novel a . scene as a shlp. of- war presents to a person just Irom his home; I s y, hen ( lid he, lor the first time, say to himself thus:—" What have I bargained for 1 What an undertaking have I made I Now I knew what responsibility is," and feeling such misgiv- ings within himself, that the poor little fellow, ( who was then in the mess- place, commonly called the berth,) overcome with his feelings of leaving home, and launching so suddenly out Into the world, that he could not check th- r. guftliing tear which burst torlh in floods frcm his swimming eyes, and puttii g his handker chief to Ills face, sobbed aioud. " Hlllol youngster, what, mammy, sick already," sang out an old mate, who sat at the opposite end of the berth, who was sucking down a glass cf grog he had just mixed for hlmselt, aud was passing the decanter to his neighbour $ " what did they send you to sea for, if it is against your will ?" " It was not against my will, but by my wish, I came," sobbed forth our younker. " Did your mother cry when you came ?" " Ye— s.' " Did your father cry ?" " No." " O, the hard hearted old rascal!" replied this son of Neptune. Such was tha rough usage our little hero had to encounter an first entering the new protcssion. But we will pass over the busy time of getting a s> hip rigged and prepared for sea j suffice it is to say, that by the beginning of October she was laying in the sound, and after a few days sailea for her destination, which was India. But as our reader may not feel interested with a description of that part of the world, I will only mention a few circumstances which happened. At the end of March, 1826, they, after a boisterous passage, and touching at several places for water, & e., arrived at Madras, and then was presented a new scene to our hero, who, in this course of time, had grown more callous to the endearments of home, and had made up his mind to be comfortable and at home where he was. During their stay at Madras and other ports of the Indian Ocean, several invitations were sent off by the gentry and officers of the army— especially the 53d Regiment, to bails given by them ; with which George was greatly gratified, especially there being so m my pretty girls assembled for our young sailor was, though young, quite alive to the charms of the fair sex, and fully appre- ciated any opportunity as the one in question, to feast his eyes on their tmiling and lovely faces. CHAPTER IV. AFTER remaining at home a few months, George was appointed to H. M. S. A , lying at Spithead, and under sailing orders for the West' Indies j and the day they set sail, and had just lost sight of the land of their birth, is the period at which this tale ccmmenct*. " How very unfortunate I am," said the hero of our tale, as he was sitting at table with some of his messmates; '' here I am going out on a foreign Btatlon lor four or five years, and perhaps may never again return, as many hundreds before me have not; ana the dear charming iady I iove does not know where I am, or I am not aware of where she resides, yet I will find out by some means or other, if it is possible " On his arrival at Baibadoes, he wrote a very affecting letter, and with language full of love and vows of eternal constancy, ad dressed it to his dearest Harriet. 3ut how was she to g : t it? He put it under a cover, addressed to Mrs. Patty, at R-—•—, where Miss Harriet had been staying, with a request that she would be so kind as to send the enclosed with a proper direction, which, of course, she did ; and what was his inexpressible joy in two months after sending the same, to receive one In return frotn her own hand, candi ly acknowledging her willingness to receive his addresses, aud hinting that s,,.- wished him t- j come home from so dangerous a climate as that in which he was serving. It happened about a month after this, when lying in Port Royal Harbour, that a signal was raade for a boat frcm the A , to go on baard Ihe flag- ship, and the midshipman in charge of the boat, came back witn & long letter in his hand, evidently from tbe Admirality, and addressed to Mr. George Willougnby, ot H. & I. S. A , who, ou opening it, beheld, to his utter and agreeable sur- prise, his promotion to the rank of lieutenant. He ( and I certainly cannot blame him), took his departure for England in the lirst packet going thither, and reached safe with, out anything particular occurring; but instead of taking coach as before tor K , how greatly was the case altered ; he Immedi- ately directed Ills course lor Birmingham ; aud putting up at fhe " Star" tbe first night, he. though with a nervous and hurried step, approached the dwelling, guided by the direction in his lover's letter. When he reached the house, he sent In his card, as Lieutenant Willoughby, by a servant, desiring him to tell Ills master and youog mistress that he would call again in the course of an hour. Ou the old gentleman's reading Lieutenant Willoughby, his daughter gisped for breath, and could scarce conceal her emo- tion but recovoring herself, she merely said, " I am glad be has got clear of that climate." She could say no more, and she left the room to give vent to her feelings, and the affectionate girl wept In secret. On recovering herself a little, she returned, and on re- entering tbe drawing room, who should she encounter at the entrance of the room but Lieutenant WilloughLy I She could not utter a word, but instantly gave a short scream, and went off in a swoon. The doctor was immediately sent for, and with proper re- medies she partially recovered, but tbe excitement had produced a violent tever, and Bhe was unable to leave Iter chamber for a fortnight after this event. Her father discerning tlie cause of his daughter's late indis- position and of the late excitement, very prudently gave his con- sent to their mitrimouial arrangements. Oste day when, as usual, Lieutenant Willoughby came to pay his dally visits at Crossmore Home, Harriett happened to be out with a young lady of her acquaintance, the old gentleman began as follows-.—" Well, Mr. Willoughby, I am very glad to think you have got your lieutenancy so soon ; and, if I may judge from CHAPTER II. WITH the peim'ssion of our readers, we will pass over the early part of our hero's career in the navy : and sufficient to say, at the end of 1830. the P—— was ordered to Eigiaud; and then, when the » hlle eld's of Old England were once more in sight, did his heart leap with joy, at the thoughts of soon being on shore, and within the embraces of those he loved. The setting sun ot the 18th of June, 1831, found H. M. S. P—, safely raiored In the srme Bound where she had before layetl, and since when, six autumns had mingled their faded leaves with the dust. What alternate thoughts of pain and pleasure passed In his mind, as he bent over the side of the vessel and gazed at the scene before him; there were the same trees ( which he had before be- CHAPTER XVII. AT Paris I had found Madame de Montbretou again— R she had preserved her friendly kindness towards me, w my admiration had not grown meeker; I sometimes ei saw her, and those sometimes always seemed to me too It: rare and too short; she wished to present me to her ir mother and to her sister, who lived in the Rue d'An ei goulime, so close to thatof Berry, that Madame de Ni- ai colaiand I saw each other a little, a good deal, then every e( day— and almost every hour. My family did not approve ai that intimacy, they were frightened with Mademoiselle tc de Nicolai'a reputation; she had been represented to h them as a young person regardless of the laws of the gi world, more free, more independent, than a young ft wife. My family feared her influence over me, and ri it required all the entreaties of Madame de Nicolai. h. the prayers of her daughter, for my friends to shut their tl eyes upon our friendly relations. 0 Marie de Nicolai had an independence of actions by no means in liarmony with the position of a young, mar- p' riageable woman. Believing she had felt those sensations tt of uneasiness 1 so often suffered from, and that, more tt courageous and greater than 1 had been, she had af franchised herself from them to seek happiness, not gt according to tb, e world, but according to her creeds and is her heart; , felt myself attracted towards her by an IU- tc timate Sympathy. Alas 1 I had taken the vacuum for si dep'. n, the love of worldly pleasures for the love of the <> . tappiness of the soul! I had taken impressions for sen- o: timents, 1 had taken sensation for thoughts. h Marie exercised an absolute empire over all that sur- n rouuded her, and her will was become the will of three « existences that ought to protect her. M. de Nic- iiai who counted for uothing within doors, was, on' of doors' tl the most honoured and most honorary member of all the w agricultural societies aud committees 0f a|| t| le ' ranee companies against the light."/, n„' hail gre f( He was a man fortunate ea0u « h to b'e'judged and tt classed amongst those res- emblc clas, of nJu. n? les wh„ are the honour and t^ h f thejr d tment. he j possessed the scten^ rf remfahli siieDt_ kept a d s ftw v ' a d'S^ tion laborious enough to have, d alter every h0Urs 0f those taciturn medita- ft ttons wri lC(, serve ( 0 Rjve a man the reputatioi) () f a _ r IOU d thinker. Madame de Nicolai, incredibly mar- o vellous ' Ai her youth, had been pretty, coquettish, c a5rl* iahle, and piquante ; but she h id preserved nothing t bt all that. She, with a smile, said those things, the c| thoughts of which make us blush, found names for I: everything that, in a woman's mouth, is nameless ; had t one of those old ages that don't attract respect and make | us fear to grow old. Madame de Nicolai, who did not 1 much like Madame de Montbreton, adored Marie ; that t is to say, she realized all her desires, all her fancies, and I gave her almost complete liberty. That spoiled child had separate apartments, a femme- de- chambre to go out with in the morning, a governess to promenade wilh her in the day, her mother to take her into company It was in the saloons, above all, that the independence of Marie was remarked and blamed; she was scarcely 1 arrived there before she remaiued given up to herself, < surrounded with young men, while Madame de Nicolai, ' detained m another room at a t ard table, remained ibere ' until a run of ill luck, reminding her of propriety and 1 her daughter, made her h turn to fall fast asleep, and ' even sometimes snore seated by her side. As for the third neuter existence lhat gravitated round 1 the star of Marie under the name of Mademoiselle Del- ' yaux; she was one of those things that take up but ! L f rv" om' make little noise, know how to open and : shut tl>. e eyes with that cunniug of admirable apropos is scarcely acquired but by means of ihe great impulse of necessity, of interest. Mademoiselle l) el- vaux had calculated upon an annual income for life, in- sured ijpon the faults and follies of her pupil, whose improprieties made her funds rise or tall; she specu- lated on the vOUDg girls' secrets, aud reckoned still more ! pon those of the young wife. , The Wis were finished, spring brought back Lent, e tftligious offices, violets, idleness, ennui, and the » n of intimate friends. Mademoiselle Nicolai en- raised me from the dignity of helping to pass her t away to that of confidante, then to that of insepa- rable ; and, after some time, 1 was become a habit for her heart, as she was become an affection for mine. Marie, who had all a Creole's nonchalauce of thoughts and reflections, had a » incredible activity of action. She went to bed very late and rose with the sun ; she was often in my chamber to wait for and call me up before my old Jane had come to open the curiains. She then looked into tny drawers, and in my letters, for the secrets she accused me of hiding from her ; and when she had convinced herself I had none, that not one of my dreams had faded by being realized, she, with au air of supe- riority, quufidr'd to me all the passions she inspired, the names of all those whom the dangerous happiness of see/.& g her had changed into victims '. She possessed Yolumes of sonnets, madrigals, romances in her honour, and she had most flattering pyramids of dried flowers, of souvenirs, of hopes, and of regrets. It was, above all, during our promenades in the Champs Elys^ es, that Ma- rie initiated me in all the little mysteries of her balls aud of her successes. " You see," she said to me, " that tall young man driving past in the phaeton, it is the Count Krnest de T. I dare not salute him, his wife is horribly jealous; at the English ambassador's last ball he never left me; he pressed my hand when dancing the cotillon, aud made me comprehend he loved me, and that he was very wretched ! Look before you, it's M. de M., Madame de N.' s brother; his father and his sister wish me to marry him, almost as much as he desires it himself;— however, I am not decided. He belongs to the new ' court, and I have no longing to go and mix my graces with those of the grocers', tinnians', and perfumers' wives, who adoru the saloons of the present Tuille- nes." " I own, my dear Marie, that Louis- Philippe cannot pretend to the honour of receiving you." " 1 didn't want to vex you; no malice. Ah ! there's Ernest de G., it seems to me he bows to you— you are acquainted with him ? Poor lad, he has three times had the honour to pretend to iny hand aud to my heart, and to have had three official refusals. Would you advise roe to marry M. H. ? the name makes me hesitate— he has no title, not the slightest particle— it's deplorable 1 Oh! quick— look at that young man on horseback it is the handsome Antouin ue N.; he would suit me well enough if all the women of his family were not blue stockings and wits." " I have been told, however, that Mademoiselle Sa- bine de N. has a mind ai lovely as her lovely antique virgin's bust." " Vou have lieen deceived; she is the most whimsical, the most uncivil, and the most wearisome young girl in our faubourg. Ah '. there's M. rie M., he took my bou- quet from me yesterday; fortunately, he is almost a cousin, and, of no consequence. Next to him, M, de B., a coxcomb, a gambler, with whom my sister talks sentiment, morality, and philosophy, two or three hours every day. There is '' " Finish, finish, Marie; is he not a stranger ?" " Yes, I belit- ve so, without being sure of it; but— bush', beware of Mademoiselle Delvaux, 1 will tell you a many things to- mor, ow morning, if you prefer me to your laziness, and if you come and take a cup of choco- late on my b>- d " " Is it a real secret you want to confide to me .'— only answer that question ? " A real secret, that renders me at the same time happy and very unhappy." " Marie, how I thank you for sharing it with me ! To confide, is to love, and I would wish to also have a secret to tell you, and to prove to you that my affection is wor- thy of your confidence." The confiding a secret is an event as important as it is solemn between young girls. For her who receives it, it is an initiation iuto the mysteries of the soul, and into the mysteries of devotcdness; it is entering some little way in'o the paradise ofher waking dreams, it is a little conspiracy against the absolute power of the family that would wish to have the monopoly of preaching; in short,, it is something sacred that, makes the heart palpitate, it is something prohibited that makes it tremble. I this time was not one moment behind the appointed time ; Mademoiselle Delvaux had been sent away, the door was bolted, we ware alone, could not be heard, and CHVPTER XVIII. MAIUP. had ceased speakin? when 1 was still listening j ( to her. Struck with the romantic details of this history, , extremely flattered at becoming the con fidante of it, and , quite happy at feeing in reality one of those romances which scarcely exist but in the imagination of poets, I , overwhelmed my dear little heroine with questions; I , wanted to know all, even what she hetself didn't know ; I was vexed at her not having more minutely examined . the unknown ; I looked at tier and foutul her much pret- ' tier since I knew her to be so well beloveVl j in shott, my heart beat quicker than it had ever beat, and I felt a singular emotion, Marie laughed at my enthusiasm, but she was proud of the tffect her confidence had pro- duced. She avowed to me with perfect sincerity that she loved ltim, that the days were mortally long when lie did not cross her path, she said she believed him to be rich ( having often met him in the wood upon line horses) that sl » e also believed him to bp of noble birth, a fy- reignt r, a man of the world, for he had the manueri, the elegance, and the distinction of one. " Well then," I said, to Mane,' you are going lo find me mad, but 1 have, only one regret, that is, for the denouement to be so easy. I could wish your hero to be very poor or of very inferior birth, that you might have some saciifices to make him, some obstacles to brave." " I thank you for the wish ! do you seriously believe I could then marry him ? I have sometimes really thought it might be so ; but, he is a foreigner I he, per- haps, is not willing to remain in France. Why does he not even try to ge' himself presented to my mother ? ' " Can he be without being authorised tiy you ? Do you know whether he is acquainted with any of your friends ?" " You are right, it's difficult! But I wish to make you know him ; 1 wish to make him comprehend that you are my friend and my confidante. 1 believe I shall meet him at the Museum, will you go there with me ?" I consented. We wrote a line to Madame Valence to obtain her authority to pass the whole of that day toge- ther, and, on entering the Louvre, Mi rie showed me ker unknown. Truly, imagination could not have in- vented a moie accomplished hero. He was tall, genteel, active; he had an expressive and melancholy counte- nance, like those of tt. e reapers in the painting by Ro- bert, a singular impress of distinction and originality in his physiognomy, in his dress, in his attitudes, and in his movements. I saw his eyes'salute Marie ; but, on meeting my look, which was strange to him, and which perhaps seemed scrutinizing and inquisitive,— he seemed ill at ease, and turned away. I then affected to occupy myself exclusively with tbe paintings. 1 attracted all the attention of Mademoiselle Delvaux, by consulting her on the merits and delects of the different painters ; in short, I wearied myself so generously aud so long a time, that he comprehended 1 was a friend, and thanked tne by a look full of atnical gratitude. Dating from that moment, I became a victim of friendship! 1 listened during whole hours, and, with deep attention to the con- versation of Mademoiselle Delvaux, who had a very dull mind, or, more properly speaking, the Inaviest nullity it can be possible to meet with, and I was recompensed by very grateful eyes which returned me thauks, anu also sometimes initiated me in their thought, in their happiness. This affection, which had already so keenly pre- occu- pied Marie when she was alone to dream of it, took much deeper root, and became much more active by the contact of our two imaginations. All our words, all our thoughts were of the unknown, Marie wished to know his rank, his fortone; to have him introduced to her mother, encourage him to demand her hand. I promised her lo procure the necessary information by means of my friend Cyrus C , which it was very easy for me to do, and iu a few days I learnt that his name was Felix Clav£, that he was a Spaniard, and a man of letters. These details were a thunderbolt to Mademoiselle de Nicolai. " My God!" she exclaimed, " have you remarked a large white house a few yards from Saint- Philippe, with a great black sign- board with big yellow letters on it?" " No, never." " Well, then, that great sign- board, those big letters, are doubtless the arms, the escutcheon of our noble un- known, it's the Clave Institution." " I own, Marie, that may wound your aristocratical ideas ! But, because he is the son, or perhaps only the nephew of the head of an institution, is he the less distinguished for it? Is his brow le- s noble, are Iiis mind aud his heart the le> s visibly reflected through it : in his eyes? If you wanted to make a mere suitable marriage, I could comprehend your Hesitation ; but, if i your heart is his, can you take it back again ?" " Good heavens ! I love him still, I always shall love him; only I can't become Madame Clav6, the wife of a man who earns money by writing! My mother, my , father, would never consent to it; what plan shall I : adopt?" i " Tell him you courageously sacrifice him to a prejn- i dice, see him no more, that he may forget himself." Despite myselt, there was a bittern, ss iu my defence f of M. CltvtS. On becoming unfortunate, he was become F more particularly my friend, aud that I might not wound t Marie's feelings I suddenly broke off the conversation, t Some days passed without our seeing each other. I one morning received a note from her, in which she I begged me to come to her immediately, lor she was suf- • feting, uneasy, wretched. 1 had scarcely entered her I chamber btfore Maria related to me that having hurt M. Clav^' s pride by looks of indifference, she had not seen ' him since; that she was in despair at the idea of remain- f ing in his remembrance as a frivolous and vain young ] girl; that she wished to make him comprehend that she f sacrificed her own ideas to those of her family, her affec- t tion to a duty; that it was necessary, that it was imiis- ' oensable for her to see him again for a last time, and ' that she was determined to write to him ! 1 own that far J ftom dissuading Marie from so imprudent a resolve, I encouraged her in it, 1 even avnw I lent her my writing t for the « e two insignifii'ant lines I— 1 " For health, a momenade in the Champs Elys^ es, at 1 two o'clock ; for Solvation, a prayer at Sunt- Pliilippe." 1 They met, in fact i but the looks of M Clav£ were full c of repentance and gratitude} those of Marie completely , forgot they were tn tell of separation, to speak only of a happiness and of hope ; and they never loved each other I more than in that moment when they wante I to love each other no longer. _ ) On tbe next day Mademoiselle de Nicolai received hy r the penny post some charming. Words from M, Clav£, which thanked her for the benefit ih it bad taught bim i some resignation in the sorrows and the sufferings of his a poor life, which said that, he adored her on his knees as * the consolation of the afflicted, the mystic rose of this { earth, & c. This letter arrived while we were all In the . saloon ; and, to avoid exciting suspicion, as there was no < signature to it, Marie showed it fo her mother, attri- Imting the poetical and touching expressions of gratitude 1 to some of the former pensioners of the civil list io whom c she had been Commissioned to distribute pecuniary assist- < ance, and afterwards greatly ami lie 1 herself wilh the , pride of M. de Nicolai/ who made Iiis friends read these i oraises addressed to his daughter's good action. I own 1 I couldn't, laugh witli Marie at the mistake sbe had J caused. The words written from the heart of M. Clave - eemed to me profaned by being seen hy so many indif- , ferent persons ; and, in listening to the compliments ] passed by a mother on that supposed benevolent action, l my heart contracted; it woni'f & ave been a thousand ' times more impossible for me to receive those unmerited felicitations than the bitterest reproaches. We had, however, completely defeated the aim of our i little note, that was to bring a last meeting and a last explanation. Marie felt herself more happy and flattered than ever by the love she inspired ; she did not wish to make M. Clav6 despair, she did not wish to encourage him; so she answerer! by a letter that was meant to he stern and that was affectionate, so she asked him as a favour not to write to her anv more, while giving him my address that the letters might without danger rejeh me at Madame de Valence's. Mv correspondence was suh- j cted to no examination, so that 1 could render Marie that service, and it was decided I should continue to render her it till her departure for the country, when it would become quite easy lor her to carry on the corre- spondence herself. An answer from M. Clavti arrived, then again others. Mirie read with very great, emotion these sweet expres- sions of love, that she would not havedaied to bear; myself was affected, thoughtful, on rea liug after her these graceful words, echo of a noble soul. Marie, sometimes not answering bt gged me to an- swer for her, and I then received flowery phrases of friendship, quite as flowery and sweet as the most flowery phrases of love ! M. Clave had accepted me for his con- fidante— for his friend ; I was the second Marie to whom he dared to tell all the bitter sorrows of his soul, who consoled him, encouraged him, showed him the glory he could conquer, the glory he could oppose to the nobility of the Nicolai. M. de. Clavfi had initiated us in all the intimate details of his position. He told us he was born on the frontiers of Spain, had grown up amongst, the mountains, having great lakes for mirrors, the little birds for confidants, and the bright stars for friends. Misfortunes h id brought bis family to Paris. His father obliged to apply himself to the education of the children df the rich in order to procure bis own poor ones' the meaus of a position in tbe world, had piously left in his country the sword of his ancestors, aud the name of Villa Nova to take that of Clave*. With a noble heart that disdained fortune, and only wished to acquire it to bave the right to despise it with out being accused of envy, M. Feli,< Clav£ was suffering, and sought a refuge in religion itn& irt poetry. He sent us a collection ot his thoughts, and some verses, ad- dressed to Marie. If I judge these essays with my im- pressions of the past, 1 find tit* m simple, affecting, im- : pressed wilh a afleep faith antl^ woMe amhjtion. ( To he continued hi our next.) CHAPTER III. ON the morning appointed for their journey, the sun rose with unusual aplendonr and brilliancy, and there was not seen a speck of cloud lloatirg In the heavens, which could obscure a star; and the little warblers chanting forth their songs of love Imparted a chatm In our hero's breast. He arose before the rest of the family and walked abroad; of course we need not inform our readers that the direction he took was towards that part of the village which contained the object of his love, anil there he lingered about the spot, and could not bring his mind to quit, hoping that h : might, by some chance, catch a last look of the dear object of his admiration. But betore we proceed further, it is necessary we should know what was passing in the mind of Harriet Dudley, who, in con- sequence ot the proposed jaunt, rose earlier, also, this morning than usual. " Dear me," she said, to herself, " 1 never before felt as I now feel— I never telt regret before at leaving any place ; I have always experienced pleasure, but now methlnks I would fain stay: yet it is not the village I care about, or admire, but I must own my attractions are bent towards, and that I feel a great at tachmcnt and regard for that dear young gentleman who was so ' very kind and so remarkably attentive, and who danced so often wirh me last evening; and, O, the th, night o. f going away_ this very day, and never seeing him again, it rings my r- eart,' and herewith the poor girl hid her face In her delicate hands, and silently fijtred the oittet tearsi and she breathed a prayer that the day might soon come when she would agidn behold the object ot her devotion; and at that mom- nt she involuntarily peeper! through the curtains of her chamber, and, to her astonishment, who should tha perceive under the window but hiin— that very person she had been lamenting for. " And is it possible," thought sbe, " that h, can be there to endeavour to catch a last glimpse oi tne? Surely his Beutirnents towards me must very much agree with my feelings towards him. It Is now I begin to feel what is t ha meaniHg of love; ere this I have often heard it spoken of with derision: but who that has ever felt its influence, could be so cruel as to laugh at ethers, I know not. Ah I I must take another look— he sees me!— mercy! But it is not prudent for me to act thus. Oh I cruel it seems to close the blinds against one 1 would give worlds to be with, and declare my love to, but stern decorum indignantly refuses." She with a heavy heart finished her toilet, and on entering the breakfast parlour, her maid met her, and presented her with a note, which was evidently written In a very hurried manner; the contents of which I am suie the reader would not be so rude as to wish to know. However, it is sufficient to say, that wilh a quiver- ing hand and throbbing heart she opened and read the short epis- tle, wldch, as the reader will anticipate, was from no other person than George Wllloughby; and from ttlat minute sbe became more thoughtful and serious: even at breakfast, Mrs. Patty asked, " Are you well this morning, my dearf— you do not appear to have recovered from your fatiyue of the previous evening;" and her papa remarked that she had lost her appetite, but they all attri- buted it to their keeping It up so late on the preceding evening. At ten o'clock, having their portmanteaus, See. packed up, iliey started, and pleasant appeared the journey to every person in the carriage except, one; lo her it setmed she were going f. om an object the could not be happy if she were never to see again ; and ere she reached her home, she had, through taking so little nou- rishment, become quite thin, and there was an ularming change in her altogether. We will now turn to our hero; he having deposited the note betore spoken of, in the safe custody of Miss Harriet's maid, he walked slowly and thoughtfully homeward, and reached Ham- merton Cottage just as the breakfast- bell had rung. TRADITION OF THE TIME 0? KING WH. UAM ill. BV ROBIN HOOD. " Mortal, naught can Injure thee. Spread thy sail, and sweep the sea, V'eniseance now Is In thy hand, Be Ihy foe on sea or land ; . If tbf oath be kept not well, III befal thee with this spell." Captain Kyd. IT was on the western coast of England that the fol - lowing tradition I am about to relate took place. In » small village near Rampside, on the coast of Lancashire, lived a young lady of great beauty, and possessed of many virtues. Her name was Eliza Sinclair : she had a fother living, hut her mother in tbe prime of life was snatched away from the world by that most destructive and pre- valent malady, consumption. Mr. Sinclair was a highly talented gentleman, was exceedingly esteemed by all who knew him, and never did a father love a daughter more ardently than be ; perhaps she was loved the more with being left motherless and an only child. In the same village lived a youth named Sir Robert Moreton, a young knight, who had risen by his bravery and noble conduct. He was tall and handsome, black hair and mustache, fine nose, and expressive mouth, noble forehead and eyes, and his figure was exceedingly perfect. He loved the beautiful Eliza with all Ihe affection ofa most passionate lover. He found that he did not love in vain, but that he had a rival to compete with. Thomas Waine Mars- carth was a young man of respectable birth, and was left young iu the possession of a large fortune: he lived at Rampside. He was the very reverse to young Sir Robert Morton ; his temper was exceedingly bad, and he had been noted from his childhood as being a very quarrel- some and misehievons yonth. Sir Robert was held high in the mind of the world from his great bravery— Mars- cat'th oniy, from his great wealth. The latter wooed the lovely EJi. za, making sure ( as he thought) of his prize; but to his great disappointment found that he was much mistaken, aad he soon discovered in his rival no other than Sir Robert Morton. It was one beautiful evening in ,' he month of July, that young Marscarth, with a hurried a.? d dismayed step, paced his elegant drawing- room. Occasionally might be heard the faint sounds of " Robert Morton-- E! iza Sin- clair." Sometimes he would stay a moment, cast his eyes towards the window, and fix them on some particular object as if in deep stud- s; ( ben he would exclaim softly to himself, " Yes', old' Mardont, or the Wizard of the Red Scarf shall be my aid In this affair." He then rung the bell violently, and called for his hat and clod!: \ then he ordered his man- servant to bring out his horse, which he quickly mounted, and bent his course towards the wizard's cave. As soon as he had reached the place of his destination he entered the cave, and found the wizard sitting over a large blazing fire. " What would'st thou here?" said the Wizard of the Red Scarf, " what would'st thou here? Who is he who dares thus to seek Mardont?" " One who wishes to seek thy aid," replied Marscarth. " Dost know the conditions on which I lend it ?" , " No ; nor do I care so long as I get it." ^ " 1- will aid thee ou these conditions. Thou shalt have tthree wishes, whicii, if thou break, the prince of dark- ness shall for ever claim thee and thou shalt pass into his • regions " " 1 agree," said Marscarth. The Wizard of the Red Scarf then repeated a long sentence of most unearthly language. Soon the large blazing fire, which before shone so clear, vanished away, ihe place seemed suddenly to fill with sulphurous air, and a cloud of fire appeared to rise out of the floor at the furthest extremity of the cave. Soon a demoniac figure arese amongst the fire; it had the appearance ot a horrible beast of a sable hue. In a short time the figure replied. " What would'st thou wish ?" " I have three wishes," exclaimed Marscarth. The demon nodded assent. " Then, first, I wish to gain the hand of Eliza Sinclair in marriage." " Thou shalt have her," replied the figure ; and imme- diately a large blaze ot burning sulphur proceeded from the mouth of the monster. " Secondly, I wish to fight with Hubert Morton and conquer him." " This wish thou shalt have, provided thott wilt wear this amulet around thv neck ; but should'st thou lose it, or should it be snatched from thee by a womau's hand, thou'rt mine for ever." Another blaze of sulphur then proceeded frem the mouth of the figuie. " 1 agree to this," replied Marscaih ; " and, thirdly, I wish to grow the richest man in the whole world." " This is also granted to thee provided thou keep thy last wish." " I am satisfied, then," replied Marscarth. The Wizard of the Red Scarf then pronounced again ! long sentence of curses, & c., aud the figure disappeared^ ® and again the blazing fire presented itself. Marsca^ H then mounted his steed and proceeded home, bra^ H over the victory he had gained over Sir Robert^* Sir Robert became still more dear in the^ H j lozely Eliza. His virtues appeared evet^ j^ t nificent to her. She found that he jiH i unbounded passion, aud thought i his love. jm^ k It was one day that Sir^^ l 1 along ihe side of a green w^ H 1 Mr. Sinclair, that he was^ B " How uow," said A^ fl see. I dare say you : my love with Eliza SinH all hope of her hand, i^ H be u Yield up all hopeai^ HBBlMPII^ TO'; s^ W^^ , will 1 fight and die a honouiVil^ leath. Come on— coma on, 1 am ready." " I tell thee, ere we begin, I bear a magic spell, I defy thee to wound me." " I care not," returned Sir Robert. " Come on— , come ou." In a minute steel met against steel; each eye glanced l towards each other bitter hatred. Each fought with the 1 power of a demon. Sir Robert, who was skilled in the ; use of the sword, struek blows ou almost every part ot : his foe, but iu vain, tor jet the amulet was unharmed. ! The strengthV Sir Robi n, grew weaker and weaker each blow, as tbe blows ot Marscarth became stronger and 1 stronger. Suddenly, as the latter was about to aim rt ; blow at his foe, Eliza Sinclair, who had seen the com- ; mencement of the struggle, hastened to the spot, and, in ! trying to stop the intended blow, her hand caught hold of 1 the amulet; and he, in endeavouring to disengage himself fromj her grasp, sprung from her, leaving the amulet iu 1 the hands of the girl. Immediately he became disarmed, | his courage failed him. Tfie clouds began to lower over ! him— a darkness prevailed. The thunder roared in the , heavens— the lightning illumined the sky, and struck the sword of the terrified Marscarth, which was immediately i shivered to pieces. The wind began to whistle and blow j with great violence— the thunder appeared to grow louder [ and louder threatening to rent the heavens asunder— , the lightning flashed more vividly. Suddenly the prince t of darkness made his appearance, and with a demoniac i laugh seized hold of his victim, saying, " Thou art mine - — thou art mine." The next minute lie vanished, borne ' away by the monster. The day then wore a different * aspect, the clouds were driven away, and Sol, iu all . hi. s splendour, illumined once more the earth. Shortly alter, Sir Robert Morton and Eliza Sinclair were united in the holy bands of matrimony by the kind 1 consent of Mr. Sinclair. J The above story is still related and believed by many J even of the present enlightened age around the villages x were It is said to have happened. TETE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. dTragmcntoj for tf) e Curious. THKTOMB OF WASBINOTOW.— NOBLE CONDUCT or A SCOTCH- MAN.- - On the 12th of June, 1817, John Strutheri, a journeyman ioaioii, was compelled to leave hll native town, Irvine, in Ayr- » hlre, limply because he had endeavoured, with otheri, to get up a Befom meeting. The Tory authorities lent for, and examined hint, touching, as they were pledged to allege, hl » seditious and treasonable principles. They did not incarcerate him, but they threatened him with the terrors of the law; but what was worse than this to the poor fellow, they arrested the production! of his la'oour, by getting him deprived ot work, and, consequently, the means of malatenance for his young ftmily. In this situation of matteri, teeing that he wai what wa! then slgnifically called " a marked man,*' John Strutheri resolved te leave his native country, and to embatk for the United State! of America. Strutheri and 111! family arrived in safety at Philadelphia. He had no recom- mendation— no chance of finding employment, except through the recommendation of his own hands and good behaviour. But he speedily found employment. The Bank of the United State! in Philadelphia wai then building, and he was engaged tlpOll It by Mr. Traquir, the government contractor. That gentleman soon appreciated the good qualities ofthe exiled Sco'. Eh mason, and the result wai, that he. as alio Mr. Strickland, the government archi- tect, patronized him, and Strutters ison commenced buslneis on Bis own account ai a master iriason. Hi! woik gave tuch singular satisfaction, that the Government of the United State! consulted AIM, and employed him Ott their public works or fineit buildings, and in the course of a few years, be amassed a vast fortune, ana Is now one of the wealthiest and most respectable citizens In that couatry— living lii a style almoit equal to that of aay nobleman in Great Brltaia. Here li true nobility. To show hii gratitude to , a<*? Ptad countrymen, he formed, about three years ago, the splendid Idea of erecting, at his own expenie, a ma> jle serco- phagui, In which to deposit the remain! of the greatest man that America, or perhaps the world, ever produced— the Immortal Geoige Washington. A beautiful volume, narrating the corre- spondence and proceeding! consequent on that Important event, so interesting to Americans, and to every admirer ot the Illustrious Washington over the habitable globe, wai publiihed at Philadel- phia in ihe spring of the year. It would often be better not to attempt to reward a brave aotlon, than to reward it 111, A loldier had his two armi carried off at the wrllts by a Ihot. Hii colonel offered hint a crown. " It wai not my glovei, but my hand! ( hat I Jost, colonel," said the poor leldler, reproachfully, SONG OP THE EXILE. WRITTEN BT A. KYNE. While otheri, made by fortune gay, Are led by joy'i benignant itar, Ere lite hai met meridian day, Exigence bidi me wander far. Though here long doomed to toll and care. Yet warmly ihall my heart expand, And tlirlli to breathe in ardent pray'r, " Fare thee well, dear native land." Thll casket holdi my little all, But would It meet all nature'! want! > Content should teach thee, though ' tis imall, To shun the care profusion grants. No sordid views propel me hence, In quelt of Fortune'! lib'ral hand j But ' til to gain a competence Denied uie in my native land. Strong tie! there are that l. ind me here, The very gravel with flow'rets dreit. Call forth affection*! warmest tear, For him they hold In pulseleii rest i And living tiei there are that bind, Entiviu'd by love and friendship'* V-. J That still shall bias heart and ml- d ' To love the long, dear H9ti- e i » '- Jtl I go intent to mend , To crown each - The thought <•' » h° ula ' « ueoeed, Mypat"' Jt Fortune's former hate E'en s1* " l0t fl » me shall ne'er Impede, j" -. ttiuld I wend with weary feet, r - " rough tracklesi snow or burning sand, v beSdfel1 knee there I'll entreat Kind Hs& yan to bless my native land. W IT" 1" 1 " HUMANITY.— In the year 1746, when England was at war With. Spain, the Elizabeth, of London, Captain William ''. timing through the Gulf from Jamaica, richly laden, rffet with a most violent storm, in which the ship sprang a leak, that obliged him, to save the livei of hii crew, to run Into the Ha- vannah, a Spanish port. The eaptaln went on shore, and directly waited on the governor, told the occasion of his puttirgln, and that lie surrendered the ihip as a prize, and himself anu his men as prisoners of war, only requeatleg good quarter. " No, sir,'' re. piled the Spanish governor, " if we had taken you In fair war at sea, or approaching our coast with hostile intentions, your ship would then have bean a prize, and your people prisoners} but when, dlstvessed by a tempest, you come into our ports for the safety of your lives, we, the enemies, being men, are bound, as such, by the laws of humanity, to afford relief to distressed men who ask it of us. We cannot, even against our enemies, take ad- vantage of an act of God. You have leave, therefore, to unload four ship, if that be necessary to stop the leak; you may re" fit her liere, and traffic so far as shall be necessary to pay tbe charges; you may then depart, and I will give you a pass to be in force till you are beyond Bermuda; it after that you are taken, you will then be a lawful prize; but now you are only a stranger, and hare a stranger's right to safety and protection.'' The ship atcordingly departed and arrived safe in London. A MOTHER'S MUSINGS AT THK CRADLE OF HER FIRST BORN. How the fond mother, o'er her babe, _ When wrapt in Sleep's embrace, Will watch— and, with affection's care, The future try to trace. Tc know what fate awaits that child, When on the world ' tis thrown, Whether ' tis love, or peace, or war, To her is all unknown. Whether a soldier he will be, A man, both brave and boldj Whether a miser's sordid mind Will make him worship gold. Whether a sailor on ths seas, H cw doth her hc^ rt recoil; The silken fcp. Vid, ,0 0ften kiss'd* The t>; ry ropes would spoil. Ther, sure that eye, so brightly blue, Bespeaks a soul too pure, To sport, in making others wounds, Oh ! no —' twould rather cure. And r^ n that Open brow, so white, disguise a sordid mind ; His golden store has but one use, To others to prove kind. But while she sits, and vainly tries To lift the veil of fate; To pierce through days and years to come, That yet have found no date. A smile came o'er that dimpl'd mouth, That sweeter look'd in sleep ; That smile spoke volumes to her heart, In eloquence so deep. It was his father's smile that play'd Those cherub features round, n'-' d, foTt bade her quell those anxious fears, language without sound : ley procwhat e'er J ® ' lot » - J » . T, you need not fear; " hlm compell'd to roam, o hadNa most dear, using n revere, , w h\ love ; taught, " « d no more— foant; er be, ^ LOUISA B. XECUTION OI' K ^ I'tiPrnMHT'^ rrthe execntiou of Col. Despard, criminal, after he was dean,^ was beheaded, and the head held lip with this proclamation, " This is the head of a traitor." The colonel addressed the people from the scaffold, solemnly protesting that he was innocent, and that he died a martyr to the zeal with which he had ever been the friend of their liberties. The specta- tors applauded him while he spoke, took off their hats, as if in re- spect, when he suffered, and hissed the executioner when he held up his bloody head. They burnt one of the witnesses In effigy; and attended the body to the grave, as if they had been giving him the honour of a public funeral. Sir William Gooch, governor of Williamsburg, walking along the street with a friend, returned the salute of a negro servant xvho was passing by. " I see," said his friend " yo\ t condescend to take notice of a slave." " Yes,' replied Sir William, " for I can- not allow even a slave to excel me in good manners." LOVE'S SUSPENSE. No tongue can tell what anguish tears the heart, Of one who watcheth with uncertain hope'— How burns the soul, and all life's pulses start, While Tears' dark shadows with Love's wishes cope. Back rolls the heart's full tide as Time's slow bells Loud scare Hope's fainting soul with death like knell; TV hour's past I— Then voiceless nights hush'd breath, but tells The watchers o'erstrained hear Fate's adverse spell. And when his eye beholds that peacefnl orb Whose hallow'd light embalms the sleep of earth, His fever'd brains Intensely whirl— absorb All phantasies of air, and give mad Horror birth! October, 1841. KYK. SEEING IN THE DARK.— It Is recorded of the Fmperor Tibe- rius. thathe could see in the dark; and M. Le Cat informs us that there was at Parma a young woman who could see at midnight as Well as at noon. Persons shut up ia dark prisons soon learn to distinguish the minutest objects, the absence of the stimulus of light causing an expansion of the pupil of the eye. In the Journal des Scavans for 1677, we find the case of a musician who had one of his eyes struck by a lute- string rebounding, when it broke from being serewed too intensely. The eye inflamed, and the patient found to his astonishment, that with his disorder he had acquired the power of seeing in the dark, so as to be able to read. He could only see in the dark with th « inflamed eye, and not with the other, THE WRECK OE THE HEART;: OR, THE STORY OF AGNES PRIMROSE. ( Concluded from our last.) ( A DRAMATIC TALE, FOUNDED ON TKE POPULAR PIECE OF THAT NAME, AS PERFORMED AT THE ROYAL VICTORIA THEATRE, WITH UNBOUNDED APPLAUSE.) The worthy landlord offered to pledge it if she would take it out In his stock, as he called it. Finding that expostulation was use- less, she gave it to him on the condition that he Would bring her some food for tile child, who complained of hunger. The fellow then vanished with it, and i- eturned bearing a can of buer, some gin in a neggin, a penny roll, and a basin of milk, all of Whieh, he told her, came to half- a- crown, which was the full value of the shawl. She found the best thing she could do was to be quiet; and giving the child the bread and milk, sat in a stat& of alarm not to be described. The drink now made them very noisy, and a number of practical jokes were played that filled her with fresh terror, particularly as the child's cap was actually stolen off His head by one of the women, who at the same time was loud in crying, " shame upon anybody that could take the poor baby's things." Thfey now stood up to have a dante ; and AgiisU, takiiig the landlord aside, asked him If he cohld put her and tha child in any place to sleep by themselves, at the same time offering him a silver thimble for a little refreshment, however humble, not having broken her fast all day. He then told, her she might be by hersslf In the garret, and he would let her have a candle, and a roll and ehefese for the thimble, which he expressed many dijubts about it being Silver, As she rofia now to folldiv him out, the Irishwoman came up to her, and seizing a handkerchief that had been round the child's neck, asserted it was her's— she wondered that people couldn't know their own property. On Agnes asserting it was her own, the woman appealed to the ccmpaay if it was not her's, and that they had seen her wear it. " Aye, aye," says a fellow, " Pve seen you have it on many a good score times; we won't see you robbed, the young woman mustn't tfry her hand here. We are up to snuff and a pinch beyond 5 no tricks upon travellers here my girl.'' Bagley, the landlord, now whispered to her to let it go, oi she'd get ill used perhaps. She, therefore, yielded up the handkerchief to the wretch who demanded it, and hurried out of the room with the child, who cried terribly with terror. She was then shewn into a Wretched gfirfei, whefe A more wretched pallet answered the purpose m a bed, with a filthy blanket and rug, an old chair, and a bit of looking glass fastened tn fVia Tirol 1 Ktj tbr^ a s, 11 al liniUn IV, « .4.1* ' hj'C Al. _ 1 It.. . .... I U to the wall by three halls, being the Whole ef the furniture; yet it was a heaven to the plate she had left below. The bread and cheese was brought, with an old knife on a dirty broken plate, and a three farthing rushlight stuck in an old blacking bottle, the land- lord now telling her that it was the best bed in the house, and that they would be as snug as biddies, left her, bidding her good night. The noises frota. below still causing her to be alarmed, Agnes now sought hoW she cotlld fasten themselves In. There was neiiher lock not- latch to the door, but as there was a nail at the side, she took off her garters, and passing them through the hole where the latch had been she twisted them round the nail; and though It was but a weak defence, still no person could enter without first making some noise and using some little force. Having put the child to bed, she took her wretched meal, that required appetite to get It down, the cheese being similar to that In ships after a long voyage, Strong, and . full of iiiltes; and the bread, which fc* ^ ra'ed a new roll, being at least nine days old. i keloW now having subsided a good deal, and having f s9 most of them go. to the general bed - rooms, she ventured JO lay down in her clothes. Certain troublesome insects prevented her from sleeping till daylight, when Nature, worn out, caused her to fall into a sound sleep, from whieh she did not wake till near nine o'clock the next morning, when rising and dressing the child, she descended timidly to the rodm which she had sat in the night pfevious. To her great satisfaction she found that most of last night's company had left. Two Ill- looking men were seated at breakfast, and when she entered she saw them put their heads together, and whisper; and from their gestures she was convinced that she waft the subject of their remarks. She was on the point of asking the landlord where she could find a register office for servants, when one of them called to her and desired her to bring the child and take some breakfast. She was on the point of declining, when the other said, " Nay,[ nay, my good woman, don't be afraid; it's not good to go out on a raw stomach. Never be shy; you have no money, but we won't see a woman and a child go without when we have plenty before us. Take your breakfast, and afterwards, if you have a mind to go and make a purchase for us, in some articles that we don't understand so well as one of your sex, Why you may make a few shillihjf*; and why not you have It, who seiia to want It, as Welt kH another." Thankful at what seemed such very generous conduct, she sat down. The breakfast was excellent, tea, coffee, hot rolls, and butter, ham and eggs; she felt rather surprised at such profusion with persons who seemed by their appearance and the place they were in, to be indigent, but felt that she had no right to make any remark ; and having heard that London beggars often make a great deal of moneys she said nothing, cnly wondered in her own mind as to what they could want her to do. After the meal was over, the first that spoke told her that they wanted three silk hand- kerchiefs, cf the same sort as one that they produced; that when men went to buy such things that the mercers always took advan- tage of thtm— that she was to goto such a mercers in such a street,, and purchase for them, and they would pay her for her trouble. The other observing that she could not go out respectably without a shawl, called to the host. " Holloa, Bagley, bring the young woman her shawl, and give it to her— we will make it all right to yon, old feller." The landlord did as he was bid In a twinkling; and taking the child she prepared to go forth. One of the men then gavel her a note, and bid her observe it was for ten pounds, and told her to make the most haste she could. She went out, and having easily found out the shop by their description, a* k- » d to look at some silk handkerchiefs ; and having made her choice, offered the note In change. The shopman, she thought, seemed to scrutinize her features very closely, but gave her the money, desiring her to put her name and address on the note. Th's puzzled her, but remem- bering the name of one ofthe streets through which she had passed she supplied the rest by putting her own name and a fictitious number. This done, she left, and was very soon met by the two men, who having commended her despatch, took the money and articles, giving her ten shillings, and one of the silk handkerchiefs; and having told her to meet them at the same place, they had more work for her, they left her. Pleased with the result, yet quite unable to explain the mystery, she went and took a small plain lodging, in an humble quarter of the town. For some length of time she in vain attempted to get in service. She met the two men and constantly changed bills of con » iderable value for them. At length the shopman at one ofthe places made BO many Inquiries of her as to how a twenty pound note she offered for change, came into her possession; and talked about forgery and the danger of uttering false notes, that she made up her mind not to go on such errands in future, being now convinced thit there was something wrong. About this time she heard that William Norwhynne, who was now a man of great riches and power, had a town house in a certain part ot London, to which she repaired every day in the hope of being able to see him to solicit a trifling support, at least for the child; but though she saw him step in and out of his carriage, and go out with his proud bride in a splendid phaeton, yet she could find no opportunity of speaking to him. Her landlady had got her some plain work, of tailor's shirts, and such like, with which she dragged on a few more months of existence. At length reduced to the depths of despair, she again sought to see Sir William. On her way she waa again met by the two men, who proposed to her to go on an errand the same as before; this she refused, telling them her suspicions. They laughed at her fears, but owned that the reason they emplojed her was, because they were too well known themselves to utter the false notes, though they had forged them. One of them offering her a fifty pound one, told her if she would get change for that she should receive ten pounds for her trouble, Agnes knew not what to do ; her child sick, and crying for want of food,— no hope before her to look up to. She had never been stopped ; the men, too, so warmly urged her to undertake it, that in an evil moment she went with it to a fashionable shop in the west- end, and where she had once changed a note of a similar value— it was near William's house too. On presenting the pay- ment for the articles, she was told to sit down; and; to her horror and surprise, was given in charge to an officer for uttering false notes, the shopman having been on the look out for some time. In vain she implored for mercy; the master of the shop was In- flexible, and she was taken off to prison. In her way passing Wil- liam's house, she essayed to reach the knocker, but was seized apaln. She clasped the pillars in her arms, and called aloud on William's nnme. She was torn away by the officers, and lodged in Newgate, from whence, after three or four months, she was removed to Hertford for trial. While in the gaol there, so much wis she changed by want and misery, that even her nearest relative could not have rec< gnized her. The day before the trial, she wa* told that an old man waited in the press- yard to speak to her. On going to him how was she startled to find It was her own father, who, blind and weak from age and debility, had walked six miles to assure h'- mielf whether it was Agnes; who, finding that he was not certain of her identity, disguised her voice and pretended that it was a person of the same name that had been accused. At th's the old man let his staff fall between his arms, and falling on his kcees, thanked his Creator that he was saved from the misery of having a daughter executed as a common felon, and tears of gratitude caursed dew a his fur- rowed cheeks. Here her firmness left her, and she w^ pt audibly. The old man mistaking the cause of her tears, thought of sympa- thy, and blessed her for her goodness of heart} she knelt and received it. like the wily son of Abraham. Old Primrose told her that he could not learn what had become of his daughter, but hearing of the arrival of a feion of that name at Hertford, he had begged of the guardians of the poor to let him ascertain the fact; and the poor old man, through a broiling sun had trudged, blind and wretched, to meet his child again, even as a felon, and returned with a light heart in the idea that she was innocent, and would come bacK to him, perhaps some day, and close his eyes in death. The trial of Agnes being fixed for the next morning, and the list being shown to her, she, with heartfelt anguish and horror, dis- covered that she was to be tried by William himself, now Judge Norwhynne 1 There could be no doubt of its being the same; and when the wretelied girl was placed at the bar, she recognised him in the judgment seat, shuddered, and withdrew her eyes to gaze around. The jury were arranged, and she looked earnestly at them to ? ee if she could ia their faces behold some token of their having feeling hearts ; but no, they were mostly hard- featured men, who sat in a state of apathy, displeased to be taken from their general avocations. The case was opened, and she heard herself accused of uttering forged notes, knowing the same to be iorged. On being asked by the judge how she intended to plead, the sound of his voice roused her from a trance of horror: yes, it was his voice.— how different were its accents now to the time when he first avowed his passion for her. She answered la faltering voice " Not Guilty," Again she looked in his face to see If the tone of voice had any effect upon him; but no, he had not the most distant idea that the beautiful Agnes and the wretched being before him could be the same. He had not either heard or paid attention to the name, and, therefore, felt no sympathy for the hapless girl, whose appearance now would have Interested but few in her favour. When the master of the shop told his tale she espied in the court the very man who had given her the notes; but the moment his eye caught hers he hurried out of the court. The case being summed up and proved, the jury retired to consider their verdict. Agnes leant against the dock, the picture of despair; she could urge nothing in her behalf— she could not produce the men who had made her their victim, and her conscience told her that in the last Instance she had erred with open eyes. On the return of the jury a death . like silence reigned In the court— their verdiet was " Guilty 1" Agnes clasped her hands in despair. On being asked why sentence of death should not be passed upon her, she, in a wild and incoherent manner, mentioned her parents, her seducer* her child, and her necessities, the villains Who had made her their tool, and at the conclusion sunk on her knees and begged for mercy. Though somewhat moved, the judge was too much used to such scenes to suffer it to bias his judgment. Therefore, putting on the black cap, he began to pronounce sentence of death upon her, first asking her name, whieh he had not noted before. The clerk of the Coiirt said audibly, " Agnea Primrose. 1' The judge started, his face turned pale. " Agnes— Agnes Prim- rose !" lie repeated. At this, moment Agnes, iu wild and fren zied accents, exclaimed— " Yes, Agnes,— the lost, unhappy Agnes! But pronounce her sentence- doom me to death— fix the brand eternally on your child— your own— ha! ha! h'a!" Here the Wretched girl sunk senseless in the dock. William threw off the cap, and rushed towards her. The whole court was in a state of confusion. The prisoner was carried, in a siate of Insensibility, outW the court, a medical man being instantly sent fofi Here for a short time we will leave lier aild go t> ac1t io Hfcftif, who, after having been at sea some time, got wrecked in a storm, and the ship, foundering, him and nine more took to the long boat, and after being without food or water for seven days, were taken up by a hdthewai'd bound vessel, <> n board of, which Henry to his great joy and surprise, met with his father, wild had escaped from the savages, and was then on liis voyage to finglahd; where, in a short time-, they arrived, and made their way to Anfi'eid, where they found the dean had lateiylireathed his last, leaving a hand- some sum to Henry, and another to his brother if he should ever return. Henry now being independent, had, through tbe mad'. um of his father, applied to the tiisjate for Rebecca's hand in marriage, Who now injustice could noftwithhold his consent to their union, which took place at Anfield, the ceremony being performed by the worthy curate, and the elder Mr, Henry Norwhynne gave away the bri^ Oi Some short time after this happy event it was that the trial of Agnes took place. Henry heard of her commital, and, inexpres- sibly shocked, went with his father to Hertford to be present at the trial, In order to form, his own judgment of her guilt. While in coiirt he hfippcntfd to alt near the Man who had entrapped Agnes into offering the notes, and heard hini tell his pal ot it* He followed him out of court, and calling an officer, gave him in charge at the very time when the before- mentioned extraordinary scene was being acted in the court. Several gentlemen who were present identified the fellow as one that was a known villain; and one of them had him committed immediately for a robbery npon himself. The scoundrel, thus taken aback, begged to speak to Henry in private, Where he told him if he would intercede for him not to suffer the extreme penalty of the law, but to be tried and tran- sported for the robbery alone, he thought he could clear the young Woman, meaning Agnes. Henry, who by this time had been made acquainted with all that had happened, told him he would do his best for him if Agtles could be cleared. He then hastened to learn further tidings of her. Agnes in the meantime had conie to a knowledge of her dreadful situation. She found herself surrounded b? medical men, and the minions of the law, of wh: m she wildly asked what had happened, and what they now intended to do with her. The gaoler told her that now she was recovered she would be taken back again into court and sentenced, the only fori ® now necessary to complete her trial. Her heart sunk within her when an officer entering, cleared the room of all, and coming up, told her that the judge was coming in person to speak to her. A trembling seized her, apd a hot flush came over her features at the intelligence; she felt herself unpre- pared for the interview, yet she could not now avoid it even if she wished. The door now opened, and the awful being entered on whose lips the fate of her existence had hung but a few moments before. He had divested himself of the wig, but was still in his judge's gown. He waved the officer to quit the apartment; and then casting a look of pity, not unmixed with a sterner feeling, he asked the wretched girl why she had brought herself to thia dread- ful end, and why she did not apply to him. She then told him how and when she had applied, how often she had been to his house, and had not had the courage, after lifting the ponderous knocker, to let it fall to alarm the house, for fear of distressing his wife. At the mention of his wife he started, and said— " You do not know, then, that I am a widower?" " A widower!" cried Agnes, a feeling undefinable now passing through her heart. William then told her that his bride had taken cold at a ball from which he had most earnestly entreated her absence; an in- flammation took place in . consequence, and in less space than a month from the time she Was led a bride to the altar, she was carried up the aisle of th# t very church in which she pledged her nuptial vow t- b- tW^' Vtt'Uflt' Nonv- hynn « ' a. On enquiries' after his child, and learnir g that it was alive and well, his feelings were dreadfully excited : he clasped his hands in agony and walked to and fr © in despair. " Alas !" h » cried,( i what is & Q be done?— I cannot save you— I dare not arrest the law in its progress 1" ! She wildly bid him feel no concern on her account, that she was ready to suffer the extreme penalty if he would promise to provide for his child, and smooth, If possioie, the latter days of her father, conjuring him never to let the old man know that she had died an ignominious death. William, with burning tears, swore to fulfil her every wish— to make her child his heir, and never to marry again— thatdiis right might never be disputed. At the word " marry," Agnes started— her eye met his— it was but a glance, but the meaning could not be mistaken. " Yes, yes, Agnes, I understand; and that your lips could not ask I will myself declare— that, felon as you are, the marriage ceremony shall take place instantly,' he exclaimed. No,' cried Agnes, " no; you could not, must not sentence your own wife to death !" At that moment Henry and the other gentleman entered the apartment with the coiner, who now confessed that he was the guilty party, and 30 entirely cleared Agnes, that the persons in court and w'thout shouted with joy. Henry now affectionately congratulated her; and William, throw ing himself on his knees to her, implored her forgiveness for ever having exposed her to such horrors. Henry declared there could be given one proof of his real penitence; and a clergymau being immediately found, the late culprit and judge were formally mar- ried in the presence of all those who had witnessed her disgrace. She was conveyed to Anfield, - Immediately after her child arrived, In his lordship's carriage. As she tfrew near the village, the bells, whose chimes the last t mi she heard them, struck such discord on her ear, now were ringing In honour of her arrival. All the village turned out to receive her; the tenants took the horses out of the carriage, and drew her to the priory themselves. The chil- dren strewed flowers all the way, and William, as he handed her out ofthe carriage at the door of the entrance- hall, turned to all around, and cried— " Behold the Lady of Anfield PrlOTy, the excellent and virtuous wife of William Norwhynne!" She would take no refreshment till her dear father was sent for. The poor old man, alarmed at the bustle, was surprised at being told he msst go up to the priory; actually broke cut in a burst 01 indignation at the name of William Norwhynne, but he was taken almost by force to the house, no one daring to tell him the truth. On arriving there he was shown into the saloon, where his daugh- ter sat waiting to receive him. She had, previous to quitting Hert- ford, attired herself in a plain dress of white muslin, which, with a silk scarf to go across her shoulders, and a plain bonnet tied with a simple white ribbon, was the dress of the Lady of Anfield Priory ; her inestimable. Rebecca was on one side of her, and Wil- liam on the other, Henry'standing with his arms folded gazing upon the party with feelings too delicious to be described. The appearance of the o'd man in the clean but very mean dress of the paupers, the melancholy look peculiar to all blind people, and his tremulous voicc aaHing why he- was brought to that place for, drew tears from all present. Agnes knelt to him, and clasping his knees begged his forgive- ness and his blessing on his happy Agnes. It was with the greatest surprise that he recognized her voice; but he put her gently from him, sternly asking, 0 Why he found her in that house, and in what light or capacity Yr He was now made acquainted with everything. He sunk into a chair that had been placed for him; and was home time before he could speak, till a flood of tears had relieved his heart. The child was then put into his arms, and as he blessed the grandson, he stretched forth the hand of forgiveness to the father. Anfield Priory might hav* had a more splendid party in it, but never one half so happy as that s « t of persons passed the day. The old man was not permitted to return, but had his apartments allotted to him, that he might live and die with his dear daughter, which he did a few years after, full ot ye; n- s and gratitude to that Being who had so chequered, but so happily terminated his lor g life. William disappointed the expectations of his fneuds as to be- coming Lord Chief Justice; the shock he had received in the judgment seat having ever rendered him unfit to pronounce sen- tence again. He, therefore, resigned his office, and passed his time ever in the company of his beloved Agnes, who, restored now to the bloom of health and happiness, was as beautiful a woman as she had ever been a girl. Three Kiore children blessed their union; but William was certainly the favourite, not from any marked superiority of beauty or intellect over his brother an4 sisters, but merely from the remembrance of his infant sufferings. Henry and Rebecca had also a family, and scarcely ever left the parsonage for a day during the curate's life, when they removed to an elegant seat that William had built on purpose for them, within a short distance of the priory, so that the grounds joining, it was indeed but one family. Old Henry Norwhynne, who had now seen enough of barbarous life to enjoy civilized society with a grea er zest, passed most of his time in company with the curate and a few friends, to whjm he was never tired of telling tales of woods and wild men $ till, a little while after, his frknd the curate died. He was found, one morning, dirad in his bed; but so calm and quiet had been the departure of hia spirit, that he looked as one that was asleep. He was burled in the vault by his brother the dean, unfelgneQly lamented by his children and grandchildren, and all « ho had the felicity of being known to him. The dean's lady rarely visited the priory, passing most of her time in the gay scenes of London and Bath, and passing her even- ings at cards. Unlike most gambl- irs, she acquired Immense sums and kept tkem, whick at her decease all devolved to William and Henry, to whom she did that justice in her will that shs had refused to him when living. Old Robin Rackum, the coachman, who had ever been partial to Agnes, was never so proud as when he had to drive her out, He lived to a truly patriarchal age, Insisting, In his 97th year, to get Out of bed, where he had lain sometime, to drive the wedding coach of Agnes's eldest daughter, it being the third generation that he had served in that respectable capacity. Ralph Muffinface still keeps the " Hen and Chickens, and is now a merry old fellow, or rather a merry old boy, having buried his wife Biddy about four years, which ( from their always quarrel- ling and figliting, and making one another miserable by jealousies) he considered the happiest period of his life; and nothing pleased him so much as to be honoured by a smile or a nod from Agnes or any of the family. It should be observed that Shirk, the man who had engaged Agnes to utter the notes, was brought to trial for a robbery; but though he escaped by sentence of transportation, he shortly after came back, and taking again to his old trade of forgery, was executed at the Old Bailey, and never did man more richly deserve his fate. Now, then, we eloie our tale. AgneS, after all her sorrows and troubles in life, being most happy in the company of her husband, wko turned out the most affectionate and attentive of spouses. Her children, and her dear friends Rebecca and Henry, and their children being an example that though virtue may slumber for a time, and we be sorely chastened by the hand of fate, yet once let J. he heart resume the springing constancy of truth, and a firm " reliance being placed in the goodness of an all- sefing Being, who makes every one alike the object of his care, and happiness, how- ever deferred, will surely reward them in time, though they may have endtired the Wreck of the Heart like AGNES PRIMROSE. COVENT GARDEN. — A new farce, which we do not t( iink will long keep its place before the public, called The Wrong Man, has been produced at this theatre, since our last, We .' hall not trouble the reader with any particular remarks up » ti what appears to us to be exceedingly stale, flat, and unprofitable, but give them an outline ofthe plot, and leave them to judge how far it merits success. Sir Bryan Beausex ( Bartley,) a knocked up old roue, and of course, not a very desirable husbaSd for ft youpg lady, has been betrothed to his cousih, Slice, ( Miss Cooper) whom he has never seen. In one ot his amorous humours, he sends a billet- doux to his aunt's maid, but wtej like the rest of her sex, prefers " the man of her choicf, > n ' be person of s; mon Tack, to the worn- out old bachelor. So far a!! is very natural, but on this appointment, not a tnaiden one with the old Lothario, the whole of the interest of the piece rests. The aunt is made acquainted with Sir" Bryan's designs. She hits on a 1' ttle plot to thwart him, but it leads to a very different end than that which sbe intended. A friend of Sir Bryan's, Bee: hwood, ( G. Mathews), acts a very friendly part, by misleading him, and taking the responsibility of attending the ap- pointment oil Kis own shoulders. Alice has been sub- stituted for the maid, by the aunt, aud Beechwood, in his interview, manaees to fall in love, and to awaken a reciprocal feeling in the breast of the lady. Simon Tuck becomes jealous of Beechwood's prowess with Alice, labouring under the mistake that she is the maid and uot the mistress. But this is all made up, and the farce ends with Beechwood marrying Alice, Simon taking the maid, and the old bachelor still con- tinuing single, though he has been a very useful person, the key hy which the fortunes of the other characters are happily wound up. Great prepartions are, we un- derstand, making for the Christmas entertainments. HAYMARKET. — That admirable artiste, Madame Celeste, has been playing every evening, with tbe most rapturous applause, in her favourite characters of Julie in The Quadroon Slave, and in Foreign Affairs. Nina Sforza has been performed four nights a- week with unabated success. VICTORIA.— The Wreck ofthe Heart is still being per- formed with the most rapturous applause, to houses thronged to the ceiling, and would, of itself, have been sufficient to have stamped its author one of the best dramatists of tbe present day. The past week has been distinguished for the attractiveness of the entertain- ments, Othello having been performed, Mr. Saville play- ing Othello; Dale lago ; Mr. Osbaldistou Cassio, and Miss Vincent Desdemona; with such a cast, we need not say how excellently the tragedy was played, and we trust that the applause with which it >* as greeted, will induce Mr. Osbaldiston frequently to afford us a legiti- mate treat. The Duke o) Shoreditch is the title of a new piece, which has been most favourably received. SADLER'S WELLS. — As we predicted, the extraor- dinary effective, and 1> owtrfu! new naHtiral drama, called The Black Rover; or, the Bloodhound and the Shark, has complettly established its elfin public favour, and is one of the greatest hits that Honner ha* made since be has held the reins of management at this most popular theatre. The mechanical effects, beautiful scenery, and ihe absorbing interest of the piece, must be more admired the oftener they are seen, and we really believe that those persons who have once seen it, will uot fail to witness it a second time. We must give our most unqualified praise to the humourous acting of Mr. John Herbert, in the part of . Apollo Belvedere, a black cook ; he keeps the audience in a continued roar of laughter, and contributes much to the success of the drama. The laughable farce of The Statue Gallery, and the drama of Otiska; or, the Mill of Glacis, have been excellently played. CITY.— Another new drama, from tbe pen of Mr. Dibdin Pitt, called The Colter's Eve; or, the Brownie of the Waterfall, founded on the beautiful anil cele- brated song by Burns, has been produced at this theatre with a success equal to that which never fails to distinguish the productions of this favourite dramatist, and bids fair long to keep its place, with the excellent drama of The Beggar's Petition. Of the plot and inci- dents, we shall do ourselves the pleasure of making more particular mention in our next. The characters are all done ample justice to by the performers to whom they are entrusted, and the scenery, dresses, & c., de- serve the highest praise. The theatre is crowded every evening. PAVILION.— A new drama called The Murder of the Old Clock House, has met with a most favouiable re- ception at this theatre. The plot and incidents are sufficiently striking lo please the most inveterate melo- dramatic taste, and has elicited much applause. The other entertainments have been of a most attractive description. QUEEN'S. — There has been no change in the per- formances at this theatre since our last, and they con- tinue to be received with great applause, and honoured by crowded houses. OLYMPIC.— A new drama from the pen of that clever writer, Mr. L. Rede, called Sixteen String Jack, has been brought out at this theatre with the most distin- guished success, and embraces the whole strength of the company, Mr. Rftde playing the principal character. The piece is very smartly written, and abounds with effective situations. The interest never flags, and the characters are sustained with great spirit by the dif- ferent and talented members of the Corps Dramatique The manner m which it is got up, does Mr. Wild in- finite credit. 30, Strand; Angels and Lucifers ; and the Ladies' Seminary, have been the other entertain- ments. We perceive by the bills, that it is the inten- tion of the lesse, to produce, for the first time these thirteen years, a grand Christmas pantomime, for which he has engaged the celebrated clown, Mr. T. Matthews. LLOYD'S LIST OF POPULAR WORKS SIXTY- FIVE HUMOUROUS ENGRAVINGS BY AN EMINENT ARTIST, AND TEN NEW COMIC SONGS ( BY PREST) FOR ONE PENNY! 1 1 . " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES GALLERY OF COMICALITIES," CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING ORIGINAL COITFLC SONGS, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THE WORK J— A Private Still. The Contented Man. Happy Land— a Sad Lot. My Sarah and Me. Poor Jack— Please Re- Mem- Domestic Economy. ber Jack, Brandy and Salt. John Delf— in his Cups. Population; or, It's all owing? Hard- Up ; or, shocking Ex- to the Family Ointment, tremities. AND ALSO THE FOLLOWING GRAPHIC SKETCHES: — The Maid of the Mill.— A General Rising.— Physical Force,— Bringing Him too ( Two).— A Black Fast.— Ladies of the Court.— His " Mind & on the Rack.— Settling a[ c] Count; Double Entry.—- Friar Bacon-— Giving Himself ( H) airs.— Contracting an Acquaint- ance.— A Heavy ^ well.— A Good Bite.— Hodge's Best.— Sedan - ter Occupation.— Currant Jam ; a Friendly Squeeze. A Neat Turn- out.— A Votary of the Nine.— Taking the P dge.- Warlike• Guise ( Guys).— Food for Reflection.— Ceiling Whacks; a Bel- frey — A Promising Child.— A Boy in a Fit.— Giving up the Ghost.- Cabriolet Society.— Pleasures of " Fancy."— Best London Porter — A Back Settler.— Going by the Post; General Delivery.— Com * of Age.— Cutting Him to the Quick.— Breaking Cover.— Sauce ( Source) of the Nigger ( Niger).— A Dey's Pleasure.— A Sad Plight. — A Belly Full of Grapes.— The Changeless One.— A Private Box. — Taken in A[ r] rest. — The Lively Smack; Looking Out for Squalls.— Hebrew Melodies.— A Funny Palr..-~ A Good Calling.— A Shocking Stick.— The Pot- boy.— Siimmut Short.— Detachmen of Cavalry.— Deprived of the Use of their Organs.— Neat as im- ported.— A Free- Booter.— Fancy Fair.— At a Stand- Stiri.— An Un.. happy Attachment.— Coming it Slap. THE EMBELLISHMENTS HAVE BEEN . ENGRAVE AT THE ENORMOUS EXPENSE OF 1,000 GUINEAS!! In Weekly Numbers at Id., and Monthly Parts at 4d., the and Highly Interesting Romance of KATHLEEN! OR, THE SECRET MARRIAGE. The First Number, containing Eight cloiely- prtnted l ages, Jito Splendid Engravings on separate paper, and a most Magnifi- cent ; Y< aPP « , presented GRATIS with No. 54 of " Tsa PUNNS SUNDAY TI- IKS' ANU PKOPLK'S POLICE GAZETTE," Now Publishing In WeeWyt> Nii » ber « at id., and Month! EMILY FITZORMONDI t>.% THE DESERTED ONE. With No. 1, presented GRATIS, Tw° Magnificent Plate, and a Wrapper. Now Publishing, in Numbers at One Penny, a- 4 four- penny Monthly Parts, ERNNEST1NE DE LACY I OR, THE RQBBEIi' 5 FOUNDLING. With No. 1, is presented GRATIS, Two Splendid Engraving., on separate paper, and a Wrapper. Price is, 6d., Elegantly Bound, containing 93 pages of closely printed letter- press, illustrated with 12 Supeilo* Bngravings, MASTER HUMPHRIES' CLOCK, " BOS, • MAKER. A MISCELLANY OP STRIKING INTEREST Complete In 20 N umbers at Sixpence each, VICTORIA! OR, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER, BY A POPULAR AUTHOR. Complefe In 30 Penny Weekly Numbers and Fourpenny Monthly Parts, or Neatly Bound .3s, ANGELINA! OR, THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY. A TALE UV DEEP INTEREST. Price s,, Neatly Bound In cloth and lettered In gold, containing 30 spirited Engravings, and 202 closely printed pafcve « . HAINSFOKTH'S CELEBRATED ROMANCE, ENTITLED A LECEND OF THE TOWER OF LONDON. In Numbers at One Penny each, er Fourpenny Monthly Part*,, Stitched In a neat Wrapper, THE HEBREW MAIDEN! OR, THE LOST DIAMOND. • A ROMANCE OP THE DAYS OP CHIVALRY. PARR'S LIFE PILLS. PARR'S LIFE PILLS. IMPORTANT.— Many persons, Jfter learning that so many wonderful cures have been OV'ctert.!, y, PARR'S LIFE PILLS, have a great desire to procure the rjerticlne which has done so mu. h good. In doing this, however, cant,^ n I" u, t e observed, as certain individuals, without honour or hone. are offering a dangerous substitute, instead of the genuine medOne- ' Ihe proprietors cannot, of course, be accountable f » r any duA- toivard results that may ensue to thisewho have been thus im- posed upon, but they can point out an effectual means to prevent further imposition. Purchasers may be sure they have the genuine medicine if they* find the word* PARR'S LIFE PILLS, engraved on the Govern- ment Stamp, in WHITE letters on a RED ground. Observe, also, that the name of Mr. Edtvards, 67 St. Paul's, London, is printed' as Wholesale Agent on the directions which are wrapped rouwti every box. Price is. IJd.. 2s. 9J., and Us. each. Instances of cures, when every other remedy had failed, are received daily. The following, from a highly- respectable indivi- dual. Is selected from hundreds ot a similar nature. FROM MR HOI- I. IER, CHBMIST, DUDLEY. To the Proprietors of Parr's Life Pills. " Dudley. Sept. 14,1841. " Gentlemen.— I forward you a copy of a letter sent L'O me ( as under., and which you can malce what use of you think proper. " I am, your obedient servant, E. HOLLIKB.-'* " Tipton, Staffordshire. " I, Joshua Ball, hereby testify, tiiat I had been dreadfully af- flicted with Rheumatic Gout for seventeen years, so that I have, at times, kept my bed for months together, and could not get any- thing to do me good, till I took ' Parr's Life Pills,' which I am very happy to state have nearly restored me to perfect health. A » witness my hand, this 11th day of September, 1841. JOSHUA BALL." RIDDLES. ANSWEFT TO J. CULLUM'S CHARADE IM NO. 80. Proportion and RATIO bear the same sense, And in the West Indies the RATTOON you'll find; A RAT is a bird without any pretence, Tho' some say the mouse paitakes of Its kind, Mr. Cilllum. your charades are hard for discerning, I wish that a RUIN you would place on your skill} For even an ABBOT witli all Ills great learning, Would scarcely be able the task to fulfil. ' TwooId puzz e one half of the wits in the nation, To understand darkness, by OBTKNEBRATIUN. Greenwich. I. F. W. ANSWERS TO CHARADES IN NO. 83, BY T. W. CANNOCK. ANSWER TO THE SECOND. The answer to your word of four letters I'll prove, Is plainly descrlb'd in that pleasing word— LOVE. ANSWER TO THE THIRD. Again you may write, that is if you think fit, For your word of three letters Is meant for a HIT. ANSWER TO THE EIGHTH. With compliments unto T. B., Accept this atti mpt at rhyme. Your charade, surely, must imply A town quite maritime ; Although 1 ve not defiii'd the whole, I think it is no rule But why the answer should appear In the word I. IVBRPOOL. ANSWER TO THE THIRTEENTH, I have puzzled to find out your word, Although I am no jester, Yet I think that I car. see your whole In the busy town— MANCHESTER. IMPORTANT TO THE PUBLIC I I NIXON'S UNIVERSAL HERBAL OINTMENT. THIS OINTMENT IS NO LONGER AMONG those of doubtful utility: It has passed away from th « hundreds that are daily laonched upon the tide of experiment, and now stands before the public, higher In reputation than any other in use, and a « extensively need In all parts of the country, as any Ointment ihat 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 an persons and all ages. Th- most unequivocal and convincing testim lilies have, unsolicited, been sent to the proprietor, bv persons who have experienced its rapid and salutary effects! some of which will be seen on the wrapper with each box, and directions for use, and at once prove to the public its wonderful cleansing and healing qualities. Nlxons Universal herbal Ointment will be found t. posses, superior virtue over any other preparation yet known •, being composed of Ingredients purely vegetable, and of ihe most hum. less and inoffensive qualities. In short, to convince those person, suffering under any of tho followli g complaints, of the efficacy of this ointment, the proprietor undertakes, that should it fall 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 Inflammalious, Abscesses, Green Wounds, Ulcers, Gatherings, Gathered Breasts, Scurvy, Erysipelas, or St. An- thony's Fire, Burns, Scalds, Boils, Chapt Hands, Piles, BuBtloHS. White Swellings, Chilblains, Ring Worms, Scald Heads, Gout, snd Rheumatic Pains, Scorbutic Eruptions, or other similar complaints. Nixons Universal Herbal Ointment Is sold in Boxes at is. lid, and 2s. 9d. each, and may be obtained, wholesale and retail, ot the Proprietor, JOHN NIXON, Martin's Bank, Talk- o'- th'- hlll near Tunstall, Staffordshire, and by MESSRS. MANDER* WEAVER, and Co., Wolverhampton; and also retailed by H* Leese, J. Secfcerson, W. Edge, Tunstall; H rp- r, Hawthorn, R* Timmls, Burslt m; Jones, Mxon, Hanley; Barnett, Con. letotl; F. mason, Oxford Street, Manchesteri Pierce, Shelton; Jones Stoke, Sibraiy. Lane- end i Mort, Hughes. Newcastle; Johnson' Blades. Leek; W. and K. Wright Hodalnson, Wardle, Macclcs- field, and by most respectable Pttent Medicine Venders in the United Kingdom. N. B.— In any serious case, persons calling on the Proprietor, at his residence, may have their wounds dressed free of expense by purchasing th. Ointment. LONDON :— Printed and Published by E. LLOYD, 2SI, High- str. et, Sboreditch j and at 8, Holjwell- street, Strand.