PENNY AND PEOPLE'S LONDON:— SUNDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1841 THE FORCE OF GRAVITY, RESCUE OF LOUISA FROM TBE BANDIT CME£ Couple in Cupid's fetters bound, All must come to this decision, That, like the members of the House, It's plain you're coming to a ditisionlJ Wan of taste, quite literary. Diver in wisdom's deepest cavity j Light reading some your case might call. But sure it is the force of gravity ! tfoiicc, JONATHAN.— Captain Beaver, of the Niagara Militia, was pos- sessed of a duck to much attached to him, that the poor animal actually plucked and roasted Itself for his dinner, having pre- viously vaten a quwtftj of sage and onions, MARLBOROUGH STREET. DOLTING WITH A MAN'S LEO.— Anold weather- beaten, sdare- devil- luoking Greenwich pensioner, with a quid in rhie jaw about the size of of a cobbler's lapstone, blind • of one eye, and sporting a highly polished wooden leg, charged Daniel Martin, a journeyman carpenter out of • work, with robbing him of his leg. Prom the statement « f the old tar, it appeared that, lie having weighed an- chor from Greenwich on a bit of a cruise, intending to call to see some old particulars, happened to sail Into a public- house In the neighbourhood of Brewer Street, where having a few shots in the loeker, called for a glass of frog, and filling a pipe, cast anchor, and began to tohjk himself in a very good berth. There were several individuals in the tap- room, and the prisoner having slued himself alongside of the tar, managed to enter into Conversation with him, and the pensioner, • » ith that ge- nemnty so characteristic of our British hearts of oak, eiafierstanding lhat he was without a ship, called for a " glass of rum and water for him, after h& Ving first shipped a good cargo of bread and cheese on board of him, and invited him to keep his company while he remained in that port. Well, the grog, glass after glass, was drank between the tar and the prisoner, until the former began to feel that he was something more than three sheets in the wind, and after a short time longer, feeling very drowsy, he stretched himself at full length upon the bench and fell fast asleep. On awaking, he found that not only had his companion, but every other person who had been in the room were gone, and endeavouring to rise, he quickly found himielf on his beam- ends, his wooden supporter was gone, end, to use the pensioner's own characteristic words,, he found himself not only Slumped in pocket, but also in the mauner we have de scribed. MAGISTRATE.—' That was playing at cribbage with a vengeance, and a novel way of taking a leg. ( Laughter.) Bnt what makes yon snspect the prisoner of having stolen your leg ? COMPLAINANT— Why, ver honour, the plain matter of fact on it is this here. Yer see, I'm not used to tackle of this sort, so I hopes yer honour will excuse my palaver. When I opened my top- lights, and found that the craft had slipped its cable,! naturally concluded that he was the damned pirate who had stolen mj timber- toe 5 and precious wild I was at it, yer honour 5 for, yer see it was » b'* of a favourite with me— it never troubled me with corns, nor gout, nor roomy- tin, and that's some consi- deration to an old un, yer know. ( Loud laughter.)— So not being able to stand, I continues upon my beam- ends, and pipes all hands as loud as 1 could, beginnin' to think ti it was quite time to hoist signals of distress, when iu rolls th" captain. ' What's th' matter ?' ses he, « Why, yer lubber,' ses I, ' don't yer see what's the matter ?— Where's my timber- toe )' ' Why," ses he. « to lell yer th' troth, that here feller as was sittin' with you has cut his slick with it.' • What!' ses 1, « sheered off with my pin I— Shiver his timbers I Th'd d piratical swab !— Bolt with a man's peg, and only leave him one leg to stand upon ?'—( Laughter.)—' Why," ses th' landlord, ' th' fact of ihe matter is this here;— he coined to th' bar, aud wanted to pa « n your legfor a quartern 1—( Loud laughter.)— So, 1 ses the landlord, ' 1 wouldn't take th' leg in pawi;,, when away he takes leg bail, taking your leg with, him.' MAGISTRATE.— Well, that certainly is what I call the height of ingratitude, after a man treating another with victuals and drink, to rob him of his leg! ( A laugh.) COMPLAINANT. — That's perfectly true, yer honour. Yer see, I didn't care the cracking of a biscuit losing my leg in defence of my country, hut to have one stolen by • dirty lubber like that, I thought it was too bad. MAGISTRATE.— So it was. But did not the landlord tend any one in pursuit of the thief ? LANDLORD.— Yes, I did, your worship. I sent my boy after him, but he was too nimble for him, and got clean off with it. MAGISTRATE. — Bnt why did you not endeavour to arouse the complainant ? LANDLORD.— So I did, but it was no use, he slept as sound as a top. MAGISTRATR,— And how did you. complainant, manage te leave tbe house without your leg COMPLAINANT.— Why, yer honour, th' captain was very kind ; he had an old broom without any hairs, which he cut down to the right size, and strapping it to my stump, 1 managed to hobble away with it. ( Roars of liughter.) I found, however, I couldn't brush along very well with th' broom, and I had only got into Oxford Street when 1 got into a plug hole, and there I stuck, like a ship aground. ( Laughter.) 1 hadn't been there a minute, when 1 hears a great row, and presently I sees this lubber, in th' midst ofa crowd of people, as drunk as Chloe, and a flourishing my wooden pin, so 1 gives him in charge, and here he is. , ,... . , The defendant in excuse said that he only did it out ot a lark, and that he intended to return the leg to the old man, but the magistrate committed him for three months, for having illenal possession of the pensioner s wooden substitute, the veteran tar in vain recommending him to merc^, as lie had got his favourite leg again. THE FORESTERS. A TALE. BV ROBIN HOOD, , CHAPTER I. c 11 Conscious of victory, she imil'd, !. Pleas'd wilh h « r lovers smart, Whilst I exeiaim'd, a form so mild ' Can't hide a duel heart." ON Sandal Common, many yean agtt, wus altU& ted a cavern, the 1 mouth of which Was concealed by thick brushwood, so that the r most curious eye was not able to discover any trace of it. The 1 common at that titue was exceedingly large, and never or very seldom visited, on acoount of a report being spread that several \ Individuals had passed over, and hod never more been heard of ; 1 and alto that a strong party of bandits infested it, who molested 1 every passenger that passed through. 1 WakcfieM, at that period, was a very small, but pleasant town, s situated about two miles trom Sandal Common ; bat at the further t extremity of the heath it was six miles distant. It was at Wake- r field that Louisa lived; she waa the daughter of a respectable 1 tradesman. i It was one betuitlful summer's day she started from the town for 1 t wotk ; she proceeded through the fields towards Low Hill, and as she was admiring the beautiful scenery around het, as she was ] listening to the melodious notes of the thrush and blackbird; a 1 singular thought struck her: it was of love 1 Often had she heard t of love, but never had her bosom felt that passiofi. At length she 1 come to a small hill, surrounded by thick bushes ; here she seated ] herself, os the following thoughts l'on swiftly across her mind :— What could love be?— what could cause such a passion?— she should like to feel its etTccts, even if but for a short time. Here she sighed, and said to herself, " Oh, how I should like spmfc one ttt love me." She remained in a pensive state for some time, and at length struck up, in a beautiful voids, a ballad, commencing with the following words Oh 1 where Is he that loves me ?'" 11 He is herb— he is here, lovely angel," a voice replied, ns a form, clad in green, who had been secreted behind the hushes, listening t » her, made his appearOnce. His hid 4 how thrown across liis shoulders, a quiver full bf irrtwl, and a large bugle- horn hanging from a belt, which fastened round his waist. The loVcly Louisa arose from her situation in a state of confusion, and fixed her beautiful b'. ack eyes upon the ground. " Nay, nay, Louisa, do not b" e ashOmetl; I haVe long Viewed your charms, and loved you, though unknown to yourself." After some time she cast her eyes upon him ; his noble forehead and nose— his fine piercing black eyes— the expression of his mouth — his glossy black hair and mustafeious, nnd his splendid figure, could not fail to make the youthful girl look again 011 his form- yes, she looked Agidn and again, and every time she was more Convinced that the passion ' which a little before she had not known, was now by degrees attacking her— she felt that she loVed hiin. " Sir," she said, " I cannot say that ever I have seen you before— I think you must be mistaken, when you say that you have seen me , o often." " No, fair maiden," he replied, " I dare say you have not no- ticed me, for I hlive always been in disguise." " Well, sir, but why place 011 yourself a disguise ?— surely you have committed no crime, whereby you are alarmed or afraid to show your face. " No, kind lady ; the cause is this:— I have broken the laws of my country by shooting the king's deer ; but if good King Richard were here himself, I know he would pardon me." " Aye, aye," replied the maiden, ia surprise, " are you, then, one of Robin Hood's men ?" " Yes, lovely girl, I am neither more nor less than Little John, his first man. I hope I can receivc your pardon, and I care not for pardon from anyone else." " Well, but do you not think that it is very wrong to break the laws of our country?" " No, lovely lady, I do not think there is any wrong; pray, What harm can it do any person, just kftocking a deer or two off, whc. are as rich as Jews, and especially when we give to the poor ?" " I have often heard of the noble exploits of Robiu Hood and Little John, and felt de. ply interested for their fate. I loved to hear or read of his deeds, and was highly pleased to hear when he had escaped from his enemies." " Noble girl 1— I admire your generous conduct; and I have but one request to make, which, if you will grant, I shall be the most happy man upon earth; but, alas! if you should not, I shall be the most unhappy being in the world. I have long loved you, though unknown to yourself, and now that we have met, I declare my love, and ask from you a return of it." The fair Louisa blushed, and after a short time responded,— " I cannot say that I do not love you, but 1 cannot promise to become your wife. I know well my father would not sanction it; • betides, sir, this is our first interview." " 1 know, lovely angel; £ ut, nevertheless, will you promise to meet me here to- morrow, and, perhaps, we may make our plans meet better ?" " I do," the returned, " but now I must bid you farewell for the present, and you may rely on my being puuc. ual to- morrow at this hour." " Good bye I sweet girl, and pray remember Little John, who would lay his life down for yours— good bye 1 my Louisa— good bye 1" As Louisa turned to go oway, the felt convineed she was in love, at the muttered to herself, " What a handsome young fellow I— how sweet his words 1— haw good his disposition I I feel I cannot help but love him," She looked back vn ( he fym of bin that was o dear to her: she was indeed happy when she thought the was lelovedby him, but she tighed when the thought of his being an lutiaw— yes, and with a price set upon his head. Should her father ver know that she loved on outlaw, what would be his retent- nent ? Once she determined not to go thfc Beit diiy; arid then , galn the would; and after some consideration the did gd. She outid Her Wvei- pUficttial at the appointed liout, 4s she hersel f like, vise was. He declared his love to her again aud again, and every niniite he became dearer and dearer in the eyes of the beautiful jouisa; the lovely girl declared that she loved him. and he im- iririted a sweet kis. on her lips of coral, as a defcp crimson diffused tself across her soft cheeks. At parting, he iiid,— ." 1 am about to start, this evening with six of out mettymcn, fho are new in sound of this bugle- horn, towards Sherwood Forest, vhcre at present my master, Robin Hood, is residing. 1 have a nessage to bear him from the Pinder ct Wakefield ; but soon I will eturn, and claim you as my bride. In your, absence your . form till always he In t » jr imagination— 1 shall always see those fceau- iful black eyes beaming forth with light, looking upon me— yes, ind in my dreams I shall fancy myself imprinting another sweet liss upon those beautiful soft lips, and when I return I hope my msgination will soon be changed to reality. Farewell! dear girl— farewell! and do not forget your forester." He pressed her in his arms, and again he kissed her. He than mrted from her— blew a shrill blast on his horn—^ aS joined by his men, and war, soon bri his road to Sherwood Forest. The form of ; he noble forester was constantly on her mind— constantly the com- panion of her dreams. She waited impatiently the return of her . ever; every one was a bore to her, and she loved to be alone in solitude, there to think of the handsome outlaw, CHAPTER II. " Oh, bold Robin Hood Was o forester good. As fever drew bow in the merry green wood— And What eye hath ere sfeen Such a sweet maiden qUeen, As LOUISA, the pride of the forester's green ?" .... " And there his worship sat in state, In doublet and trunk hose, And quaff d his cup of good old sack To comfort his old nose, Like a fine old English gentlcriian— Ohe Of the olden tirhe." Oi. fi SIING. WE will now return to Sandal Common, which was, at the time of the incidents of this narrative, a vast waste, measuring six miles in length, and about four in breadth. We mentioned In our last chapter, a cavern which was 30 completely obsctired by . thick brushwood, that the ihost mihute eiamihant Could hot be able to discover any entrance. It was here that M'Dorff, the captain of a terrible and ferocious band of bahdits, put up his residence. Never did he let the traveller pass unmolested, and generally he took the life of his unfortunate victim. Indeed s, o much was the atrocious cruelties and. great depredations which he committed, noised abroad, that both military and civil powers were resorted to, whereby to destroy this vile gabg, but hitherto all had proved ih vain. The cavern inside was exceedingly spacious, and able . to hold, comfortably, at least thirty persons. It was one evening that eight of the band were seated around a large lire, smoking and drinking, that the following conversation took place :—• " Jones, how's the time ? I think M'Dorff should have been here by this." " No, M arson—' tis half an hour yet to his time appointed,— I s'pete he intends having a good prize to- night— aye " Why yes— lie said he intended to nab the young lass ; but, lot my part, I thiuk he is a d d fool; for wenches are sure to blab." " Aye, aye— so I think; but since he's captain he may please himself. Come, fill up— let's have another glass and a song." " Yes— a song. Marson," proceeded from Sevferal Voices. " Well, well," returned Marson, " what shall it be?" After a little consideration he struck up the following;— " Here's health to all our gallant band, Oar captain, too, I say, Who oft have fought hand to hand, And kept our foes at bay." He had just finished the first verse when a loud knocking was heard at the mouth of the cave. " Whose there ?'' vociferated many voices. " Your captain," was returned, in a deep gruff voice; " come quick— open the door, and let me in— quick!— quick, 1 say." The door was seon thrown open, and the bandit- chief entered, bearing along with him a beautiful female, who appeared to be in a swoon. He was a man of uncommon size— harsh features, and ferocious countenance;— he had a coat made something after the 3hape of our frock- coats, which reached a little above the knee, with large boots, which partially covered the thigh. He had around his body a belt, in which was fixed a brace of pistols and a couple of daggers. " Jones," he said, " let me have some water for the girl— she is tenselest." Water was Immediately brought, with which the bandit captain immediately sprinkled the face of the maiden, who was no other than the lovely Lau'sa. " A light I a light I" sold the captain 1" we must take her into the next room." A light was quickly procured, and a small door wai opened, which led into an adjoining, apartment. The captive maiden was conveyed through In tiie bafldlt's arms, and was placed on a couch- She soon began gradually to recover her tentet; and she was left . alone, thinking that the would revive the sooner without being 11 tfobarralied. fl " Well, captain, and how did you secure the wench }" Inquired c Marson. „ " Secure her, say yon<" returned the captain, with a laugh of . triumph. " Well, I taw her In the dittonce, walking along the 11 road on the border of the common j ! contested myself behind a n bush, and waited patiently for My vietici. As soon at the had tl come within my reach, I sprung from my hiding place like a tiger a springing eagerly at hit prey, and secured her In my arms. She pave but one shriek, and th. n fainted, In which way I conveyed her s hither, as quickt? at possible, for I discovered at a distance several fl of those Infernal green eoatl, Bobln Hood's men,'- and a most J, Impertinent rascal he It, too,— 1 once had a fight with him and he thrashed me sore. Mind ye, 1 must repay hlftl some day for that . • core; he has threatened both ye and myself with death, should " he ever meet us all together when he. hat his men with htm." d " Very likely, Robin!— very like! y 1'' said many voices, laughing aloud ; and one continued, " bnt you must learn to rise the blade D a little more. It you could ute the dagger as wall as your bow, J, ye might be of tervlce to ua." n At length night arrived, and saw the whole of the robbers asleep, most of them overcome by liqnor. We shall leave the lovely Louisa here a prisoner in the robber's fortress, and return once more to Little John. At the time Loulta wat served to roughly by the robber, Robin . Hood, Little John, and several of their comrades were crossing £ Sandal common. They taw the bandit captain bearing away a l1 female in hit arms. " Oh, on I" tald Robin Hood to hit comrades, " yonder goes the 0 old villain M'Dorff, stealing Sway, most likely, tome unfortunate ! female. I will conceal behind the bttthes, and see where he . hides." s After waiting some time, Robin Hood returned to Ids com- ' panlons, and said, " 1 have found out the rendezvous of that 8 murderer; when all our number arrive we will attack lilm, com - f rades." 3 " Nothing would afford more pleasure," returned Little John- | " I should like 10 have the honour of lending the flrit arrow at him." " Come, comradei, the evening is getting faradvoneed," returned Roblu Hood, " and we have a good three mllei to walk yet} the old Baron of Walton Hall Will begin to expect tfiat we are not coming , to- night." J They Quickened their pace, and reached the old Hall at Waltoni j I and very glad was the Old baron to receive them. Freely flowed i ; hil good itrong ale, and plentifully wai his old oaken table spread 1 ; with tenlson and good fat beef. Loud did his iiatl ring with the ( 1 volet fl of hli n'.- rry gueils; and never wai a heart more glad to lee , f thtm » maty one tankard of good old ale, at ita strength was fait , gaining the matter of each of them, than waa the old baron. ' . " Baron," replied Robin, " I expect the remainder of my com- 1 . radet to- morrow, along with Will Scarlet; have you any objection 1 , to entertain them for a few days I" I ( " No, Robin, thou knoweit that I have not; I love you all, my | 1 good men. All hough the world call ye outlaws, yet 1 say that all , England cannot produce inch merry m.' n, and With lueh good will. . Anything that my house contains Is at your service; so. I beg you 1 t will call for whatever you may want. Mind, Robin, I have not ' ; forgot you and Little John, when yon took that will, by Which I became lielr to thpse large estatei, from that base villain M'Dorff: 1 he was the greatest Villain that ever man had in his house. When lie saw I had found out his robberies on me, as a steward, and that [ I should immediately dismiss him, he, by tome means, stole away ' the will, whereby I should have been deprived Of my rightful poi- ' r sessions; and you, Robin, like a good fellow, restored it to me." D " Think not of that, good baron,' laid Robin ) " for neither : Robin Hood nor Little John will fail to aerve you whenever or e wherever they may be ; and you must know, baron, that we Intend to unearth that vile monster, and bring him to light." At toon as the next morning dawned, Little John dretsed him. a self In disguiie, and bent his course towards Wakefield. He sought, but In vain, for hil lovely Louisa; he made every Inquiry after her, and, to his great aitonlihment, found that It was be- lieved that she had been stolen whilst taking a walk toward! San- dal Common by the bandits; and the perion that would reitore her to her parenti wai to be united to her. " Surely," laid Little John to himielf," that could not be ray , s dear Louisa that I law bore away in the gratp of that moniter!— but yes, it muit have been. Oh I the d— d villain I— the accnried wretch that he Is! But by to- morrow'! lun he thall repent this 1 e or, by Heaven! I I perish In the attempt. Oh f my Loulia— my Louisa, perhapi now groaning beneath that tyrant'! iway, or, l> perhaps, now locked In the armi of remomeleil death. Oh! what a can I do to avenge thy wrongs— what to latlate my vengeance? a I will away back to my maiter aud comradei. I know that they e will tike up my cauie warmly; and then I ahall be happy when I !> once more gain my dearLoulia, and lee the corpie et that accursed n monster lying at my feet." a { To be concluded in our next.) le Theopolli Thlitle the thistle sifter lifted a sieve full ofumlfted n thlitles, and If Theopollt Thistle the thiitle lifter lifted a sieve fall , r of unsifted thistles, where'i the sieve full of lifted thlitlei that Theopolli Thiitle the thiatle lifter lifted? ie Let no gentleman ever quarrel with a woman. If you are troubled with her retreat. If tht tear your cloak, give her your coat. If 3, ihe box your eari, bow. If ih « tear your » ye » out, feel your way to » s the door, intl-. r « « like moke. A TRUE STORY OF A GHOST AND CONJUGAL FIDELITY. •"• J Mr. Samuel Fiiher, the inventor of the golden snuff, was acquainted with a widow lady of excelleBt'cba- racter, who re « ided at Cork. This lady was inconsol- able for the death of her husband) the day was spent by her in sighs and incessant lamentations, and her pil- low at night was moistened with the tears of sorrow. Her husband, her dear departed husband, was the con- tinued theme of her discourse, and she seemed to live for no other object than to recite his praises, and to plore his loss. One morning her friend Fisher found her in a state of mental agitation, bordering on dis- traction. Her departed love, she said, had appeared to her in the night, end most pereraptoiily ordered her to' enter the vault where his remains were deposited, and have the coffin opened. Mr. Fisher remonstrated with her on the absurdity of the idea; he said thattthe intensity of her sorrow had impaired her intellect; that the phantom was the mere creature of her imagination ; and begged of her at least to postpone to some future period her intended visit to the corpse of her husband. Tb~ UJy ooqnieaced for that time in his request; but the two succeeding mornings, the angry spirit of ber spouse stood at her bedside, and, with loud menaces, repeated his command. Mr. S. Fi. hc., thei cfere, acnt to the sexton, and, matters being arranged, the weeping widow and her friend attended in the dismal vault: tha coffin was opened with much solemnity, and the faitbfnl matron stooped down, and most affectionately kissed the clay- cold lips of her adored husband. Having reluctantly parted from ' her beloved corpse, she spent the remainder of the day in silent anguish. On the succeeding morning, Mr. Tisher ( who intended to sail for England on that day) called to bid his afHicted friend adieu. The maid- servant told him that tbe lady had not yet arisen. " Tell her to get up," said Fisher. " I wish to give her a few words of consolation and advice before my departure." " Ahl sir," said the smiling girl, " it would be a pity to disturb the newly- married couple so early in the morning!" " What newly- married couple ?" inquired Fisher. " My mistress, sir, was married last night!" " Married ! impossible ! What! the lady who so adored her deceased husband, who was visited nightly by his ghost, and who, yesterday, so fervently kissed his corpse ! Surely yon jest." M " Oh ! sir," said the maid, " my late master, poor man^ H on his death bed, made my mistress promise that she wou^ H never marry any man after his decease till he and^ fl should meet again, ( which the good man, no^^ l thought would never happen until they met hbgfl and you know, my dear sir, you kindly face to face to each other yesterday. Ufl sends her eompliments and thanks^ j^ B cake, to distribute among TWO PEOPLHffl The wife of William Thfl ... /.'-'.' "/ r • labourer, her ill a few days since ; it was ascertained that] H ' - to them in 011 the woman's husbanojIH - '-•* - soon as the fact was disc6vc^ H^ 0M| H and has undergone an examination befOT^ W^ CTHu^^ B Magistrates, but for want of sufficient proof to warrant* his detention, he was discharged. Tbe wife, to whom he had only been married about three months, is dead ; but we are happy to learn that her brother is in a fair way of recovery. Rumours are still afloat, which we refrain from giving ; but it is hoped that the perpetrator of this diabolical act will soon be brought to justice, DIABOLICAL MONSTER. One of [ the most; deliberate land diabolical acts'of cruelty tha£ We have heard of | for ) some time past was perpetrated in Lon- cashife this day week, by a fellow of the name of Brittain. It ap- pears that a boy named Moore, who is employed in an iron foundry in Bridge- lone, was examining the coca of o steam- boiler on the premises, when Brittain told him to let it alone, or he would throw him into the boiler. The boy, supposing the man to « jest, smiled, upou which the ruffian seized him and placed his head amongst the almost boiling water, in which he held him for a moment, and then, horrid to relate, dropped him in altogether ! Having done this, the monster deliberately walked away, and left the sufferer, who, after a short struggle, succeeded in getting oat of the boiler, but not until he was so much scalded that there are no hopes of his recovery. It appears, from the boy's statement, that he had given no provocation whatever to Brittain, who, report soys, had been drinking for tome days previously. The inhuman fellow is in gaol, and in due time will no dou » t meet with his deserts. LORD PEM AND HIS WIGS. , Lord Pem——, a rich and elegant English nobleman, well known t at Parii for hli excellent horiei, and for hli iplendld lervlce ot • plate, Is, unfortunately, nearly bald, and don't wilh any one to r know it. „ t There Is not a perruquler In Parli who hal not sold him one of I those forelti of hair that ihade hli head; and he hal recourie to a thouaand artifice! to make people believe in the reality of hla capillary system. Lord Pem hat thirty- one wigi— one for every day. , That of to- morrow il longer by three halr'l breadth than that , ef to- day, and 10 on lucceilively from the lit of the month to i the 31it- , , , * The object of thl! chronology of wlgl ll to Imitate the dolly growth of the hair, 10 that at the month's end he can boldly say 1 to hil friend!— t " My hair ll too long, I muit hove it cut." 0 And the next day he returns to tht wig No, !• Sis head is a calendar. TETE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. THE MATH GRASP; OH, A FATHER'S C'dRSE • BY TUB AuTnea OF " SI. A., THE, OUTCAST," * TO. ( Continued from, oar last.) " Father," demanded Hfnti, « what would you with me?" i'-. " That which I have for B0 iong been unjustly pre- vented from doing," re pli<!( 1 De l'| orj„ ille, " through my own weakness ; exer a due auth0rity over you." " ° r rather, sinr^ J0U compei me to say that which I would much not) » retamed Henri, " make me subservient to- ^ ceSi,> " Ah, boy rif_ • A . '. sltier, is it not true, and with sorrow I speak 8al'. 4 Henri, " that whatever miseries you your- 8 , JXV endured, and all that tayself and ray unfortunate In0' . aerhave suffered, have they not been brought on by i « sr guilt?" . Damnation I" exclaimed De Floriville, fiercely, " and have I then lived till now to be schooled thus by mine own son ?" " Father," observed Henri, in a voice of the greatest amotion, " I would not school you. X would reclaim you: from the life of guilt you have hitherto led, and thus evince the power of the affection your son bears towards you?' *' Affection for me 1" repeated De Floriville, with a BaOk of bitter mockery. " Pshal— You would deride Hue, boy! Have you not been taught to curse me,— Ihate me ?" " No, no, by Heaven ! Oh, father, did you but know ithe many hours of anguish I have suffered in thinking aipon you,— in praying that the Almighty might extend His mercy towards you, and bring you to a sense of re- morse for jour past crimes, you would not thus accuse - me. ' Tis true I have been told to forget yoi', but nature pleaded too strongly for me to do so; and well do I know the torture which was inflicted upon that gentle bosom whose tongue advised me so to do, and who was • driven to so dreadful an alternative by the many horrible and unnatural crimes you had committed.'' " And has she not wealth ? Am I not her lawful husband, and by right the possessor of all she now en- joys ?" demanded Adolphe. " Father, force me not to prove to you, in the presence , of another," replied Henri, " that you have forfeited long since all such claim as you arrogate to yourself. Do not make me recall to my memory the awful deeds which—" " Hold, rash boy 1" interrupted De Floriville, grasping the arm of his son more vehemently than he had done before; " dare not to mention a word upon that subject. Aad yet I care notam I not an outlaw, a brigand, a robber, at) d a murderer ? It matters little what more is known ef me I No doubt you thought that we should never more meet; but you see you were mistaken ; we have met, and it strikes me very forcibly that we shall be companions for some time to come. I intend to learn from you the place where your mother is at present re- siding, that X may again pay her a visit." " Never 1" cried Henri. "" No!" " Not from my lips." " Bethink yourself." " My determination is fixed." " Then you go not hence." " By Heaven! although your blood flows within my veins, you shall not detain me," exclaimed Henri, draw- ing his sword. . ') Ah! would you then raise your arm against the author of your being ? ? " Has not- your conduct done away with every tie?" demanded Henri. " Rinaldo," ejaculated Zitella, as she rushed in be- tween the guilty Adolphe de Floriville and his son, " for- bear 1 If yOu- are indeed the father of the young man « fpon whom I have placed my heart's warmest affections, you will not oppose his escape from hence. Nay, I will supplicate to you; I will on my knees beg of you to allow him to depart, and ever afterwards my voice shall be raised in invoking blessings upon your head 1" " Blessings upon my head 1" reiterated De Floriville with « scornful laugh; " bah! cant— mockeryl I tell you, maiden, that Henri departs not hence." " And suppose we are obstinate, and use force ?" said Zitella resolutely ; and her fine eyes sparkled with even more than their usual fire. " He dare not raise his hand against his father," re- turned Adolphe j " aud were he to do so, I could quickly enwmon plenty to my aid, and then would your treachery fee revealed, by which you have forfeited your life." " My own life I value not," answered Zitella ; " but Henri must be saved j I have sworn it, and let whatever may be the consequences, I will not break my oath." " Father," once more expostulated Henri, " why do you thus pursue me, as well as my mother, with your unnatural perseculion ? In what have we ever offended you? Was not my mother the devoted wife throughout all the difficulties brought on by your own guilty career? — Did she not suffer unprecedented sorrows and disgrace rather than she would abandon you; and was she not willing to make any sacrifice, could she, by doing so, have reclaimed you ? Steeped deep in infamy, as you were, and with the recollection of the horrible crimes you had perpetrated fresh upon her memory, when she couid no longer live with you, did she not offer you all that could require, and that she had the means of be- ~ you would cease to annoy her ?— but after away that which she advanced to you, you seemed to exult in the misery which her. Xlad she not it in her power De Floriville, with a reck 1 scorn her power. It was not her from doing so, but kwould have been brought 1 unexpected meeting joys f will have ample satisfac- ijected to since Laurette ' before—" of a bugle, Allesandrio's known signal, was heard re- echoing through the caverns, and Adolphe started. " Ah! our captain has returned," he cried; " now now, away, Henri, back to your own cavern ; and Zitella begone, unless you would let your treachery be known, and suffer the penalty." " Confusion 1 the delay has thwarted my wishes," ex- claimed Zitella, and her eyes flashed glances of indig nation upon Adolphe : " for this we are indebted to you, Rinaldo ; curses light upon your head for it." " Beware, . maiden," returned Adolphe with a malig. nant frown ; " you are in my power, and if you provoke me to it, I will immediately make known your crime to the gang, and demand the punishment which is invariably inflicted" for such an offence." " Oh, father, father 1" groaned Henry, in the intensity of his agony, " may you not have reason to repent this unnatural conduct ?" " Pshal— I am callous to everything, hoy," replied De Floriville;" crime upon crime, days and nights of horror, have made me more than mortal, hardened my heart, and rendered me familiar with every sort of suf- fering. But away! back, back, to the place from whence you same, or tremble for the consequcnces of your dis. obedience. I shall see you again ere long, and by that time expect to find you in a very different mood, and ready to comply with my demands." " Never 1" firmly ejaculated the young man ; " sooner would I perish. For your sake, fair damsel, whose un- exampled kindness anil affection prompted you to run so much risk to save me, I will return to my place of con- finement, and never shall I cease to remember you with any other feelings than Ihose of the utmost esteem, and most unbounded gratitude." Zitella looked at the being who had taken captive her heart's warmest affections with an expression of counten- ance we feel at a loss to do adequate justice to in de- scription, and tears gushed to her eyes. " Alas 1 Henri," she exclaimed, " and is then that cold word, esteem, the only one which your—" " Enough of this," interrupted De Floriville impa- tiently ; " if you remain here many moments longer our captain may surprise you ; and woe betide ye if ye incur the wrath of Allesandrio Robelli." " Father,", said Henri solemnly, " you would not be- tray this poor girl ?" " That depends in a great measure upon yourself," was the answer; " her fate is in your hands." " Why, you surely would not, could not think of harming that fond girl, whose only offence has been to endeavour to rescue from a life of shame and misery your son?" demanded Henri. " There is no time to bandy words with you now," cried Adolphe j " begone I We shall see each other again shortly." " Oh, Henri," said Zitella with a deep sigh, " to be thus foiled, when I. had hoped to haVe been able to have proved to you the strength of the love with which you have inspired me. Farewell— farewell!— we shall meet again ! and if Zitella's tears, if Zitella's prayers and en- treaties can prevail, the time is not far distant when you will be restored to liberty," " By hell, never!" cried De Floriville-, " never, till has acceded to my wishes." Henry was about to make a reply, but hearing foot- steps approaching, he hastily seized Zitella's proffered hand, and raising it to his lips, he pressed a fervent kiss upon it: Zitella at the same time fixed upon him a look which spoke more than language could have had the power to do, and they separated, Henri returning to the apartment or cavern he had just before quitted, and Zitella, without deigning to laok upon Adolphe, who she was greatly shocked to heat was Henri's father, with a heavy heart hastened to meet her father. As the brigand chief spoke, he suddenly tore the mask from his face, and Monterino no sooner Upheld his fea- tures than he started back with astonishment and fear, and at the same moment exclaimed, in_ a voice rendered hoarse with terror „ " Powers of darkness 1 - It is Alberto 1" ( To be continued in our next. I ERNNESTINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. BY THH AUTHOR OT " THE DEATH GRASP," HTC. ( Continued from our Iait.) CHAPTER XIX. THE BROTHERS. THE reader has probably guessed that the author of the outrage at the Casino of the Duke Monterino was Allesandrio di Robelii, the brigand chief; and it was a stratagem which he had long had in contemplation, and only waited the return of the duke to put it into execu- tion. Robbery, however, was not the design of Alle- sandrio-, a3 will be seen by what follows, but an idea which he had long nurtured in his breast, and by which he anticipated the gratification of his revenge, and ulti- mately to get that justice done him whieh his many in- juries deminded. Terrible as were the crimes that were attributed to Robelli, they were mHch exaggerated ; and there were moments when the deep melancholy which pervaded his countenance plainly evinced how much he hated the course of life to which he had been driven by stern necessity. His language and manners were noble in the extreme, and clearly showed that his former station in society had been of no mean order ; yet to no one but his daughter had he confided the facts of his past life, and enjoined her to the strictest secresy. We say to no one ; by that we mean to ncne of the gang; but he had one friend, who had espoused his cause, and was anxious to see him rein- stated in his rights, and to bring to disgrace and punish- ment those who had so deeply injured him. That one friend was now most strenuously aud secretly exerting himself . in behalf of Allesandrio, and not without great hopes of ultimate success; and the time he considered was not far distant when the brigand chief would receive his pardon, and be suffered once more to return to that rank and station of society of svhich he was formerly so distinguished an ornament. But to return to the Duke Monterino. The attack of Allesandrio and his gang upon the Casino was so sudden and ' so unexpected, that he was not prepared to offer scarcely any resistance ; and him- self and his companions were so overpowered by the ex- cessive manner in which they had been drinking, that they were easily defeated, the latter taking to flight as quickly as they conveniently could. The conflagration oosino was entirely accidental, as Allesandrio had given strict orders to his men not to commit any acts of violence without receiving his direct commands to that effect; and when he beheld that handsome building en- veloped in flames, no person could feel more regret than he did. The duke, having been placed upon a horse before one of the brigands, bound hand and foot, as we have de- scribed in a previous chapter, was so much under the in- fluence of wine, that he almost immediately became in- sensible : and on the following morning when he awoke, and found himself reposing upon a humble pallet in one of the caverns, he had but a very indistinct recollection of what had taken place. When, however, he foun*! himself a prisoner, his rage and alarm knew no bounds, and at first he imagined that it was the friends of Marce- line and Henri who had been tho cause of his arrest. But he shortly recollected the appearance of the men, which plainly showed that they were brigands; and when he reflected that Marceline was either in their power, or had perished in the flames that had consumed his Casino, his agitation baffles every attempt at description. He hastily arose from his couch, and paced the cavern with hasty strides; then he cursed his own ill fortune, and breathed a bitter malediction upon those who had com- mitted thfc deed, and who held him in their power. He examined every part of the cavern, but saw nothing to give him any reason to hope that he should be enabled to escape. There was a ladder on one side of the cavern, which led to a trap- door, but it was quite secure, and defied all his efforts to open it, and if he had succeeded in doing so it would not have availed him, as the brigands would be sure to be close at hand to obstruct his further progress. He had not, however, much longer for reflection, when he heard the trap being raised, and presently afterwards the tall figure of a man appeared, and began to descend the steps into the cavern. Monterino hastily fixed his eyes upon him, and immediately recognized from his person that he was the man who had appeared to be the captain of the gang, but his face was concealed beneath a black mask. Having alighted in the cavern, he folded his arms across his chest, and stood for a few moments contem- plating the duke, without speaking a word, although it was very evident, from the heaving of his chest, and other demonstrations, that he was undergoing a variety of conflicting emotions. As for the Duke Monterino, he was unable to utter a word, he was so struck by the mystery and singularity of the man's demeanour, and in spite of his endeavours to the contrary, he felt a sensation of awe stealing over him, for which he was unable to account, but was totally incapable of shaking off. " Sigismund Monterino," at length uttered the brigand. Monterino started at the voice, and a cold tremour in- voluntarily came over him. The man appeared to enjoy his emotion ; a half- distinct laugh of exultation escaped his bosom. " Sigismund Monterino," repeated the man, " you are welcome to these caverns, the retreat of Allesandrio di Robelli and his brave associates." " Allesandrio di Robelli, the brigand chief," repeated Monterino, and his lips quirered, and his cheeks became as pale as death. " Aye," answered his visitor, " Allesandrio di Robelli, who stands before you !" " Ah 1 villain ! miscreant!" cried Monterino. " Hold !" interrupted the brigand chief; " Allesandrio brooks not language such aB this. It is Sigismund, the usurper, the traitor, who deserves those titles best. He, the cowardly traducer of his brother's fame, by which he brought misery and shame upon that brother, and gained possession of his wealth and title." " Ah !" ejaculated Monterino, and his limbs trembled violently : " who is it that thus talks to me ?" " One whom you, doubtless, never expected to meet again, but who will yet live to triumph over you, and to wreak a terrible retribution upon your head : behold 1" - j TO CORRESPONDENTS. The very celebrated fomaMe of " ERNNESTINU BE L.\ EY ; on, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING,", mill be completed in No. 92 of this Journal, in which will be commenced another neic tale. of the most extraordinary and novel construction, by, the same author, the title of which will be announced in our nait. S. P's communications are received, and we shall be most happy lo give insertion to the tale he mentions. On re. perusing the tale called " TIIS SHIPWRECK,'* we find that il is not original. We are sorry that T. C. should have sought to impose upon us, but, at the same time, we are obliged to him for the trouble he has taken in transcribing a very interesting story. P. J.— It was an error of the compositor's, and not " ALEXANDER'S his Solution was correct," OBTENE- BRATION." The Charades and answers by this cor- respondent will probably be inserted. " SCOTLAND, Mv COUNTRY, TO ARMS," is an exquisite effusion, but we must decline the honour the author in- tended us. MR. J. TUNKS.— We are much obliged tq this gentle- man, but the interest of the subject has gone by. The Tale mentioned never came to hand. Not one of the articles forwarded by T. C., are original; however, we advise him to continue transcribing, as it may improve his orthography, which is very bad. We cannot perceive that A. W. FISHER'S answer to ANNA'S Riddle is any Solution at all. The Acrostic will not suit. " ANSWER To THE STORM KING," and Charade by " SIMON ' rnE SORCERER," are accepted. Declined :—" FAREWELL," ( which is not triginal,) " A VILLABB TRADITION," and " THE FATHER'S LA- MENT." J. A. L.— The first number ofthe deeply interesting ro- mance of" THE DEITH GRASP," is now reprinted, and may be had of all booksellers and newsvenders in town and country. We should feel obliged t<> the author of " THE BRIDE OF ALNWICK," if he would send us the remainder of the tale, as part of it is in type, and we wish to give it im- mediate insertion. THE PENNY PEOPLES' AND POLICE GAZETTE. PRECOCITY. - The world has occasionally witnessed instances of a very remarkable precocity Of intellect; for example, John Philip BARRETIER, born at Swabach, 1720, was master of five languages at the age of nine years, and conld read the Scriptures better in their original tongues than in his own; he was, in his fourth year, perfectly familiar with the Latin. There vvas another wonderful, who came to Paris in 1445, and was so extremely clever at twelve years of age, as to be set down as antichrist.—( Uakewelt's Apo- logy.) Townshend, in his Travels in Spain, vol. 3, p. 272, speaks of a boy, twelve years of age, whom he met there, " with judgment, imagination, and memory so mature, that, without any special preparation, he was able to expatiate with propriety on whatever subject was proposed to him." When only three years old, MOZART'S great amuse- ment was finding concords on the piano- forte, and nothing could equal his delight when he had discovered an harmonious intervel. At the age of four, his father began to teach him little pieces of music, which he al"' « . v » M> play in a very short time ; and before lie was six, he had invented several small pieces him- self, and even attempted compositions of solne extent and intricacy. MONTAIGNE was taught Latin in his nurse's arms, and not suffered to hear a word of his mother- toDgue till he could speak the other peifectly. CATO, at fourteen years of age, being carried by his preceptor to Sylla's house, and being there a witness to the tyranny which was exercised over liis fellow- ciil- zens, was astonished al this tyrant not being killed, and asked for a. sword to stab him. " lam not afraid of him," added he. Voltaire tells us that CHARLES THE TWELFTH trans- lated Quintus Curtius at eight years of age. It was M. de CNATKAUNEUF who, when only nine years of age, a bishop thinking to puzzle him, said, " Tell me, my child, where God is, and I will give you an orange." To which the child replied, " Tell me, my lord, where he is not i" Cowley, Milton, and Pope, all lisped in numbers. Most of Lord Lansdowne's poetical pieces were com- posed when but a child. Voltaire commenced poet at twelve; composed the Henriade at twenty- three, and his Brutus at thirty- six. Metastasio and Chalterton were early inspired by tho muses. Waller, however, Is an exception : Lord Clarendon says, he did not begin poetry till he was thirty I and Dryden, his latest pieces being the best, " his fire," as Pope observes, " shone clearest, like the sun towards its setting." LINNJEIJS, also, according to his biographer, ere he was four years old, speculated on pistills and Mamens. It is impossible to decide why this and t'other child should shew such evident marks" of a superiority of in- tellect, unless the means recommended by Strabo and Ramsay be taken into consideration. " Other men, ( says Ramsay, in his Travels of Cyras, vol. 1, p. 80 ) begin not the education of their children till afler they are born ; but the Magi seem to do it before : while their wives were with child, ihey took care to keep them always iu tranquillity and perpetual cheerfulness, by sweet and innocent amusements, to the end that from the mother's vrnmb the fruit might receive ho im- pressions but what wore pleasing, peaceful, and agree- able to order,"— and Slralio thought alike. Perhaps some of these gentlemen took after the Rabbins, who tell us, that Jewish infants in the womb are instructed in the law; but, as soon as they are born, they forget it. Mr. Godwin, also, the author of " Political Jus- tice," speaks of antenatal impressions, which is nearly going as far as Ihe Talmudists. The only wonderment is, how this philosopher picked up this theory of in and out. Afier this, we cannot be surprised to hear of children using their tongues, even before birth. Dr. Needbam, in his Anatomical Disquisitions, chap. 3, p. 84, gives a long, detailed, and, as he says, well- attested account of a loquacious girl, whose tongue was loose and stir- ring two months before she was born, to the great sur- prise ofher mother and those friends who happened to be in the room while this recitative was oddly per- forming behind the scenes. This early talker was the daughter ofa noble lady in Cheshire. Bartholinus cites several like instances. Another instance of a similar precocity.—" Mr. Campani, an eminent Italian physician, has sent advice to Mr. Moreali, a famous practitioner at Modena, of the following extraordinary fact, which is properly'au- thenticated. The wife of a tanner, living at a village called Palatapapoli, aged twenty- five years, being in the seventh month ofher pregnancy, on the 11th of Jauuary last, heard distinctly the cries ofthe child she bore in her woinb. The husband, and several other persons, also heard it the same day; and soon after when she was at church, at Vespers, the child cried so audibly, aud so strongly imitated the voice of a new- born infant, that the whole congregation concluded it was a child brought to be baptized. Mr. Campani adds, he has visited the poor woman several times, who is greatly concerned at this novelty, and daily falls away. We are impatient to know the event of this singular miracle of nature,"—( Dodsley's Register, 1770J CHAPTER XXIV, " Oh, lisfen to my minstrelsie, Ye lords and ladies bright, The while I sing of gallant deeds Perform'd by stilwart knight. The deeds perform'd sn battle field Shall fill the minstrel's sons; And how his prowess he display'd At tilt and tournament." _ OLOBALI. AD. ALL was gaiety ahd bust'e iti the neighbourhood of the castle, and at ah early hour of the moifllng It might plainly be, seen from the unusual activity ol the inhabit- ants of the different cotiages on the wide domains of St. Aswolph, that something of an extraordinary character was about to take place. There was no distinction of personages invited to celebrate the auspicious event in festive mirth, hut from the peer to the peasant, all were alike at liberty to enjoy themselves according to their stations and tastes. The preparations were upon the most extensive scale, and the hilarity which prevailed seemed to be the harbinger of future happiness to the fair bride and bridegroom. In the castle itself tbe scene was not less animated than that which prevailed without. The lovely bride, and her still more beauteous bridesmaid, our gentle heroine, who had remained at St. Aswolph Castle for a few days previous, left their chambers at the first blush of " grey eyed morn," and soon afterwards the different noble- men, knights, and ladies, who had been invited, arrived, all attired ill the most elegant manner, and the brid il procession shortly afterwards moved on its way to the chapel of the castle, a number of beauteous maidens preceding the bride and bridegroom, strewing the way with flowers. They reach the chapel— the ceremony is over, and Lady Marguerite and Sir Egbert de Courcy are united in the indissoluble bands of matrimony, and then the guests return to the grand hall, where inirth and revelry were destined to hold their undisputed sway. The festivities for the poorer classes", us we have before stated, were upon tbe most unlimited scale, and the humble hinds seemed determined to enjoy the diversions provided for them to the fullest extent. Booths were erected, which were filled with traders from various parts, imposing paltry flittering baubles on the simp e clown, who bought for his mistress the tinsel finerv, and thought her charms more brilliant when decke I with their false lusirej roasted oxen and sheep smoked on various parts of the plain near the Castle of St. Aswolph, of which, as the hungry peasant partook, he blessed the bride and bridegroom, and also invoked the greatest happiness on the family of St. Aswolph, aud drunk long life and prosperity to ' them all in bumpers. Dancing, wrestling, tumbling* and dexterous leaping and jump- ing, attracted the gaping crowd, who did not think proper to engage in the sports; while throwing the sling, aiming the swift arrow at a mark, running, and all manner of athletic Sports, engaged the adventurous youths, who, by their skill and dexterity on that day, won many an unguarded heart. Nor were the sports of the noblemen of a less pleasing nature ; care was not permitted even to peep within the walls of the castle of St. Aswolph that day, aud every person seemed to endeavour to outvie his fellow in de- monstrating his happiness. The sumptuous feast— the Af ( t minalmilcio an mond, who fell to the earth with a fearful crash, at which the shouts Of the host around, rent the air. The victorious knight immediately alighted from bis steed, and approaching the prostrate and almost insensible Lord Raymond, and tearing the scarf from his shoulders which the fair hands of Erniiestine had placed there, he whisnered in his ear :— " Raymond St. A6wo- lpli. we shall meet again, but it must be in mortal combat 1" He then nastily remounted his charger, and riding up to the throne where sat the Lady Marguerite, her mother, and our. heroine, from the hands of the former he re. ceived the precious gift, and turning hastily to Ernnes- tine, he snatched eagerly her hand, pressed it vehemently to his lips, and remounting his steed, followed by his esquire, he gallop? d away, with the speed of lightning, and was out of sight before auy of the beholders had re- covered from the state of astonishment into which the whole circumstance . had thrown them. Several persons immediate)'.- flew to the assistance of Lord Raymond, who was so mud! stunned by the vio- lence of the fall he had received, that be was unable ti? raise himself from the ground. He was home directly to his chamber, and the sports abruptly terminated. His sister and mother were quickly at llis bedside, and ad- ministering to his hurts; but great as was the bodily anguish he suffered, his mental vvas much greater, at the thoughts of defeat, and that it should have been by an unknown knight. Eninestine was greatly troubled in her mind at this incident, and there was something in the general beating of the knight of the burning heart, which, without being able to account for it, filled her bosom with a mingled sensation ot awe and admiration. She longed to know who he was, but there seemed to be no chance of her wish ever being gratified, aud she, therefore, gave up the idea- notes of " minstrelsie," and the fantastic mazes of the dance, each came in for their full share of patronage, and ihe " galliard measure" had seldom been done more justice to than on that occasion. At nitht the hall- was one blaze of splendour, and the festivities were kept up even till Sol began to show his face over the eastern hills. The three successive days were devoted to the tilt aud tourney, and much gallant sport was anticipated, owing to the number of brave knights and noblemen that had come from all parts, to do honour to the nuptials of Lady Marguerite, and Sir Egbert de Cotifcy. Sir Egbert and Lord Raymond were allowed to be equal if not superior in all manly and athletic exercises to any of their competitors ; but on this occasion, elate with anticipated triumph, and expected happiness, the bridegroom and Lord Raymond wailed at an early hour on Lady Marguerite and Ernnestine, and wilh rapture they kissed their fair hands, as they each adjusted an elejjant scarf, enriched wilh their beloved names, across their shoulders. Never was the appearancc of Sir. Egbert and Lord Raymond more noble or commanding, and they excited universal admiration from all who beheld them. The former was encased in bright silver armour, studded here and there with diamonds and other costly jewels, and froth his casque nodded a plume of blood red f< a- thers. The lattef's mail was a bright green, whilst waving gracefully in the wind from his glittering helm was a plume of snow- white feathers. Lady Marguerite, ( who, of course, was the queen of the tournament,) and Ernnestine, ( who looked more lovely on that occasion than she had appeared for Some time before,) were conducted to the place appointed for the pageant, and took their seats, amid the loud shouts of admiration from the persons assembled. Thert the scene was' ope of the most imposing and magnificent that can Weil " be imagined. Many gallant knights there were assembled in superb accoutrements, the blandish- ment of love wore the mask of war, and some of Eng land's most peerless beauties were seated in the spacious galleries around. Ernnesiine was seated by the side of Lady Marguerite on a cosily throne, and all eyes were directed in enthusiastic admiration towards her and the fair queen of the tourney. At their feet thfc tf- ophies won were laid— the wrested sword, the broken plume; tbe discomfited knight, brought as prisoner, received emancipation from their lips, and vowed they left them more en'laved than ever. Sir Egbert de Courcy was mounted on a large white war- horse, that neighed and pawed the ground as proud of his gallant burthen, and without a saddle, firmly erect, seated only on a rich saddle cloth, entirely covered with flowers of gold embroidered over it; the lining was of scarlet. Lord Raymond was superbly mounted on a beautiful chesnut charger, who seemed impatient for the sport, and his bearing was no less noble than that of Sir Eg- bert. The first and second days of the tournament passed off gallantly, And Lord Raymond and Sir Egbert, either by courtesv or real superiority of ability, surpassed iheir fellows, and at length they remaiued ihe undisputed heroes of the field. The third clay dawned from the Heavens, and a lovely one it was, the bright sun shining in all his golden glory, the sky unchequered by a single cloud; the air fresh and balmy, and all around seeming to be. inspired with the most unbounded happiness. The assemblage of the knights was even greater than it had been on the two previous days, aud everything promised a gallant day's sport. It commenced, and as they had done before, Lord Raymond and Sir Egbert came off victorious in every contest. At length, alter there had been a pause of some minutes, the former once more threw his gauntlet down, and the heralds sounded a loud blast upon their trum- pets;— a second blast; but still no one appeared to ac- cept of the challenge,— but scarcely had the third es- caped the brazen throats ofthe heralds' trumpets, when from amidst the noble host assembled, there issued a warrior, clad in glittering steel, and mounted on a coal black steed, and riding fiercely into the ling, he accented the challenge. There was a murmur of admiration run through the throng, at the noble appearance of this knight, ( who bore oil Ins shield a burning heart, with the motto of " Faithful till death," inscribed in characters of gold upon it,) and even Lord Raymond could not help gazing upon him with a feeling of approbation, not unniinsrlea witli awe. ° Etnnestine shuddered, and as she fixed her eyes upon tbe knight ot the burning heart, whose vizor was down an indescribable sensation came over her,— she turned ghastly pale, and seemed as if she was going to taint- but a few words from Lady Marguerite, whose confil deuce in the skill of her noble brother was unshaken aroused her, and she mide a desperate effort to stifle her real feelings, in which she partially succeeded. The attack seemed to promise an easy victory to Lord Raymond, lor his unknown adversary appeared to he governed by most infuriate rage, while he, on the con trary, was cool, collected, and most intrepid. A short tjme, however, soon altered that opinion ; the lancei of the combatants met each other with tcrrific violence and the knight of the burning heart unhorsed Lord Ray' CHAPTER XXV. " Oh, could I but forget bow fair she was, What vows of love she pledged with mine, Then might my hatred for thee cease! But no !— Loue says it shall not be, And one or both of us must die!" THE AVENGER. SOME weeks after the marriage of Sir Egbert de Courcy and Lady Marguerite had elapsed, and Lord Raymond had perfectly recovered, but still he could not forget the circumstance of his encounter with the knight of the bleeding heart, and the more he reflected OH it, the more did his indignation increase. " He told me we should meet again," he soliloquized, " and that the combat must then be mortal; from that, it appears evident he is my enemy. But let fortune once more throw him in my way, ' tis all 1 wish ; I will then know who he is, sud amply aver. ge myself for the defeat which I suffered." It was a few evenings after this, that Lord Raymond was returning through the wood, towards the castle, when suddenly emerging from some of its most deep en- tangled mazes, he heard the sound of horse's hoofs ap- proaching, and he had only time to draw his glittering falchion, wheB a warrior mounted upon a noble steed, galloped up to him, and by the light of the moon, h « beheld the knight of the burning heart 1" " Ah! by the mass, well met 1" cried Lord Raymond, '* this i3 a Circumstance 1 have long been anxiously wishing for. Thy name, Sir Kniglit ?" " Conquer me, and know it," replied the later, draw- ing his sword ;—" Ernnestine or death ! " Erunestine or death!" reiterated L> rd Rord Ray- mond in furious tones, and their steeds neighed and snorted, alarmed at the sound of their terrible and en- raged voices. There was not another moment's delay, bnt they both rushed furiously to the strife, and most fearful, indeed, was their first onset, but deceived by the uncertain light of the moon, they passed by each other several times without a blow taking effect. This added more to their rage, lint it vvas all useless ; in vain thev cut and thrust, parried and passed ; their horses, alarmed at their own shadows flitting before them, started and trembled, thus baulking their riders' strokes. Fruitlessly they spent their strength, till completely worn out, they both desisted, and gazed sternly upon each other for a few secends in silence. " The combat is useless to- night," at last exclaimed the knight of the burning heart;—" bat wilt thou meet me at the first streak of day ?" " l win." " Where ?" '< On this spot'," " Enough. When?" " To morrow morning!" " Be it so." " But thot wilt not play me false?" " By the honour of a true knight, I will not," vvas the answer. " I will take thy word. I shall come alone." " I will also be unattended." "' Tis well," returned Lord Raymond; " bv the first blush of day, then——" " We meet again," " In mortal combat!" " For Ernnestine or death !" For Ernnestine or death I" responded Lord Ray- mond, and as he gave utterance to these words, the kniglit of the burning heart clapped his spurs into the flanks ofh'S fiery courser, and plunged into the deepest recesses of the wood, disappearing almost immediately, and leaving Lord Raymond to recover from his astonish- ment, . and to retrace his steps to the Castle of St. Asvvolpin AJ lie hurried on, his mind became entirely occupicd in reflecting upon Ihe singularity of the circumstance, and the mysterious behaviour of the knlijht of the burn- ing heart. Who could he be, and what motives could guide his conduct ? He had shewn hiiBfelf to he his most inveterate foe, and yet Lord Raymond racked Ms brain in vain to endeavour to iiiiagitie to whom he coii'd possibly have given such cause for hatred. Added to the mystery of the White Knight, and tbe grey friar, it was a circumstance which entirely bewildered and distracted his brain ; and he felt as if he was the victim of some infernal Sfsell. " Yet," he soliloquized, as he proceeded, " why should I thus meet in deadly combat a man who professes him- self to be mine enemy, and jet Is afraid to reveal himself. He has pledged his honour not to act with tieachery to- wards me;— yet what dependance ought I to place in the promise of a ttian whom 1 khow not, and Who has ehoseii to act with so much mystery ?— 1 will meet him in the morning, but 1 will not go unattended, so that I may be prepared for any danger which mav threaten me!- And yet,— would not that appear like cowardice .'— Would he not think 1 feared him? He would, and 1 will, therefore, meet him alone, and brave the consequences'." By the time he Imd come to this determination, he had arrived at the castle. ( To be continued in our next.) AN ADDRESS TO THE ECHO. If I address the Echo, yonder, What will its answer be, I wonder? Echo— I wonder. Oil, wondrous Echo ! tell me, ble « » ' e,— Am I for marriage, or eelibney! Echo— Silly Bessy. If, then, to view the maid X try, Shall I find her a properly? Echo— A proper tye. If neither grave nor funny Will win the maid to matrimony t Echo— Try money, if I should try to win her heart, Sliall I go plain, or rather smart? Echo— Smart. She mayn't love dress, and I ugain, then, May come too smart, and she'll complain then ? Echo— Come plain, then. To please 1ier most, perhaps, is best, To come ai I'm in common dress'd. J?? lio— Ceme undreas'd. Then, if to marry me I teaze her, W hat will she say If that should please herl Echo— Please, sir. When cross and'good words can't appease her,— what, If such nanghty whims should seize her' Echo— You'd see, sir. When wed she'll change for love no striker, And love her husband less than liquor. Echo— Then lick her. To love me, then, I can't compel her, « 1 nough every woman else excel lur r Echo- Sell her. The doubting youth to Echo turned again, ,!/. 1 o ask advice, but found it did uot answer. Bourne, 1341, HSBSBRT. THE PENNY STUN © AY TIMES AND PEOPLES' fOLtCfi feAZETTtf! MEMOIRS OF MADAME LAFARGE. WRITTEN BY HERSELF. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH EXPRESSLY FOR THIS WORK. ( Continuedfrom our last. J CHAPTKR XXII. M. CLAVE, on learning my uneasiness, had sent me a few lines full of heart- inspired friendship, but he wrote to me no more. Marie had also shared my fears; but, far from answering the questions 1 addressed to her rela- tive to our trieiid, she said little to me about him, and then ceased to mention him at all, and then all at once wrote to beg me to send hack her letters that might coin promise and ruin her. Although, already a little hurt by and always firmly resolvedhot to betray my frisud. thm Homttiit I wus ( rninor fpnt fhpm hack ... 1. </ » *:-. « ... . had believed it, ber duty to inform my aunt of it after my departure from Paris to Villeis- Hellon. This new edition of Mademoiselle Delvaux's words, augmented and embellished in a femme de chambre's narration, made my aunt indignant, who, iu the paroxysm of her anger and uneasiness, wrote me a ter- rible letter, and wrote one quite as terrible to my aunt De Martens, who charged with interrogating me, was it first very severe. She demanded of me a full con- fession, and, as I was unwilling to betray Marie, de clared it my duty to reveal everything to her; and not wishing to listen to incomplete justifications, the sent me to reflect for two hours in in - chamber. After those two hours I returned to iny judge, telling her all that Could_ only compromise mys If, exaggerating mv errors that i might not be obliged to attribute any to Marie, this demand, 1 was going to send them back to her, when a second aud more pressing leiter came to renew ihe entreaty. While manifesting some doubts as to my dis- cretion aud prud nee, Mar; t said she had been forced to confide herself tg bir governess, whose advice and par- ticipation were, become indispensable to her, and that Madame Delvaux had only accepied her part of conti dante, on condition Marie should withdraw her letters an, l SunAtleuce from me. The silence aud forgetfulilfiSs of M Clav^ were now explained, they had, doubtless been insisted Upon. They had made use of my all- devoted friendship as a faci. itv and means they threw aside now that there 110 longer existed ar, y love or any obstacle, and 1 was hurt and iiii-* miliatol by the part they had jfiven me. replied to Marie that I was unwilling to confide her letters to the post, but that as I was going to pass a week in Paris at the end of the month, I would deliver them lip to Mademoiselle Delvaux, whom she could easily send for them. My letter was cold,' sad, like my heart,— and1 all the fine and tender phrases that my affection prompted me to insert had no power to make me forget. This double and romantic friendship wasso intimately mixed with all my thoughts and all my actions, that I was a long time before! was able to anske it off. Often did I re peruse Marie's two letters, and had need of seeing them before my eyes to believe them. On our entrance into life, it seems as if we could never suffi- ciently devote ourselves to those we love; we feel the necessity of being indispensable to them, of proving to them they can't exist without us. We make to ourselves a fuiure of their future, aud we believe in friendship npon earth as we believe iu a God in Heaven. It is in vain we are told that the friendship of mankind is evanescent: it never enters our thoughts to apply general principles to ourselves. Everything that happens to us, everything ' hat surrouuds us, ought to be au ex- ception, and we do notconduct oursclve. with the expe- rience of the heart. If it ls so painful to recover from our illusions that, on advancing In life, we often still turn back, no longer wi'. h the same confidence, but with the hope of again seeing our bright d. ys of friendship and self- denial, w; tn I he hope of retarding that so sorrowful moment vuen, in doubting of others, wedoubi of our- selves ( when we 110 longer know what idea to attach our- selves to; when, after confiding ourselves without re- serve, we should be ready to suspect unjustlv. It was Marie who came herself to take back her letters. On seeing each other - we grasped hautls in silence; and, after a few minutes, she hesitatingly told me I was un- just ; that I mistook her prudence tor mistrust; that she was wretched— and, in confiding herself to Mademoi- selle Delvaux, she could not avoid letting herself be gnided by her. " Yos well know," I said to her, " that I have never had the ambition of directing you ! I scarcely know how tu guide myself, aud I shall lie infinitely obliged to the good soul who, charging herself with the task of render- ing me that service, hhould lead me by ilie h aul into the right path. But let us be frank, for my heart is too full tijoke; whence proceeds this panic terror of my indis- cretion ? Have you forgot that I have compromised my- self for vou as you have compromised yourself for him? What bes happened ? Has he shown hiinsell less noble, less honourable ? Have you ordered him to forget me ? Speak, I entreat you, it will be the la, t time, and I will afterwards be as indifferent, as useless, as you shall desire." Marie's embarrassment increased. She assured me she had not seen M. Clav. i since the Tivoli ball; that she was ignorant of what had become of him ; had not written to him, and begged of Me also not to at- tempt to write to him: she then swore she loved me as muc! i as ever, and that in reclaiming those letters, she * icted in obedience to Mademoiselle Delvaux, who judged that her future prospects and her reputation m'ght be compromised by them. " Truly," 1 exclaimed, sharply, " Mademoiselle Delvaux has so deeply impressed her zeal of narrow- mindedness and suspicion upon your whole person, that 1 no longer rect , nize my frank, my good, my In- consistent Marie. I believe I have almust all your letters.— All those where there may be a word of love, so virtuously forgot in one day, shall be given up to you; as for mine, do as you please with them. I shall never disavow my thoughts and my impressions. Only, as they were for you alone, so still keep them, and preserve them from Mademoiselle Delvaux. Amongst the letters M. Clavl has addressed to me, I will ^ ive Xou all those which speak too passionately of the first larie; as for the others which expressed 10 me bis noble aud Confiding friendship, 1 shall keep them with affectionate remembrance. Believe that it is more easy to teach me to love, than to unteach me a sincere affec tion." The arrival of my aunt Garat broke off our conver- sation. Marie was obliged to go away without that precious little packet of letters she so ardently desired and it was agreed that Mademoiselle Delvaux should come for them early next day, before ou!- departure for Vlllers- Hellou, where we were to take Antonine, all covered with medals and laurels, rich in six week's vacations, which she was very impatient to spend in the country. Kager and punctual. Mademoiselle Delvaux arrived with tlie sun, asked to speak with me in private, and I had to shut myself up with her to listen to a long in- quisitorial exordium upon the dangers of my impro- priety and Marie's frankness, who had confessed to her her faults, and had chosen her for a friend. Accord- ing to Mademoiselle Delvaux, my conduct had been much more unpardonable than Mademoiselle Ninolai's. I had wanted to deprive a governess ol her pupil's con- fidence— to favour a blameable forgctfulness ; in short, 1 was the only one culpable, and it was merelv to save my future prospects and reputation that she consented to discover nothing to Madame de Valence, & c. These malicious and hypocritical words wounded my feelings so deeply, that I resolved to punish them. As- suming a, look of ( error, 1 replied to Mademoiselle Delvaux that, not having the happiness to possess a guide wise and prudent like heiself, I was resolved to confide all to my aunt Garat, who would find the means of saving me, and that I thus permitted her to act ac- cording to her duty and her conscieuec, and te confide the whole of that imprudent intrigue to her pupil's mother. 1 also added that 1 did not reclaim my letters, and that, slot knowing exactly where Marie's were at tbe Vnoment, I could not just then deli'- er them to her. The stupefaction of MademoSelle Delvaux, made me smile, aud aveuged me. She entreated, Blie humbled herself to combat my resolution of confiding myself to my aunt, and obtain the letters; but if I somewhat re- moved her fears as t<> Vny pretended revelation, dis- gusted, indijaant at Marie's weakness and her iww adviser's low cunning, 1 persisted in refusing the letters, and left Paris lor Villers- Hellon. However, Marie's incessant prayers, an ample apology from Mademoselle Delvaux made me renounce my little cruelty, and 1 charitably sent back to them the important corres- My aunt, my good aunt," 1 repeated iu despair, " you are, doubtless, right; but I could never be vir- ions enough to betray friendship, faith, confidence. What you call prudeuce, I name perfidy; I can't de- cide to be wise according to the world, and wicked ac- cording to my own heart. My dear aunt, scold me, punish me; but in pity leave me a secret that is not my own," My aunt then not only permitted me to be silent, but she embraced me, giving me a very good and a very affecting sermon ; then promised me to write to her sister to excuse me— to make me obtain a pardon that should cousole me for the violent expressions of the morning's letter she wished to m ike me forget. " You know," she said to me. " that our excellent Louise cannot subdue her first impressions; you know that it happens to all of us, in a moment of impatience, lo - ay the most unjust and the most d sagreeable things to those we love the best; you know, in short, how quick your aunt forgets— bow nobly she avows her er- rors, and forgives those of others from ( lie bottom of her heart. So burn that letter, which would make you weep for a neek longer, and which you didn't deserve." Notwithstanding this injunction, 1 kept that letter which had given me so much pain. I wished to oppose it to fresh injustice on the part of Marie; 1 wanted it to prove to her how 1 knew to love my friends and suffer to keep their secrets. Lord! Lord! while invoking these recollections, I am struck with the grandeur of Thy de- signs, and I | humble myself before Thy Providence so severe, but so just in Thy redoubtable lessons. This letter, which my pride converted into a martyr's palm I wanted to glorify myself with before a friend, was destined to make me blush and humiliate my pride of independent, though, perhaps, too presumptuous inno- cence, and to serve as the basis of the terrible accusa- tion brought against me. This first fault was to be in my life what in the valleys of SwitKeiland arc those avalanches which, formed from a grain of earth, gradually accumulate, wbirlingaiong in the midst of snows, destroy the flowers, tbe shrubs, drag along the trees, the rocks, the forests, precipitate themselves into the plain, make of it one vast tomb, be- neath which are buried, the grandfather, the mother, and the child! Jesus Christ, crucified to efface the crimes of man, has established the grand dogma of ex- piation upon earth ; and, poor creatures, we must with pain aud death acquit the list of our weaknesses, of our rebellions, of our sins. pondeuce. Those letters impassioned enough, extravagant enough for her to wish to see them burnt, were not sufficiently so to wish to ransom them by stooping to pravers, threats, and insulting suspicious. I comprehended I was ignorant of many things- that I was not told what gave them the dreaded power of ruimng and of dis- honouring and if 1 pardoued M. Ciav£ who, being 111 love, was" consequently a slave, if 1 attempted to par- don Marie, who, by being weak, was the easier im- mosed upon, 1 bore a three- fold malice against Made- TOofselle Delvaux, and if she had been worth the while, I should, perhaps, have detested her. . " had committed a fault in protecting, in sharing an imprudent and blameable action ; 1 had been punished for it by a thousand sorrows, a thousand ingratitudes, a thousand deceptions; I was to expiate it still mere cruelly. My aint Carat's femme de chambre sur- prised at Mademoiselle Delvaux's mysterious and mali- cious look, and not knowing her, had listened at the door, heard the charitable manner in which my con- duct was appreciated, and, at length, quite terrified, CHAPTER xxnt. til 8 autumn at Villers- Hellon this year wets brilliant and animated. To all our troop of you » g girls must be added our gracious and good little aunt Blanche, whom my grandfather loved a little, and whom we already loved a great deal; her sister, the Countess de Bougead, who welcomed ail things ahd all persons with a smile; M. de Bmgard, amiable, witty, and savant, when he sat himself down to the piano; lastly, Eduiond and Ma- rie de Bongnrd, big children, good tempered, mischiev- ous,— wh « » were admirable in their noisy mirth, and as partners in a contre- danee. What a . sweet time is the vacations! Femand de Montesquiou, Antonine, Edmund, having to lay in a who e year's stock of amu- ement in one month, every imagination wa* put to the tack to create a pleasure for each of those days. The baptism of new bells that were going to change the broken voicfe of our old bell into fresh and soporous voices, became an occasion for- ffi'tes and parties. My grandfather, and my aunt Garat, my auntDe Martens and M. Elmore, my uncle Maurice and myself, were charged to give them our names; and after the priests had blessed and christened the great echoes of the religions earth, which repeat to Heaven the prayers whispered in our hearts, we had a ball, cakes, and sweetmeats,— a whole morning of mad gaiety. I had too often need to banish my remembrance far away from me and far away from thase I had loved, not to substitute a continual activity of mind and body for my favourite hours of solitude" and revery; I studied during long hours, and took immoderate rides on horse- back j I passed all my evenings iu dancing, or at my piano; 111 short, I doubled my life, and 1 thought no more. My aunt Garat gave me so tender aud so kind a pardon^ that having without remorse supported her dissatisfac- tion too violent to be just, her indulgences, hfcr cafcsses, made me feel myself guilty, and made me submit with- out a murmur to her desire of seeing me cease all cor- respondence with Mademoiselle de Nicolai. lo write n « more, to meditate no more, it was very depressing; and I sometimes let my reerets, my ennuis, be divined through the cheerfulness 1 had impo9 « d Upon myself, and my grandfather. Who always comprehended me, seized Cvery means of diverting my attention. He, one day, persuaded my Uncle Maurice to accompany me on a very long excuisUh 1 had ftfr a long time desired to attempt, and that Was to visit BoufueViltej a magnificent estate belonging to the Duke de Noailles; to go and see the setting sun from the little feudal chateau of La Fert^- Milon, and to return by moonlight across the fine tall underwood of the forest of Villers- Cotcrets. There were many things necessary for the success ot my project i first, permission to au i hoi ize me to fatigue myself a little more than reasonably; the goodwill of my uncle; a fine day without much sun, and a fine night with a deal of moon. I had anticipated all that, ihe horses were saddled j I had only waited for my uncle a full hour; he had no more than his cravat to put on, and twenty orders to gie, when, all at once one of those neighbour- friends, who only make one visit in the whole year, arrived, to pass the day with him. My good grand- father, who had promised himself happiness from my happiness., was as vexed as myself at this apparition; and advancing to meet the Count de C , told him our horses were saddled, and that after dinner we would accompany him home on going to Bourneville; and scarcely leaving the unwelcome visitor time to swallow a cup of tea, made us mount our horses, and wished us a pleasant day* When I was free from the danger of a counter order, and while my uncle and his friend were talking and prancing by my side, I set about very attentively ob- serving M. C , whom I had seen very little, but heard a great deal of. Now, they made him quite a Faublas amongst the eirls ; he was, they said, a complete rake; his conduct was as immoral as his sentiments aud dis- course. He had deserted a young lady he was to have married, and who- u he had compromised. He held orgies atO , that prevented his mother from setting foot within his doors, and then— and then- they finished by whispering, and the ears which were not under the power of a husband ought to be closed or were sent away. . This reprobate was very short in stature, and had a pretty countenance, full of expression, of frankness, and fine intelligence. He was talking very amicably with my unc le, aud without paying any attention to me. This ami- gallantry which seemed to me natural enough during half an- hour, appeared very wearisome alter double that time; and to conceal my mortification, or perhaps to make them remember there was some one else in company besides themselves, I gave Eyram a lash, and off he shot like an arrow full gallop. When I pulled up my uncle was far behind, M. C quite close to me. ' « > My God, mademoiselle, has your horse run away with vou ?'* he said, with tolerable anxiety. . " Yes, I have been run away with by a want of inde- pendence, but not all by my horse." " Whatis the word independence admitted into the dictionary of the beau monde . " No, without doubt, but it is a word engraved in every heart, and for which 1 have quite a particular esteem." ' , My uncle then came up m a very bad humour, and began a sermon upou my fantastic freak. " 1 beg of you," 1 said to him, " not to be cross, dear uncle, for it is more wearisome to be grumbled at than to be forgot,/* The gentlemen laughed on seeing me betray my little feminine stratagem and we all three began conversing in the best of humours. After a charming ride of two hours, we quitted the forest to enter a delicious valley, commanded by a chateau with gothic turrets, which looked so pleasant, uncommon, and chivalrous, that I evinced an immoderate desire to go and visit it. * « It is O , and I shall be too happy to receive you there," said M. C to me. 44 Maurice, I shall fall out with you if you don't yield to the desire of your niece." ( i My compliments to you, sir, you have there a very pretty little eagle's nest, all graceful, and all feudal; but 1 shall come and admire it closer another time; to- 1 day it would delay us, and our moments are counted." My uiic'e and M. C remained a little time in the rear, and alter holding a pretty long confabulation, a servant set off full gallop for O—, and my unc le told me we should cross the gardens and court on horseback, and that I could accept a bunch of grapes without alight ing. Ail which was done. This charming abode seemed to me quite as pretty and original when close to it as from a distance; I had been told no one resided in it but the owner, however 1 perceived & hand too white to belong to a cook, half open a curtain on the first floor. Neither the hand, nor my look escaped the notice of my companions, who hastily gave the signal for moving on. After a long gallop, M C , demanded my permis- sion to accompany me during the second part of our excursion. " Ask my uncle," I replied ; " I know it will make him very happy, but 1 am ignorant of its propriety, and whether we shan t subject ourselves to censure." " Would tittle tattle and calumny make you uneasy, Made moiselle ?" " No, but 1 should be very uneasy at receiving a lec- ture." u You, then, are not free ?" " Why, I am like all the young girls of our fine coun- try, France, brought up under a despotic government, and I ought to bend my character to the will of the great autocrat who will one dwy raise me to the dignity of a married woman." My uncle was some paces in advance of us, humming a favourite air from the opera of " Marie;" and my conversation with M. C continued a long time, some- times serious, always piqu* nt, satirical, and very free in its allusions. " Already !" exclaimed Mr. C , at the hour of se- paration. " Already!" replied quite low an echo of my thought. About a month after that ride, my aunt de Martens told me she was thinking of a marriage for me; that I had made the conquest ot M. C— and that he wished me to marry one ot his friends, M. Felix de V . I don't know why " the commencement of this phrase made me tremble and blush, and 1 don't know why the end made me feel a violent fit of ill humour and vexation. " It is doubtless for the sake of contrast that M. C— makes himself the respondent of his friend. He wishes the difference between them may be easily verified, and that ihis' difference may become aiy surest guarantee." " What admirable severity 1 On the return from your ride you told me you found him amiable and original." " True, but 1 find him ridiculous in the part he is goin^ to play now." " Find him so; but, however, don't tell him so. This marriage is suitable; your grandfather desires it, and I know that Felix will let himself be guided by the coun- sels of M. C A great hunt was got up to bring about an interview"; but the weather rendered it impossible, and we were forced to remain in the saloon, and by the fire side. My aunts were perfectly amiable, and set in the most fa- vourable relief of all the virtues, all the intelligence, I possessed, or rather that I ought to have. My grand- father could not prevent himself from testifying by double entendres that he was in the secret and very favourably disposed towards the success of the conspiracy. At length, M. de V quite as embarrassed as myself, seemed to have, made M. C—— his plenipotentiary, wh ® put him> elf to an immense expense of amiability to make tre appreciate his friend. The task lasted the whole of the day. After dinner I was made play on the piano one of Rossini's most diffi- cult pieces, sing ah Italian air, and M. C came to seat himself by me, and asked me for Weber's waltz. While I was playing that painful and last thought ot the great German composer, an incenceivable depression of spirits took possession of him I had always * een so careless and caustic ; he leant his head on his hand, and seemed overwhelmed with a remembrance or a regret. ( To be continued in our next.) REVIEW. HOWLTJTT'S VICTORIA GOLDEN ALMANACK, FOR 1842.— For the very low sum of sixpence, the public have here aa opportunity afforded them of possessing themselves of one ofthe most beautiful, unique, and useful Almanacks that have issued from the press, and we are certain that it only requires to be known to command an im- mense circulation. It is splendidly printed in gold, and the In- formation it contains is of the most valuable description, Messrs. Howlett and Son, are entitled to great praite for the tasteful and spirited manner in which they have presented thi » little Almanack to the public. out.' THE INCESTUOUS FATHER* Our correspondent at Naples, has just sent us the following re- lation ot a case that has just been received before the criminal tribunals of Sorrente and Atran& o, and a circumstance in It, which, to many of our readers, will appear singular, is the power possessed by criminals in many of the continental states, of appealing from the sentence of the one court to another, and to a third, ani thus, sometimes,, finally obtaining a verdict of acquittal, after being twice sentenced to death, aa happened in the following case : — A family, which was quoted as the too rare model of domeutie happiness and union, lived at Sorrente, Composed only of three persons. Hieronomo Pascolo, his son Gasperino, thirty- one years old, and the wife of the latter, Nunziata, who was only nineteen. Nufiziata was extremely beautiful, and the perfection of her shape, her grace, her modesty, yielded in nothing to the regularity and exquisite expression of her features. Many a time the painters who came every year from Rom* to visit the town, with the pure sky, ( Sorrente) had in secret sketched the angelic figure of Mun- ziata, to re- produce it afterwards in the holy paintings destined to decorate the altars of different churches. Beloved by ftfunzlata, cherished hy his father, and possessing a place at the post- office; sufficient to keep the house In comfort and respectability; Gasperino lived happy, free from care and un easiness, when one of hla old companions, perhaps thinking ke was only fulfilling the duties of a friend:, gave him reasons, and even furnished him with proofs for believing NunZiate was faithless to him. Baliaflo, his friend, refusing, however, to name tire seducer, Gasperino resolved to watch his wife, and having recourse to that old and repeated stratagem, which, however, always succeeds, he pretended to leave home on a journey, which would detain him several days. Night being come, and when his wife would believe him already far on his way, he returned privately to his house, stole gently up stairs to his Nunziata's chamber, where, to his great satisfaction, he found his wife quietly asleep. There Was one circumstance, however, that seemad singular to Gaaperlno, and that was, Nunzlate's night- dress being more elegant and smarter than usual; that almost frivolous observation,, however, produced but a momentary effect upon him, and full of repentance, accusing himself of having unjustly suspected her, and cursing Baliano s inconsiderate zeal, he was going to awaken her by a kiss, when he perceived her awake naturally, and prepare to leave the bed. The Wife could not see Gusperino in the place where he was standing, and getting up, she took a lamp, and silently left her chamber. He followed her, taking care, at all events, to provide himself with a poniard. It was towards her father- in- law » bed- room she proceeded. Great, at that moment, was Gasperino's exasperation; ought he to proceed ; could he entertain an impious suspicion of hia own father ? Could not Nunziata's nocturnal visit to that retired part of the house, be caused by some innocent motive! He mistrust- fully addressed these questions to himself j he wanted ta stop, but the blind Instinct of jealousy got the better of his reason ; he half- opened the door and slowly en'ered the apartment. Kis dishonour was consummated; hesitation,— doubt were ' impossible. With single blow of his poniard, he, at the same tims, struck both the criminals, and when, stained with blood, pale, with haggard eyes he left that chamber, which, until then, he had never entered but with respect. Hieronoma was expiring, while his accomplice was calling Etiotfd for help, and endeavourh. g to staunch the blood that was gushing from her bosom. Gasperino, once avenged, went Immediately and delivered him- self up to justice, and his trial shortly after took place before the tribunal court of Sorrertte. Nunzlata quickly recovered from her wound, avowed all, ana declared It was herself who had seduced and dragged on her father- in- law to commit that deplorable incest. Violently enamoured of him, she said she had only married Gas- perino to get to his father. Gasperino, notwithstanding Nun- ilata's confession, and though he affirmed to have acted from the impulse ot the moment and his conscience, was aondemned to death as guilty of wilful and premeditated murder. This sentence was appealed against; but the criminal tribunal of Naples, to which the judgment was this time deferred, deciding the same as that of Sorrente, that there was premeditation, since the prisoner had armed himself before hand, and had, besides, re- mained long enough at the door, and in the chamber, to be able to refleet and change his resolution, also pronounced sentence of death. This second sentence was referred by Gasperino's advocate to the supreme tribunal, and this time, the attorney- general retained for the defence, demanded the two sentences to be annulled, ad- mitting that, if there had been premeditation, that premeditation had no other object than to watch the conduct of Nunziata, and that, as to the circumstance of the poniard, it was proved that Gasperino always went armed, above all, when travelling. The two sentences were annulled, and the case carried before the criminal court of Otranto, where Gasperino was acquitted and set at liberty. But so many trials, so many different emotions, had, at the same time, exhausted the strength and the courage of the lovely Nunziata's husband. To re- appear at Naples, where so many had envied happluess would have seemed a torture to him, and he was scarcely freed from his Irons, bwfore he determined to impose upon himself a chastisement j perhaps more rigorous than human justice could have sentenced him to, and it is in the convent of the Trappiats, that he is gone to wear out his last days in the rude expiations of meditation and prayer. A PROMENADE IN THE GOURT 0F THE LOUVRE. I ought to tell you, as the commencement of my story, that there has always been a great difference in the hereditary destination of my faintly} thus, my great grandfather was a learned naturalist; my grandfather was one of the Sights of i& e Paris bar; my father died a colonel, after fifiafelng all the campaigns of the empire, aud I at this present hour have the honour to be a painter— a " miscel- laneous and portrait painter, 4 very much at your service, having this year after sending six pieces to the exhibition, obtained a medal of the third class! So that modesty having always been my ruling virtue, you will easily comprehend that I can't tell you my name. Launched from my childhood in the career of the arts, I have, by little and little, aud quite naturally lost sight ofthe connections my father had made ; his old friends, bis good comrades, the greater part of whom have not been abandoned by me, but who are gone to rejoin him. A single one amongst all, a child of the troop that formed part of the regiment in which my father was made captain in 1807, and who since that time had followed HIIFI In all his campaigns, has BO attached himself to me that he can nev*? r let a week pass without coming to see me; and as for myself, his probity, the Simplicity of his manners, his excellent heart, and, above all, the affectionate remembrance he has Vowed to the memory of my father, have ac- quired Ambrose all ray sympathy. Thus, when It happens that the Monday morning passes away Without bringing me my old sergeant's visit, I feel quite uncomfortable; I turn round my studio as if I had lost something; I take out ray watch twenty times in the hour; in short. 1 know not what to do with myself, for if I must ewn it, t love Ambrose with all my soul; I love to see that good- natured countenance which, in Its sternest expression, would not even make a child run away, I love to hear his frank and sonorous laugh when he relates some garrison story; but I, above all, love to listen to him when speaking of my father. He tells me, with that energy peculiar to him, how brave he Was in the front of danger, © f his humanity to the vanquished, of his real kindness to the soldier serving under his orders; in short, when he relates to me a crowd of that worthy father's actions, which the old sergeant keeps registered in his heart, and which never .' eave it unaccom- panied by a tear. There has resulted from all that an exchange of good offices between Go. If I want to paint an old trooper, Am- brose curls up his moustache with a martial air, and gives me the required model. If I want a biind beggar imploring public pity, Ambrose shuts fei* eyes, and I have a new Belisarius before me, almost as fine a figure as the ancient one, for his physiognomy bears the character of grandeur almost as well as goodness; and I, I give him tobacco, lend him a pipe that was my father's, and which he reverences as a relic. Another time it is a neckerchief I offer him for his old mother, or else a remnant of stuff to replace her oldest gown. As for money, it's out of the question; and if I have by chance been able to make him accept any, it has only been as a loan, for I have forgot to tell you that my old fiiend is a3 proud as he's obstinate, and on no account whatever will he receive money. He calls that holdlrg out his hand! Th. s delicacy has frequently led me to Ambrose's good mother, to whom, under the seal of mystery, I have given small sums I could have wished to be larger; but I have already told you I am an artist, from which you may draw the natural conclusion. My esteem for Ambrose made me wish to find some means of procuring him employment; for his cross of honour bringing him two hun- dred and fifty fiancs a year, joined to a life annuity of exactly the same amount, which is his . mother's whole fortune, not being enough to maintain them both, I asked the sergeant if he was willing to increase his means by serving as a model for artists. Ambrose d' » spl* es no one, but he would believe his cross degraded if lie made use of s ich a resource. I expressed my astonishment to him at his not having thought of applying for admission into the invalid's hospital. " You are right in believing that's just what would suit me," he said. " But what would you have me do?' he added; " they haven't judged my wounds serious enough! Oh, If I had only one arm the less, what a happlnes it would be for me 1" By dint of seeking a good idea came into my head. " Would you like to be a guardian at the museum?" I said to him, a fortnight agx « « I belieye you," replied the brave fellow, " and. one must be ve » y difficult not to ltke It. But why do you ask me that? have you one of those places at your disposal ?" '* No, aud I even don't exactly know in whose gift they are ; but if it suits you I'll inquire, and take all the necessary steps, and heartily, too," I added, pressing his hand. Ambrose looked at me with eyes bright with hope. " Well, the thing is done," he exclaimed. 1 am a guardian." " Not yet; but, however, if it only depends upou a deal of good will and a little trouble, we'li make you one." *• Who doubts it?" * aid the sergeant. " Can they refuse you anything? It wouldn't be me at all events." I set about it next day, and found many claimants on the list; but I was given to understand that strong recommendations might get my protege in through favour, as was done in one case out of every five. In other respects the place depended on the governor of the Louvre, and I had already obtained half a dozen influential sig- natures to the petition I addressed to him; the only thing remain- ing was to get it delivered, and as I had resolved to present it my- self, I once every m > rnlng, and again in the evening, on returning from the g tilery, where I was copying a Teniers, called at the governor's, and aBked to speak to Man. The first time he was at the council; another, it wa& not his day for receiving; next morning he wasn't up; in the evening it was not his hour. A whole week passed away in this manner, only the servant I addressed myself to, seeing my assiduity, kindly advised me as a frieBd to demand an audience, saying I might, perhaps, obtain one. Thankful for this advice, but discouraged by so many obstacles, returned home in a very bad humour, and threw myself into an arm- chair, of which I was myself th « guest on my unlucky days. The quiet of my study passing by degrees to my heart, drove from it the dark vapours that filled it, and I had the following con- versation with myself :— " Well, now, tell me, did you hope then to succeed all at once, that you thus discourage yourself on the first attempt ?' You speak of it quite at your ease, and I should like to see you try/' " Come, a little perseverance, tenacity, and you will succeed;— it's I who promise it you." This promise completely re- as^ urlng me, I rose, whistled a flourish, loaded my pipe, and going up to my copy that I had brought home the day before, •• Parbleu!" I exclaimed; " it's a fac- slmile, a real Teniers, with all its vigour! all its finish ! all its mist!— and what colomf Faith. I can say that to myself; why, tbe original is not better! OH! but iu aa old frame it would altogether be the very Identical." And, therefore, I went and took down a purchase I had recently made; and, in the twinkling of an eye, my picture was framed in the style of the original, " By Jingo 1" 1 thought again," I should very much like to know what Giroux will say to it. I'll find out before to- morrow's past; and, if he by chance gives me a good price for It, I'll leave him this maater- piece, and I'll go make a little visit to Ambrose's mother, to whom I have carried nothing this month." Happy in that good thought, filled with just pride for the talent had, without any contestation, recognized myself to possess, I went to bed and fell fast asleep. It was striking eight when I woke next morning. It was Sun- day. Fearing not to meet with Giroux if I went late, I hurried on my clothed, and hastening down the quarter St. George's, where I lived, I hailed an omnibus, which sst me down at nine precise in the square of the Carousel. " At length," I then said to myself, " I am going to know whe- ther I have formed a right. or wrong opinion of my talent." On finishing that thought I entered the court o ithe Louvre, and pro- ceeded towards the gate that opens into the itue de Cocq, where, on arriving, the sentry rudely pushed me back. " You don'tf. pa& s," he said, adding, " Wheie do you come from with that ?" and he pointed with his hand to the picture I had under my arm. " I come Irom my lodgings— I am going to Giroux ; and if you choose to follow m.' with your eyes, you'll see me go in there." " That's all one to me; it's not my business where you are g > lng to,— you won't pass, it's my orders." Several persons had collected, and were amusing themselves with my long face. V Why have they let m » pass down there? ' I angrily enough replied. " How can I tell what the orders are? and isn't it very agreeable to find oneself two doors from the house where I have business, and not be able to go Into it ?" The soldier made no reply; but the crowd Increasing, I thought it best to turn back. " You do well," said an elderly man to rae, the only one who appeared to take any interest in ray tribulation; " you do well not to be obstinate. Return to him who let you in, explain the busi- ness to him; he will let you go out, and you will be quit for going round." I thanked my adviser, and hastening on I found myself face to face with the sentry who had let me in. I was going to tell him my disappointment, when ha advanced, saying,— 44 Where are you going with that picture ? You can't pass— it's the order." ' But you have let me in," I said to him ; " they won't let me through the gate into the Rue de Cocq, where I have business. Let me then pass here, I will go round." " Inside the court if you will, ' replied the soldier j " but not out- side." And he resumed his fifteen feet walk. " But when I tell you you have let me In, this Is all your fault." " It's not true," said the sentry; " I haven't stirred from my post— you haven't come in— you sha'n't go out. Now move on, talk enough." The crowd that gathered in the Rue da Cocq had followed me close to the Rue de Carousel, augmented by several recruits, and every person laughing; my old adviser alone looked at me with an air of pity. " Have patience," he said to me; " you can't go to bed here— there must be an end to it— only take care to tell this sentry it's him who let you in, and most probably he will repair his mistake." I m ids no r^ ply, I hadn't time. " Where do you come from ?" said the man with the schacko. " I come frcm passing by you not more than ten minutes ago; and as they everywhere refuse to let me out, do me the pleasure—" " There's no pleasure— there's an order, and that's all." And the soldier resumed his march, leaving me purple with rage. The mystification had gone too far; the laughers stopped, and several persons came to offer their advice for want of anything better. One of the municipal guard came forward with a learned ook, and gravely saluting, said to me— Sir, you are attempting an impossibility j— you will not get " How!" I exclaimed, exasperated beyond bounds, " I shall not get out? Am I, then, going to establish my domicile In this court at present ? Haven't I already remained too long the sport of a. heap of foolsf Pardon, gentlemen," I added, turning toward* those who had offered me their consolations; " It's not for you 5 say that,— but truly never was such a thing seen before." " It has often been seen on the contrary," returned the muni- cipal ; " and M. Vernet himself couldn't take a painting out of the Louvre: he, however, is well enough known." " But you won't comprehend then, that I am not come from the Louvre; I am come out of an omnibus which sets down at the Barrier Blanche, and goes to the Odeon. I was carrying this to Giroux; thev have let me in and they won't let me out. This is the tenth time I repeat the same thing within the last hour." " Oh! I understand perfectly,'' said the municipal, with a know- ing look. " You pretend you have been let in; but there's noboby recollects it, and that's enough to make them doubt." " Oh ! this Is too bad," I exclaimed, in a rage; " do you believe I came down here then in a balloon ? How else could I have come in but through a gate ? ' " Unless, howeyer," continued my Immoveable interlocutor, " It may be the fear of punishment that prevents the sentry from know- ing you again; for, you must know, there's a fortnight ia the guard- house for him if he really let you in." At that declaration I remained motionless, thinking the fourth gate would be shut against me the same as the others. " Well, then, what can I do?'' I demanded of th « municipal j " for I begin to have q- iite enough." . " Come with me to the concierge give him proof that this pic- ture is your own, and then you will, perhaps, get where you are wanting to go." As he finished these words we entered the lodge of the con- cieigii. I related my adventure to him, shewed my museum ticket, aad gave him my name. " Let us see it," he said, advancing his hand towards my painting. I held out to htm my Flemish ale house; but, unfortunately for me, the fat concierge was not a fool, and had the great masters at his fingers' end, so, looking sternly at me, he said— " Why, this is a Teniers." " A copy," I modestly replied. " A copy!— a copy!" he reiterated, turning briakly towards me. " However, it is not for m<" to judge of it; but I find on your can- vas all the qualities of the original— the drawincr, the coiour, the sentiment, even the mist of age years have thrown over it— even the old frame that I know perfectly well. Pardon me, sir, / or„ I may be mistaken, but you are going to the governor." I remained stuplfied. What had happened to me was, doubtless*, very vexatious on the one hand, but ttien, on the other, it was so pleasant, that it restored to me all my good humour. " Ah! I am quite willing, let us go to the governor," I replied. II You scarcely suspect the pleasure you do me by sending me there." The municipal, passing before me, led the way; I followed him, and on the way I blessed my star and that chanee which was going to bring me face to face with the man I had been a week running after without being able to catch him. On arriving at our destination, my guide said a fe< v words to a man in livery, and then went away begging rae to wa.' t, the go- vernor was gone out, " Parbleu 1 this is droll," I said to myself, when 1 was once by myself, " provided I have my petition with ms. Yes, hero it is." Everything had happened for the best; when I say everything, I make a great mistake, for my stomach suffers horribly. Eleven o'clock, then the half hour; twelve, then the half hour struck. I had never been so hungry; my look was cadaverous, and as the glass in front of me reflected countenance, I felt such pity for myself that I turned my back to keep out of my sight* Leaning in melancholy mood on the window frame, I was recal- ling to my memory all the good breakfasts I had made, and the many tempting cakes which at all hours attract the eye of t^ UJ traveller in Paris, and which I, at that moment, would have paid" for half a dozen, no matter what prioe had been wanted for them. Was it owing to ray suffering and pensive look, or was it on account of my " tournure," which I believe to be rather " dis- tinguee," that the person who came in could not believe me to be the same who had been just mentioned to him j he approached mej, and touching my arm, said— " Pardon me, sir, could you not tell me which way passed the young man accused of stealing a Teniers ?" I turned quickly round, and smiling with the most agreeable look it was possible for me to put on—" Sir," I replied, " It's, myself; and if you can take this for a Teniers, you then will also,, perhaps, take me for a thief." The governor cast but one glance at the copy, " I take you to be an honest man!" he exclaimed. " Who are the stupid—" and he stopped short I must tell you that neither the accuracy of his eye, nor his exclamation were very satisfactory to me. I would, have liked better for him to have doubted, but no. He shall have read my probity in my countenance," I thought; " the man will have depreciated the artist." To his demand who are the stupid—, I replied by relating- my story to him; he listened to me with kindness, by times show'ing dissatisfaction, and by times smiling. " I have nothing more to do," he said, when I had finished,. " than to beg of you to believe in ray regret for all this. As for the sentry who has neglccted his orders, and who, by letting you pass, has caused you such an unpleasant morning, he ought to be punished, and shall be. You tell me he was at the— I no longer exactly remember at what gate." " Nor do 1," I said, in my turn; " and you will dispense with my endeavouring to recollect it, for I have a deplorable mem ory and I should be afraid of making a mistake." " I see you fear being the cause of the guilty being justly punish- ed, and that's all." " If you were to offer me an indemnity, perhaps I would accept it j but of what service would a revenge be?" " Explain yourself," replied the governor, with a look of astonish- ment; and, to put an end to his astonishment, I hastened to place my all open petition, and I presented him with my museum ticket* that would tell him my name. He quickly ran over the first, and then, passing to the second,— " You are M. —— ?" he said. I bowed. " The same who has obtained a third class medal this year ?" " The very same," I said, colouring up as red as fire. And who deserved a first one, for want of better." " Yocj are too good," I stammered out, and I thought that mad ® amends fo>." the promptitude of the judgment he had passed on my copy, and his exclamation, " Who are the stupid ?" " Might you by chance be the son of M. , who was pro- moted to the rank of Colonel in 1810. grand cross of the legloa In 1812, and who left the service in 1815 ?" " I have that honour." " And what has become of your father, my old companion in arms, I dare almost say, my friend?' " I have lost him these five years.' " Poor Leonard!— how all us of the empire are dying off!— it' « frightful!" These words were said in a half whisper, and he, next moment, held out his hand to me. " I can do nothing for you," he said, " and even Heaven can't have much to grant you; lor you bear a name honourable amongst all, and you have acquired a talent which, unless I am mistaken, will obtain you glory and fortune. As for your heart, it is that of your excellent father's, benevolent, devoted, sensitive—" I made a gesture as if to disown praises. " It is your father I am thinking of," he added; " but I am sure you resemble him, and it is on that account I am going to give the place you ask me for. It will be tha dearer lor it to the sergeant." Intoxicated with joy, I thanked the governor with all my soul is capable of, and was preparing to leave the " And your painting, that you forget," he said by chance pretend to make m> a present of it?' There was so much grace and so much kl after what had passed, that the tears c " You overwhelm me," I replied. *' No; but I should wish to m morning— so, come often and see do it." " But you will not succeed," the more I shall see of you tl ber this day, when, thanks assured the bread and the THE TEST iY S. 4th August, 1841.— 10 A. J. » . MY DEAR FRKD,— I am deucedly hard up. That pest, Jenklnf- the tailor, is after me— ditto, big Jones, the bootmaker. Keep up your character of a " good fellow," by sending me • stflO. for a few days' loan; and depend upon me being your friend for life. " Yours ever, " ROBT. BLUNT." .... _ " 4th August, A N. Mv DEAR BOB,— I have your patronizing epistle— thank you; but it won't do. Cash scarce.— See " Money Market" article In the ' limes.— Bless you. " Thine, " FRED. SHARI*." e " 4th August, 1841,4 P. M.' MY DEAR SIR,— No nonsense— a joke Is a joke- but, damn it, don't ridicule me. Come now— tip up, and no gammon. " Yours truly, •• ROBT. BLUNT." .. OX „ " 5th August, 10 A. M. " MY DEAR SIR.— I tell you, it is " no go;" so, don't pester me. 1 send a prospectus of a new Loan Society. You are a fashionable young man— rings, chains, & e., & c.— Take a hint from " Yours sincerely, " FRED. SHARP." _ _ , , " 5th August, 12 A. M. DEAR SIR,— I am surprised at your conduct, and cannot well account tor such unfriendly— I might say ungeutlemanly— treat ment. Once, and for all,— will you oblige an old crony; one who has ever stood by you in all dangers and difficulties, and acted to wards you the part of a brother ? " Yours obediently, " ROBT. BLUNT." « TX o " August, 4 A. M. DEAR SIR,— NO, no, no,—" soft sawder" won't seU nowa- days. Abk me for anything but money— I have it not to spare. " Yours, " FRED. SHARP." " SIR,— From this hour consider me your mortal enemy.^ Your treatment of me has been undeservedly harsh and cruel— not to say totally unjustifiable. In fact. I consider It degrading even to write to such a peraon as yourself. " Your very obedient servant, " ROBT. BLUNT." " BOB,— You will repent- or I know little of your^ lfsifo^ faon— your last letter to me. Reflect on yaur conduct, and I am sure you will " see the error of your ways." " Yours, in all friendliness, " FRED SHARP." a ht 1-. " 10th August.' MY DEAR FELLOW,- YOU are right- ergo, I am wron* For get and forgive, " Yours sincerely, ' « ROBT. BLUNT." « - Kf „ , " 10th August, 1 A. M.' " MY DEAR BLUNT,— Wnh all my heart.- Comc to dinner- beef and greens— at six. " Yours ever, " FRED, SHARP." THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAfcETTK* mm dFrafltncnt0j for tt « ( Kurfoust. KINO WILLIAM Kurus.— Within a ihort distance of Mlnited, In the New Forest, Hants, are living In obscure circumstances the descendant! of the person who found the body of the above King « fter hii death, and who conveyed him in a cart to whichever. They bear the name of Purkia, and what may be oonlidered remark- able ii, that they hold the same plot of ground which waa occu- pied by their progenitor, and follow the lame calling that he did which ii that of burning of wood for the making of charcoal, and tills the family have continued to do for many generations. Some Hew yean back, part ofa very ancient, old- faihloned wheel waa to be leen on the premises, which, according to tradition, belouged to the identical cart in which the monarch ! body waa conveyed to the site ef it! destination. The remain! of Rufus are depoiited in 0 large coffin, which may be leen in Winchester Cathedral, HOPE. Hope ii a word I truly love. It cheera the dreary hour! Of life while itruggllng with its carei, And strews the path with flow'rs. Its magic pow'r the grave and gay Alike most dearly prize ; It gilds with joy iife'i winter's day, Deludes, but never filet. Into the heart by grief opprest, It pours a soothing balm; And o'er the terror! of the tomb Spread! a celestial calm. Hope, buoyant Hope, ' tis thee I prize, Far more than earthly treasure ; Thine ' tis to cheer life's chequer'd path, To heighten ev'ry pleasure. Tunbridge Weill. O. LBshiNOTON. '' Dr. Parr wai celebrated for the unsparing aeverlty with which he could deal out Ma dujnbfoundert, when oecailon justified their Infliction. A flippant character, after having spoken slightingly of miracle!, exclaimed," Well, but Doctor, what think you ofthe mark of the cron npon the ass's back, which they tay indicates the precise ipot where the animal was smitten by Balaam?" Why, sir,'- replied the doctor, " I lay that If you had a little moie of the crott, and a good deal less of the ass, it would be much tetter far you." Upon another occasion, a shallow imatterer tauntingly a, ked him, why he did not write a book. " Sir, I know a method by wh ch I might soon write a very lar^ e one." - Ah! » 11 . w " f J J' , lr- ° y Putting in all That I know, and all that you don't know." ' TO A CHILD. ( From the Literary Gazette.') BV ROSE, THE BAED OF COLOUR, WOULD I were like thee, sinless fairy sprite 1 The freshness of the fields is now for thee , Dream of my childhood art thou to my sight, Chir ping along in bird- like melody 1 Oh, trappy thou, sweet picture of the Spring, B. y angels guarded on earth's opening scene, W ho from thee waft all clouds of sorrowing, Go, make the most of joy while life is green! " Culling pure flowers is thy enjoyment now,— Th' enamoured winds are with thy ringlets playing, The heavens rain beams of pleasure on thy brew. Sport on, glad child ! all nature now is Maying; t Laugh, dance, sing, play,- do everything but weep, For thou may'st weep enough in future day, And wake, perchance, from sorrow- haunted sleep, To mourn the happy time soon past away. '* A SINGULAR FACT.— An old alave. who had been hard at work, ftaa going to dinner one day, with hil hoe thrown acron his shoulder, observed hit large toe, which itood up before him, from Jill heel sinking in the land, mistook it for a toad, and with a Ah, kal" brought down hli ho., and severed the unlucky digit from its ST. MARY'S EYE; A STORY OF OR, THE SOLWAY. A DRAMATIC TALB. ( FOUNDED ON THE POPULAR PIECE OF THAT NAME, AS PER- FORMED AT THE LONDON THEATRES.) parent trunk. On entering the kitchen, hit master observed — *' Why, Cudjo, what'i the matter with your foot?'' " Notliln' ' be the matter, matia." " What'i become of your toe!' " Why,' said Cudjo, counting the remaining four over and over again — " one, two, three, four," and then exclaimed, while his countenance betrayed the greatest perplexity, Kuy, I take » em bible oaff him wai on dll m ornlng I' 1 LYNCH LAW.— Some organised bandi of men of desperate cha- ractcra, principally coiners, had eitabliihed themselves about the mouth of the White River, which rum Into the Mlnlalpi and for a long time infested the country. The in'uabitanti of the county of Coachoma determined to rid themte'. vei of thit icourge, and tuc- ceeded in surprising and capturing between fifty and ilxty of them, un tne 1 bird of August they were put on board a barge, towed to ! solitary piace, and there killed with a repeated dltcharge of mut- iretry, ar, d their dead bodies thrown into the water. The execu- tioners then proceeded to their late habitation!, from which they drove their wives and children, but without doing them any injury, " Jack, why ii a room full of people, wed, Like an empty houie— tell me thii minute t" " It Ii became,'' Jack quick and rightly laid, " There'! not a ilngle man within it." Waiter," said a young fellow, going Into a coffee- house one rainy day, " I hop « you have got a good fire, for I am confoundedly wet, and let me have lomethlng to drink directly, for I am con foundedly dry alio." Love comes upon a man like a fever ; perhapi the air brlngi It— perhaps the water— but I am Inclined to think it ai involuntary at any^ other • iiieaie. Vi'Donald Clark, the mad poet, saya; " Give me a girl with a waist like a cotton bag, and a foot like a flounder. He who knows the world will not be bashful. He who knowi . himself, will not be impudent. " Any ting plte you dare i'' Inquired one • utchman of another engaged in angling. " No, Ham." " Well, notln plte me too. A lervant girl one day at an hotel gave a ikewer to a lawyer to eat, laying the understood lawyers could digest anything but the truth! Dr. Coulton says a bow- legged people walk easier than the • tralght- llmbed. He sayi they lave the lou of time itraight limbs have t ® perform in making the circle we do in walking. " The prelent icarclty of money," laid a deliberate wiseacre j, owing to •' » " You are right," my honey— It li becau. e there la so much owing to and lo little paying to. " Tom, you're not offended I' " I am sir, you i'hall hear me— Im determined to speak my whole mind." "• oh that's auick done— go on.' 1 1 1 Two fat noblemen at a royal levee were Scolded by hli majeity for latlneii. " Pardon me," said one, I ", alk twice a day round my great cousin yonder. ' IT is no doubt well known to the generality of our readers that, immediately after the overthrow of the Pretender's forces at the battle of Culloden, large rewards were offered by the English go- vernment for the apprehension of all persons who were any way concerned in that ill. advised rebellion, Prince Charles, it is true, had escaped in a small vessel, which happened at the time to be lying eff the Scottish coast | but as many of his adherents yet remained lurking abotlt the country, the bribe of one hundred pounds was offered to the captor of each rebel, in order that a terrible punishment might be dealt out to them. Among those who had been most ictive in the rebellion, was Mmor Wentworth, for whom it most vigilant search was insti- tuted, and who having at last fallen into the hands of his enemies, wae about to be conveyed to London for trial, when by good for- tune he escaped from the ship, and thus eluded the certain death that other wise would have followed, Ge was, however, compelled to leave behind him one Whom he would gladly have taken to a Bouhtry Where she would have been under his immediate Care. This was his sister Madeline, a youn" and beantifui girl, who, having no protector left,— no ff'jr. i upon whom she could rely in an hour of need, blight tall into the Snares which are so frequently laid for the helpless and inexperienced, Poor Madeline was almost heart- broken whon she found herself thus thrown destitute Upon the world. She had no money, for the honse of her brother had been ransacked by the royalists, and being obliged to flee, she sought refuge at last at ah inh in Cum- berland, kept by a warm- hearted old man named Chalk, Who took her into the house, in the capacity of chambermaid. In this com- fortable asylum she remained, thankful for the protection that had been afforded, and prosecuting the duties of her new office with a diligence that soon obtained for her the esteem of everybody in the neighbourhood. The first years of Madeline's life Had been passed hi France, where her father, having married a French wottian, had settled. Those parents died just before the period when the rebellion in Scotland broke out i and her brother joining in the interest of the Pretender, she followed him to that toUntry, where, iis we have seen, he was afterwards obliged to IbaVc her, wlieh the total over- throw of their army took place at the battle of Culloden. The beauty and kindness of disposition evinced by Madeline soon obtained for her a host of admirers among the young men into whose society she was necessarily thtoWn, in colisotjUenee of the duties she had taken upOn herself. But amoiig these none was received with so muCh favour as was Robert VaUghah, a Wealthy agriculturist, whsse honourable suit Was promptly encouraged by the ardent girl. A rival, howevet, eoOti appeared in the person of Bath Sharpe, a trooper, Who had been discharged from his regiment for improper conduct, and of whose course of life since that period many well confirmed reports were spread abroad. Indeed it seemed pretty certain that he had embraced the unlawful career of a smuggler's life, and people were not wanting who would have been well pleased to flx that crime upon him, ih Ordei: to rid the country of one who, by his desperate acts, had become a terror to it. He also, as we have observed, became desperately enamoured of Made- line, and Ms rage Was Unbounded when he heard that her hand was to be given on the following, St. Mary's Day, to his detested rival. He resolved m his mind many mad Bthetae's of Vengeance but fearing the consequences to himsfelfi reittlved to wait till a favour- able opportunity should offer for carrying his designs into exe- cation. It was oh the eve of the day that was to witness the union Of the lovers, that a party of Solway fishermen and others were assembled m front of Chalk's house to drink health and happiness to the young bride and bridegroom. The conversation Waif at first con- fined to the subject which had brought them together, but after some time it naturally turned to the disturbances that had recently taken place in that part of the country, and the large reward that had been offered for the apprehension of any Jacobite that might be found lurking about the coast. Whilst this was passing BMh Shaipe approached unperceived, and after listening for some time he advanced into the midst of t he company, exclaitmng " What say you, my friends ?— A hundred pounds for the disco- very of a Jacobite 1— Ods my life, then I will earn the reward be. fore I am many hours older." " Begone, fellow!" cried an aged fisherman, named Grayling' " begone, sirrah; we need not your company here among honest away they flew to the spot, to render what assistance they could for his preservation. Fortunately their efforts were not made in vain; by a desperate manceuvre, the tean was rescued from a watery grave, just at the instant When he Was about to sink, to rise no more. His horse, however, still continued to be carried down the stream ; and while some of them remained to save the noble steed, others of the party conveyed the stranger, who was in a state of insensibility, to the inn of Master Chalk. Here every attention was paid to him ( but in spite of all their efforts, it Was long ere he showed any symptoms of returning ani- mation. At last, however, a deep sigh escaped him, and opening his eyes, he beheld around him an anxious group, watching his re- covery with painful interest. At this moment Madeline, attracted by the bustle, arrived at the spot, and no sooner did she see the stranger, than she recognised in him her long absent brother. A pierting shriek was uttered by the astonished girl: ljut recollecting the danger that tvoiild feiislie, stlMia it lie known who he, was, she buried her fa » Sb la her hands, and ran distractedly into the house. Major Wentworth had seen her but for in instant; but, brief as it had been, he saw to his inexpressible joy that he had found the treasured object for whom he had undertaken so perilous a voyage. But he knew the danger that awaited should a recognition take place nt present, and concealing his 0 » n emotion as well as he could, he requested tb be led ihto the hoUse, in order that he might obtain that rest WhicH liis retfeilt fatigiie had rendered so necessary. This request being immediately complied With, he was conveyed to an, apartment, where he was shortly afterwards joined by Madeline, who, sinking into his arms, gave way to those emo- tions which hitherto she had been obliged to conceal, It was some timfe befofe the excess of their ffielihgs began to subside; but when at last recollection began to return, the now happy Madeline in- quired by what fortunate means he had contrived to escape from hit enemies. To this question Major Wentworth replied as briefly as possible, informing her of the manner by which he had eluded the vigilance of his enemies, having thrown himself overboard, at the first favourable. opportunity that presented itself, and swim- ming to a small fishirig- boat that happened to be a short distance off, by which he had been conveyed in safety to the French coast. Here he was kindly received by these Upon whdse Hospitality he had thrown himself ahd ih a short time afterwards an honourable office was given him about the court of the French monarch. Here Major Wentworth rerpained not long before his anxiety for his sister's late again made him restless and uneasy. He knew the unprotected state in which he had been compelled to leave her, and a thousand frightful thoughts filled his soul with apprehension, lest any evil should overtake hef. Alarmed at the picture his terror had thus conjured up, he determined, whatever might be the peril, to venture once more to England for the ptirpose of seeking her out, and conveying her back with him to that country which had received him so hospitably. This resolution was no sooner formed than put into a train for execution. He engaged a small vessel to convey him to ah bbscure part of the Scottish coast, which having reached, he landed utiperceived, purchased a horse, and set for- ward with all speed for the county of Cumberland, where he knew his sister had obtained shelter. At nightfall, however, an unex- pected obstacle presented itself; he arrived at the bank of the Sol- way at a part whore it was both broad and deep, and as it Would have been dangerous to go higher up the country, on account of the spies that were about, he boldly dashed into the foaming tide. But the rapidity of the current soon overpowered the struggling efforts of his almost drowning steed; and the Major must nave perished in the midst of his hazardous attempt, had it not been for the genereiis . assistance . that had been afforded by Grayling and his friefid's. , , Majbr Wentwotth had scarcely given his sister this information, of which the preceding is the substance, when steps were heard hastily ascending the stairs, and the voice of Bath Sharpe was re- cognized, declaring that he knew one of the rebels was somewhere concealed in the house. Alarmed by this,, Madeline implored her brother to conceal himself; and as no other, secure place presented itself, he laid hirhtelf doAn in a large trilnk, ovei' which the terri- fied girl threw a quantity Of her bridal clothes, with which she feigned to be busily engaged, at the moment when Bath Sharpe and an officer of the royalist troops entered the apartment. Made- line almost sank beneath the stern glance of her brother's foe, as he cast an inquisitive eye round the roon| j but In a short time her fears were somewhat removed by seeing him quit the place, for the Campbell, who had the power to pardon criminals fn certain cases, where leniency might be properly extended. Madeline at once guessed what was passing in her lover's mind, and prevailing upon him to entrust that task to her, she immediately afterward! set off on horseback with all the speed to which she could urge her willing courser. The distance she had to go was about five miles, which she accomplished in an incredibly short period, and having ob- tained an interview with the General, she related her errand with so much earnestness and power, that she quickly prevailed over the scruples with which she wai at first met, and finally departed from the castle, bearing with her the pardon that was to save her brother from an ignominious death. But on her Way back, an obstacle arose which had nearly proved ratal L'er hopes. In a lonely part of the road, her horse was shot, ami on recovering from !! » e stunning offects of her fall, she found herself In the handt of Bath Sharp?, who had contrived during the period of her insensibility, to take frOM her ? » e Pfrtton she had just obtained. It was in vain that she implored tin- ™ > return it; the rutf an was deaf to her entreaties, and it was only on condition that she would consent to wed him that very doy that he at last yielded to her frantic prayers. On] this condition, coupled with another, that she WOWtJ allow him to kiss her, the villain agreed to give up the pardon, and he was about to clasp her in his orms for the purpose of carrying the latter condition into effect, when Madeline, snatching a pistol from his belt, started back a few pace « , and Warned him not to approach a step nearer, on pain of receiving the Contents In his body. But this threat the trooper heeded not: he laUghed her words to scorn, and advanced with the evident intention of again snatching her to his arms, Not a moment remained for reflection— Madeline saw the dafi£ ef of delay, not only to herself, but to her brother alio, and pulling ihii trigger; Bath Sharpe fell wounded at her feet. Possessed of the patdofi, < h « tefolc girl hastened on her journey, but owing to her having to travel oil foot, and the difficulties with which the was beset, she arrived not at the tpot appointed for the execution until the moment when her brother was about to be launched Into eternity. Her piercing shrieks were heard long be- fore she herself niade her appearance with the pardon: she rushed into the midst of the crowd— swooned, and on recovering found herself fast locked in the arms of her brother. Within 8 fe* weeks after these events, a rigid inquiry was insti- tuted by the government into the conduct of the Major with re- ference to the part he had taken in the rebellion. Several miti- gatory facts were thus developed : it was satisfactorily proved that in many instances he had been the means of saving the lives of prisoners who had been taken in various engagements, and that in no one instance had he ever been guilty of that cruelty which stained the characters of but too many of his party. The result. f this was the confirmation of his pardon by the sovereign against whose crown fie had so lately been engaged in a dangerous sedition. , . . 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MISCELLANY OF STRIKINO INT* » » 1T Complete In 20 N umberi at Sixpence tech, VICTORIA! OR, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. BV A POPULATE AUTHOR. " Honest men I ha, ha, hal" shouted the other with scorn- and am not I, then, as honest as any that t see about me » " " No," replied Draylittg, " for you are degraded among your fellow men, and well merited scorn meets you at every turn' Are you not suspected as a trader in contraband goods, and were vou you?" 40 di,!> rove lhe ch4rge thilt hfis bee" brought against " Fools will talk," answered the other sulkily; " and I can't tte ; dUchatte_ rmgu0f those that choose to have a ipite against discredit ?" Grayling. ^ with it, I say, and at least give meThTchance^ defendtog' myself.' " I can charge you with cowardice and desertion,' fisherman. ' answered the Well, well, proceed — I can hear " L8l>/, aBain that 1 9 ™ Prove it," answered Grayliig, " You ' THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. Z There are no two roads to happiness; as the philoso- pher told Alexander,— he was not aware of a royal path to science. So to be happy, we need notof neces- sity be wealthy, nor to possess any one single thing but a quiet conscience. I know a youth who is perfectly free from vice of any kind, and yet he is unhappy. But is an infidel; and the person who differs in opinion the best and noblest of mankind, in a point of such amDortance as religion, can hardly be at ease, igotry by all means, but endeavour to culti- hristian virtues which the unbeliever would preciate. I remember when I was t, a mere child, that I wondered od men could differ in opinion, If thus.— Truth is certain and Proteus. We may always ccount of its oneness— its not argue at Ibe time I but I thought of them things which we should to keep more closely to ss is clear and definite. ^^^^ hd if we keep close at her we- mrail noi- ueviate far from the right road to appiness. I am not speaking of happiness to come, but of happiness on earth. Now, there are many persons who will deny teto calo, that self denial, which, by the by, is not identical with selfmortification, can by any possibility be attended with pleasurable results. But there is a triumph at all events, ( and none will deny • lhat,) in subduing ( he evil passions of our weak, frail, and erring nature. I deduce from this fact— abstracting it from mere self- satisfaction,— that virtue— or denying ourself for the benefit of one's fellow creatures a few fleeting joys or comforts, is the universal law, which TWhen we abrogate, we become wretched. By consulting conscience,— that unerring monitor— we find that the Creator has stamped deeply within our hearts upon the tablets of ( he heart— the image— the abstract image of himself.— That image is virtue. If we desert God, then, how is it possible, I ask any man, who will listen to reason, that we can be happy 1 But is virtue, all in all, sufficient for happiness ? ltisj but the practise of virtue does not consist merely in a series of contests with our passions and infirmities; far from it. Carry virtue • with you into the concerns of life; practise virtue in endeavouring to sweeten the trials and labours of exis- tence, in the conversation of the wise and the virtuous; for although it be not absolutely an act of merit to seek the society of the amiable and the excellent, yet it is surely so in avoiding the contacts of the vile, and in re- fusing to permit our grosser desires to overmaster our reason and intelligence. Cultivate, as far as is in your power, those innocent,— and, indeed, meliorating arts, accomplishments, and even amusements,— BUch as the best works of fiction, and those games which contribute to health and cheerfulness, and never allow the power of worldly inducements to take you from the bosom of those you love. You will repent it if you do ; for it must be remembered that the most durable and lasting enjoyments are those of horns and kindred. ft. B. ear you patiently." . , - -— it," answered Gra- deserted from your regiment when most the country" needed vou^ servrces, and were seen escaping over the English border Ave you ma, glare upon me with rage, but what I speak is the honest truth ; and you know that, if it had not been for hiding 5 lows- tree^"' C" d °£ itWOuW have » ><*"*!> « "<* and the gal- e^ claimed Sharpe \ vlth rage that he could no lonjrer suppress, thit ls the second time you have taunted me withThe same tale. But remtmber ;- bewareJ of telling me to a th rd time for so sure as you . utter those words again, so certain shall Ti hand* ter. r tile your throat ,„ " hall my sno> ' 1 wJ ln. ot 51 yof tlire? te" i> ig. Master Sharpe, for I have spo> en only the tiuth, and you know it. Again I say yiu deserted a- ud saved a miserable life by dishonourable means," ac, erted The rage of Bath Sharpe could be no longer sunnrm. eH u„ writhed under the torture that had been iStedTS tco'wling with savage hatred upon his accuser, darted upon him likeS upon its devoted prey. Inimoment hi. hand grasp ™ d he th fat o! the unfortunate fisherman, who would have surely paid with his life for the taunt he had so boldly thrown out, had not Madel nc at the instant rushed from the house with a pierdng shriek of tuppli. SS t' the weiknow" voi( re the fingers of Bath Sharped e relaxed; his arm dropped motionless by his side, and with hasty steps he retired, Vowing at some future period to avenge himself upon his accuser. An explanation of this scene of outrage was soon given to Madeline, her fears were relieved, and after a brief space the conversation once more took a cheerful turn Madeline now in order to dissipate even the remembrance of what han taken place, exhibited to the females present the weddinir dresses lhat had been provided against the approaching ceremony. Then too she had little gifts to distribute among those who had been so kind to her in the hour of need. To one She gave a scarf to another a handsome ribbon, to a third a silk handkerchief and so on, reserving as a present for her master, the innkeeper, an cle. gant silver drinking cup with a suitable inscription, expressive of her gratitude for the kindness with which he had sheltered and protected her. All were in extasies at these little manifestations of esteem ; and Madeline had the gratification of knowing that her gratitude had met with its due reward. In the midst of this pleasurable scene, the postman's horn was heard at a distance, and all were immediately on the alert anxious to ascertain whether Tom Baggs was the beater of a letter for them. In a few minutes afterwards the bustling distributor of epl. tles made his appearance among them, and to their numerous ' WmIs , m? reIy. ^ P'; 611' that they must suppress their curiosity till he had time to look over his parcel, This he did with the moat provoking deliberation, calling over the names ai each one met his view:— " Let me see," he said ; " here's Hopkins, Tomkins, Hoirsflesh Stubble Dbbs, Fubbs, Dubbins, Chalk- yes, hcro't'onTforyou' Master Chalk, and ton pence to pay." ' ' " Ten- pence t" said Chalk, trying to peep into the inside. Tr„, *•;"' ten- pence," answered the postman; " but no nonsense, you know ; pay for your letter first, and then read the contents a^ soon as you like." Chalk was obliged to assent to these terms, and having handed the com to l orn Baggs, he proceeded to open the letter, first ex- amming the direction, to see if he could recognize the hand- writing. While thus occupied, the eyet of Madeline fell upon the supertcri?- tion, and a violent trembling teized upon her frame. With anx- ious haste she implored him to open the epistle, and upon his doing so, a note that had been enclosed within it fell to the ground. This Madeline immediately saw was directed to herself and pressing it to her lips, she exclaimed hysterically • " Oh 1 it is from my brother 1— my dear, dear brother, whom have so long deplored as dead 1" By this time Chalk had opened his letter, and scarcely observing the agitation of Madeline, read as follows i— ! • " Sir :~. If/? u knew au « ht of the 8irl> Madeline, who some time since resided beneath your roof, you will confer a lasting favour upon the writer by transmitting the enclosed to her. It contains intelligence of great importance, and will afford tho highest grati- fication to her, whom poverty and misfortune have driven to teek an asylum within your house." " It has no signature 1" exclaimed Chalk, as he finished readina this somewhat mysterious epistle. Madeline, however, knew [ from whom it came ; the well known hand writing of her brother, Major Wentworth, had already as- sured her of that fact, and, hastening into the house, she tore open the note that had been addressed to herself, and learnt that her brother, anxious to ascertain her fate, had already set sail from France ; and in epite of the danger he incurred, was perhaps al- ready in the neighbourhood, where so many were eagerly upon the look out for those, the denouncing of whom would ensure them a rich reward. Madeline trembled with apprehension as she thought of the dreadful penalty that might perhaps follow the hazardous enterprize of her brother. She saw only danger in the attempt she was about to make, and, falling upon her knees, she betought the interposition of heaven in his favour. In the meantime her friends continued in conversation upon the various topics that at the period most engrossed the attention of the people. The subject of greatest interest was of course that which related to the proscribed rebels; aud Tom Baggs, who was a general newsmonger, added to their scanty stock of information by relating a report that a foreign vessel had been seen in the afternoon making towards their coast. This intelligence quickly excited the attention of Bath Sharpe, who was an unobserved listener to their conversation, and whose hopes of obtaining the desired reward were thus rendered almost certain. At this period, a loud shout from Grayling arrested the attention of the speakers, and on reaching the spot where the fisherman stood, he directed their eyes towards a horseman, who, in attempt- ing to cross the Solway, was rapidly being carried away by the force of the current. In this moment of peril no time was to be lost. All were equally anxious to save the stranger's life; and JEfjeatres. purpose of prosecuting his search in other patts gf the hotfse* Presently, hoWevef, a new source of terror awaited ker, for the officer, who had remained behind, insisted on examining the trunk, in which he suspected the Major might be concealed. Madeline, with faltering tongue, implored him to desist, which he at last con- • ented to, on condition of running his sword into the box. It was with difficulty that the agonized sister forbore screaming, as this proposition Was haade: she, hoWetfcr, summoned all her fortitude, and hjprfesfctitin& the d& ltistgji thrit Would be dohfc id fie'r dresses, Were hfe to Carry this ddsigtt into execution, she contrived so to en- gage his attention; that Major Wentworth, seizing the opportunity, Quitted his place of coficejalmentj ahd entered the bed- shamber of his sister without being discovered. At this instant Bath Sharpe relumedj eiiraged at tne fruitless [ seafch he had made, and. per- Ceivitig the room door by which the fugitive had escaped, he in- sisted upon examining the apartment, to see if the proscribed officer had not sought a shelter there. It was in vain that Madeline remonstrated; the suspicions of the trooper were confirmed by the terror . she manifested, and he was about to force her from the door which she guar. ded, when Robert Vaughan rushed in for her protection from insult* With a stern Voicfc he commanded Bath Shai'be to desist fi* ord nis unmanly attempt: but the other only laughed scornfully, and inquired by what authority he interrupted him in the execution of his duty. This was soon explained by Vaughan, who, drawing from his pocket a paper, read the commission by which he had been ap- pointed a magistrate for that district. The trooper Was new obliged to yield with submission to the commands of one who liad the power to punish hiiil; and bbwlhg with a stern look Of hiitrgd at the rival Who Md Succeeded iii depriving hirti Of Madeline's hand, he strode from the apartment, followed by the officer. On being left alone with her lover, Madeline endeavoured, as well as she could, to dissipate the suspicions of Robert Vaughan, who, from the confident manner of Bath Sharpc, began to suapcct that there was indeed some one concealed by her about the pre- mises. She, however, without absolutely denying the fact, so far succeeded ih allaying his apprehension; that he at length bade hef adieu without making any further inijuiHes ihto the subject. Yet still a doUbt hung about his mind that his suspicions were not altogether without foundation, and he left the house unresolved whether to watch about the premises, or yield entire confidence to her whom hb so fondly loVed. On reaching the garden he ga2ed in sad contemplation upoft the window of Madeline's bed- chamber, in which a light was burning: yet, owing to the blind having been drawn close, he of course could not satisfy himself whether any other person Were there or not. Full of uncertainty, he remained gazing sadly towards the place, unheeding every object around him, till his attention Was attracted by a crowd of young village maidens, who— it being Sti Mary's Eve— had come to dance be- neath the window of the bride. Robert Vaughan watched them for some time in silence, and as they departed, he also was about to retire from the spot, when his arm was seized from behind, and in looking round he discovered Bath Sharpe, who was regarding him with a, look of demoniac triumph. With a violent effort he shook off the grasp with which he had bebn held; but the other laughing scornfully, exclaimed t " See'st thou the light that shines from yonder window ?" " I do," replied Vaughan : " what of it ?" " Thou hast a rival concealed there," exclaimed the trooper: Aye, thou may'st look doubtingly upon me, but by heaven I swear that if yeu remain here a few minutes longer} yod Will be convinced that my Words are hot spokeii in idle jest." Vaughan was about t ® turn indignantly away from the traducer of his love, when Sharpe, pointing towards the window, exultingly drew his attention towards the object, which had rivetted his own gaze. The lover, impelled by curiosity, tUrned, and in ah instaht all his Worst fears were hlost painfully confirmed, ttpon the blind were the shadows of two persons, a male and female, in the latter of which was easily to be recognized the fairy- like form of his oWn adored Madeline; Stupified with what he had thus unwillingly witnessed, Vaughan continued to watch the figures, and whilst thus engaged, the man Was seen to kneel and press the hand of the other to his lips! Maddehed Witll r& ge, the loViir would hate rushed forward to drag his hated rival from the house, when the door was cautiously opened, and Madeline advanced into the garden with stealthy footsteps. Concealed as Vaughan and his companion was in the shades of night, the maiden saw them not; She, how- ever, cast a timid glance artiund, and then, fancying thilt all was secure, she gave the preconcerted signal to her brother, who there- upon opening the window, descended silently into the garden. After hastily embracing her, he assured the rriaiden that he would return again ere many hours had elapsed, and then, bidding her take comfort, moved silently froni the spot. Madeline Watched him till his form became obscured in the distahefc, and then, heaving a deep sigh, returned to the house. Robert Vaughan could no longer doubt the infidelity of her he was about to make the partner of his bosom. He believed that he had seen enough to convince him of her falsehood, and rushing madly from the spot, he hurried homewards, resolved in his own mind never to see her again; Sharpe observed this, and his tri- umph was complete. He, however, had yet another purpose to serve i he was cohvihced that the person he had just sefen was one of the proscribed rebels, arid, coveting the reward that had been offered, he set forward at full speed in order to overtake and cap- ture him. Nor were his evil deeds frustrated; for after running a short distance, he came up with the object ofhis search, who, being unarmed, was obliged to yield himself a prsOner to his implacable foe » He was then conveyed back, and being placed in a bfirn for security, a guard of soldiers was placed to prevent the possibility of an? escape. The news of a Jacobite's capture soon brought Robert Vaughan, as one of the magistrates of the county, to the spot. Here he again met Madeline, who had hitherto been kept ignorant of her brother having fallen into the hands of his enemies. Vaughan re- garded her with an apathy almost amounting to scorn; for he still considered her unfaithful to the vows of love she had so often made. He, however, thought it necessary to inform her of what had taken place, and advancing towards her, he said with a stern air: " Madeline, the lore I once bore you is now at an end for ever. You have deceived me— another has gained your affection, and I am cast off, as no longer worthy of you." " Indeed, indeed, Robert, you are mistaken," cried the maiden, with an agonized burst of feeling that she could not control. " Alas! I am but too well convinced of the painful truth," re- plied Vaughan, " for my own eyes have been the witness of it. Scarcely two hours since I saw you part with him in the garden, and from that moment my peace of mind was broken for ever. He, however, has now paid the penalty of his presumption; as one of the proscribed rebels, he has been taken prisoner, and an ignominious death awaits him." " Merciful powers!" screamed Madeline, " then my brother will be murdered 1" " Your brother 1" exclaimed Vaughan iu an agonized voice. " My brother— my long- lost brother !" ejaculated Madeline. The suspicions of the lover now vanished, and he saw at once the deep despair to which the unfortunate Madeline was doomed. By the command of government, only six hours were to elapse be- tween the capture and execution of the denounced Jacobites, and half that time had already passed since Major Wentworth had fallen into the hands of his enemies. He, however, resolved to ride off with all speed to Carlisle, seek aa interview with General COVENT GARDEN.— The new comedy of Court and City attracts very good houses ; but Miss Adelaide Kemble is the great magnet, and must have already done immense good to thd treasury. We understand that a new opera is in active preparation, to which we shall early devote our attention. HAYMARKET. — The Lord Chamberlain lias bfeen pleased to grant an extension of two months to the sea- son Of Mr. Webster, so that the theatre will now con- tinue open thrdiighMit the year. Kenney's new farce, called Love Extempore, greatly improves upon repe- tition, and will, rte dare say. remain a tavourite for sbmte timfe. The prlricipal character, admirably per- formed by Mr. David lte*- s, exches shOnts of laugnter. The following brief outline of the plot may suffice:— Mr, Titus Livingstone ( Rees), is a victim df the fifat order j but then he is more victimized by his own pas sion than made a dupe of by others, This Mr. Titus Livingston^ is of an age at wnich bis uassions have had time to cool down : but, floWitlistanding this, he is, by the means of other persons, made to believe himself in love, and at last to be really in love. There Is a Sir Harry Nugent ( Mr. F. Vining), who favours his suit with a Miss Prudence ( Miss P. Horton). Then there is a Mrs, Courtney ( Mrs. Stirling), who proves that " the coufrse of ti'Ue love never did run smoothfor she makes ( for the attainment of her own purposes) poor Titus believe that Sir Harry Is plftyittg hirn false with the young lady, which gives rise t6 rrtany humorous scfenesi Sir Harry protests his iniiocetfce With respect to Miss Prudence, and declares that he is paying his addresses to Julia ( Mliss Charles), and to her alone. However, the position of Titus becomes mofe and more unpleasant, when Mrs. Courtney, whose intrigues have caused all the mischief, happily puts an end to it. This Mr. I'itus Livingstone is left in undisputed possession of the charms of Miss Prudence; and this couple, with Sir Harry and Julia, are supposed to get ifi& friedji after the curtain falls on the foil} of this little epoch of their lives* ABELPiit.— Totl THousatid a Year, The Maid of Ho nour, and Die Hexen Jin ttheih, fcohtlnue to draw ex cellent houses, and will, probably, do so till the Christmas holidays. OLYMPIC.— Mr. Wild has considerably added to the strength of his company by the engagement of Mr. Col lins, who has been playing in the farce of Teddy the tilery with much applause. Sixteen String Jack, and Angels and Lucifets, have not abated in attraction. SADLER'S WELLS.— The most successful nautical p » iece we have seen for some time is, decidedly, Green wood's excellent drama of The Black Rover, and its attraction is rather on the increase than the decline- Most extraordinary preparations for Christmas have been for some time in progress, and the public may cal culate tipttn one of the richest treats they have expe rieUcfed since the days of the immortal " Joey." CITY.— Notwithstanding the great success Witn Mr. Thompson Townsend* s new nautical drama, called The Sailor Brothers, has been received, another new piece, called The Hawks of Hawk tfollow, and adapted very tleterly, by Mr. Shepherd, from the celebrated tale of that title, has been produced, and met with a most enthusiastic reception. It is excellently got up, well played, and highly effective. A net* piece, writ- ten by Mr. Dibdin Pitt, aRd called Colin Clink, is, we perceive^ advertised as being in rehearsal. PAViLtoft.— Mr. Denvil seems determined to strain every nerve to deserve the very extensive patronage bestowed upon him, and he has been playfflg four of the most successful dramas during the past week that have ever been performed at this theatre* namely— Kathleen / or, The Secret Marriage; Ela, the Outcast f Emily Pitz- orriiond; and Susan Hopley. We need not add, that the theatre has been crowded to the ceiling every eVeriing. SURREY.— We have not for some time taken any no- tice of the performances at this theatre* as, since the close of the equestrian season, they have been of that description which we could not conscientiously do other- wise than censure. Mr. Haines has written some very clever pieces we are ready to admit, but his recent at- tempts have been, in many instances, execrable*, and his last production, a translation from a drama, which has had a great run in Paris, called The Two Lock- smiths; or, Poverty and Crime, is one of the most clumsy, talentless affairs we have witnessed for some time, and is sufficient to damn the reputation of any author, or the theatre at which it is produced. Mr. Haines has certainly achieved a complete triumph, if it was his object to endeavour to show how bad apiece can be constructed out of the very best materials. . He has spoiled effects, substituted vulgar clap- tiap for sen- timent, mutilated the language, and mystified a plot which, in the original, is perfectly lucid and skilful. How the audience could sit it out without their night- caps, is to us a matter of astonishment, but that it will shortly be consigned to the tomb of all the Cupulets," is very certain. The governor and Mr. Willis Jones had better act with more judgment in future, or a few more such trashy affairs as this will work a serious in- jury to the establishment. VICTORIA— Our limits this week will not permit us to give a lengthy notice of the performances at this most popular theatre, but we cannot help noticing, briefly, the production af a new drama, called The Two London Locksmiths, which, it is needless to remark, is a trans lation from the same piece as the one we have alluded to above. Comparisons are odious ; but the contrast presented between these two dramas is so striking, that we should not be doing our duty to the public were we not to point it out. The drama at the Victoria is most skilfully adapted to the English stage, and the plot, in cidents, and language, harmonize admirably, making one most powerful and effective whole. The charac- ters are very ably drawn, and enacted in a manner that would do credit to our patent theatres. The scenery, dresses, & c. are excellent and appropriate, and the interest never, for an instant, flags, In our next we intend to give an elaborate detail of the plot. It is one of the most successful of the many successful dramas that haveubeen produced since the management of Mr. Osbaldiston, and has been played to overflowing houses. JUSf HJBLISHED, the 12th EDITION, Price 4s., and sent Free to any part of the Kingdom on receipt of a Post Office Order, for 5s. THE SILENT FRIEND, AMedical Work on the Infirmities of the Gene- rative System in both sexes ; being an enquiry into the con.' cealed cause that destroys physical energy, and the ability of m- inhood, ere vig ur lias established her empire ; with observation, on the baneful effects ot Solitary Indulgence and Infection: and on the: lossof the Reproductive Powers; with meansof restoration. The con- sequences of neglected gonorrhcea, gleet, stricture, secondary symp toma, and the influence of mercury on the skin are p. inttd out and illustrated by engravings, followed by observationa on marriage, with directions I0r the removal of disqualificationa. By R. and I.. Pert, and Co., Consulting Surgeons, Birmingham and Leeds- rublished by the Authors, and sold by Strange, 21, Paternoater- row; Wihon( 18, Bishopsgate etreet; Purkest, Compton itreet, Soho; Jackson and Co., 130, New Bond atreet, London,- and by J.. Guest, Steelhouse lane, Birmingham- Joseph Buckton, Bookseller,. 5( 1 Briggate, Leeds and bv all Books- llers in Town and Country- TheCORUIAi BALM OF SYRIACUM is exclusively directed to. the cure pf nervous and sexual debility, obitinate glettt, ayphilit,. irreeularitv weakness, impoteney, barrennett, & c. Sold in bottles at lis « times Ihe quantity in one bottle for 33t. Sold by a 1 Medlcire verniers in Town and Country. 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Welled legs, and sore legs, of palpitation of thekeart, and, wonderful to relate, 1 old men and women say, ^ rin « they took Old Parr s Pills, they Rave enjoyed better health. better iplrtU, better appetite, had more nerve and eWenglh^ thsn th. y^ q. perienced for the patt twenty year., and that Old Farr U Blte new life to them, for they feel all tho> e de « * htful changes ! ® the nh tsa. In fact, thet. wonderful Pills appear to contain all tte Virtues of the potheearles shop, without having to go tnroogn Ml the regular dotet of draughts and bolutes. .„„,., My tale, Initead of decreasing, increases. StawtatAnmst, when I received the first tupply of Parr's Life Pilflr, ( with four gross you ma, now tend me by firtt conveyance,) !! » « » « « 2076 boxes, at It. lid., and 264 of the 2t. 9J. tlie. Someyeople may not believe thii: you can, if yon like, ahuW > » « the cash paid for them. " I am, your jJ^ J'JRIJ RT, " The old- established Patent Medicine \^ rarei°,?,,•• 224, Stone Bow, Lincoln.'- TM « mm* convince every reatonable peraon of their wood. rful lui. luunv , r. 1 rfMMlnUM Ing disease, they are yet at pure and fc' 1? 1"'" may be administered with confidence to tto toralld, J » « wr weakly from long ill health, who will aoon enjoy^ those dellghtM tymptomt of a return to strong health, vir., gooda^ lHe. tound sleep, and an Increase of » nfm « l spirits. f ° * t medicine to benign and mild In ftt operation » . nd effects,, jet to effectual In tearchlng out and coring dlaease •> h » « " r ' » " « ttandln*, eahlbit. on the part of Old Tnt, b'.° n t^ thorough knowledge of hit tubject. Tho. e who have t> « « ta. Instruments of resto- lng this long- lost Secret to the wo » u • ™ « confident when they make the assertion, that none 0 « « ' that If only a fair trial be given, the result will be a re.' tOration health and happlnest. " Thus shall their humble labouri merit pralae. And future Parrt be blessed with horror',- 1 days." CAUTION - BEWARE OF SPURIOUS IMITATIONS. In order to protect the Public, the Hon. Commissioners . f Slumps have ordered " PARB'S LIKE PILLS' to be engraved on th- Government Stamp in WHITB letters, on a MB ground, attached te each box. without which none are genuine. Price la. 14d„ 2s. M., and family boxca Us. each. Full direc- tions are given with each box. Sold by mott respectable Medicine Vendors In Town and en- try ; to be had, wholesale, of Edwards, 67, St. Paul's, London. the mott severe and unparalleled description IMPORTANT TO THE PUBLIC ! I NIXON'S UNIVERSAL HERBAL OINTMENT. THIS OINTMENT IS NO LONGER AMONQ- those of doubtful utility: It hat patsed away from MM hundreds that are dally launched upon the tide of experiment, and now ttands before Ihe public, higher In reputation than any other in ute, and at extensively utep In all part, of th « country, at any Ointment that has hitherto been discover** tor the relief of tufferlng man. The excellence and efficacy of thit ointment, has been eata*. Hshed, beyond doubt, aud will be found to merit the notice « alt persona and all aget. The mott unequivocal and conrlb^, n8 lestim inlet have, unsolicited, been tent to the proprietor, l>' persons who have experienced Its rapid and salutary effeetsi some of which will be seen on th « wrapper with each bos, and directions for nte, and a once prove to the public Ita wonderfui cleansing and healing qualities. Nixon's Universal Herbal Ointment will be found t. posses, superior virtue over any other preparation yet known t being composed of lngredlenti purely vegetable, and of the mott harm- lets and inoffensive qualities. In short, to convince those peraon. suffering under any of th. following complatnta, of the efficacy of tlilt ointment, the proprietor undertakei, that should It fall to cure, after a fair trial, ( wh'ch it ntver yet hat,) upon applica- tion to him, he will give th<* in five pounda, knowing it hat no rival in curing Inflammations, Abtcesset, Green Woundt, Ulcers, Gatherings, Gathered Breaata, Scurvy, Erysipelas, or . St. An- thony's Fire, Burnt, Scaldt, Bolls, Chapt Hands, Plies, Bnation. White Swellings, Chilblains, Ring Worms, Scald Heads, Gout, snd Rheumatic Paint, Scorbutic Eruptions, or other similar eomplalnta. Nixon s Universal Herbal Ointment la sold In Boxes at It. ltd, and 2t. 9d. each, and may be obtained, wholeaale and retail, ol the Proprietor, JOHN NIXON, Martin's Bank, Talk- o'. th - hill, near Tunstall, Staffordshire, and by MESSRS. MANDER, WEAVER, and Co., Wolverhampton; and alto retailed by H. Leese, J. Seckerton, W. Edge, Tunltall; Hrrper, Hawthorn, R. Tlmmlt, Burtlim; Jones, Dixon, Hanley; Barnett, Congteton ( F. Mason, Oxford Street, Manckeater; Pierce, Shelton; Jones, Stok. ; Sibrary, Lane- end ; Mort, Hughes, Newcaatle) Johnson, Blades. Leek; W. and R. Wright. Hodklnton, Wardle, Maccles- field, and by most respectable Patent Mediolne Venders In th. United Kingdom. N. B.— In any terlous case, persons calling on the Proprietor, at his residence, may have their wounds dressed free of expense, by purchasing the Ointment. LONDON !— Printed anil Published by E. LLOYD, 331. High- street, Shoreditcli; and at 8, Holjwell- « tr « » l » Strand.