PENNY LONDON:— SUNDAY, DECEMBER 19, 1841, FLORA'S VISION OF SA^ ADIN tfolict. A DECIDED Hit! DEFENDANT.— And sarve her right, too. The little wretch ' she's always a following of my old man about; and if I had knocked her into the middle of next week, it would have been no more than she deserved. PLAINTIFF.— You hear her, your lordship ? You hear what she ses, the wicked fulminatin' critur ? and it's all as false as false can be; and if the feller is struck wilh my beauty, how can I help it ? ( Laughter.) Mrs. Ellinor Golightly was about to recriminate, but tbe Lord Mayor interrupted her, and called upon her for her defence. Mrs. Golightly, however, had no other de- fence to make than the explanation she had already given, and she was, therefore, fined forty shillings for the assault upon the extra- ordinary woman, and bound down to keep the peace for three months. Mrs. Golightly, not being prepared with the requisite, was locked up; and the lady with the marriage loins left the office, exulting in the satisfaction she had gained for the injury offered to her reputation, and the un- pleasant visitation in the bread- basket, which she had received from the fist of Mrs. Ellinor Golightly. Foote being once annoyed by a poor fiddler's straining harsh dis- cord, under hli window, aent him out a shilling with a request that ha would play elsewhere, at one scraper at the door was sufficient. A certain drunken woman, now in Manchester, carae into a drnnkery, and what do yon think she asked for? a glass of sudden death I she drinks two sorts, according to her means j one the calls swipes, and the other midden death I hi. ( tee, and casting his eyes upon the coffin, read the words several Ha'lhal tihT H^ S Sl k.! i made Sowd. of people yes, I murdeTOd tter. nai " » . d gaJjng i was mad. fly- fly' HM^ at them t- their cries are I see them now- th,. te. they run . ^ ^ j ^ the _ to me as mu « ic-- they iu. * "' the5e jibbering demons, that it lulls me to sleep— it kee,? » atJme. Ha! ha! I don't fly about the room gaping and . » ® aw . n0> n9t he's here, fear thee; you dare not take my • me t0 pieCes before locked for ever in my bosom— you mu ., 6trangle thee— ha 1 ha . you can reach him. Off, off, I say, or I li , Jmw(< thv mocking - I'll not spate th « e. Bo thy worst— I do no. heU will , fling me— I cafe not— yon din, and to the very ueptn o- thebody— ha I hil ha!" ,. fl„ h his hands The maniac stood laughing and tearing his neso, dsfulI moving rapidly about his person, sometimes tn his Mir, naU( of which he scattered in the alf, now m his bo. om, a, finder digging deep into his flesh, the blood pouring fromtthe serine, inflicted by his nail, in large drops. Then hw drMS WouW M tear, throwing hi. rag. in the air, or twisting themit, hi. hwaot. and moving from side to side a. though ." ugghng with a maa, ill these he did till he grew black in the face, and when quite overpowered by exertion, he fell to the earth. , , . He soon recovered, and was more . calm; he muttered broken sentence., and stared wildly round him. His attention was at. tracted by the door slowly opening, and Beroda lean, hazard, and his wayworn rag. fastened rudely round hi. body, entered the cell. As soon as his blood- shot eyes met the gaze of his father, he started back, and leant against the door for support. The maniac retreated . lowly on hi. hands and knees to the farther end of the .- haiu, where he drew himself into as small a space a. he could put his finger on his lips in token of silence, and muttered, " H sf the murderer cometh— bark— hush! See, he looks at me!- he dare not approach. Ah I he fears me— he knows I'm mad. But he shall not touch my . on Saladin— no, no: I will not tell him where he is. He shall not tear him to pieces again, tor I will protect him." ... . , " Oh, God forgve me!" groaned Beroda, " is thi. my father ?— f is this the wreck my wickedness has caused? Oh I Flora, Flora what misery!— hut it was I, not . he, that ha. caused all thi. ; I must not reproach her for it. No: she has indeed fell a victim by my love to her; she ha. indeed died a fearful death,- a death that rll the tortures on earth Would not equal. Yes, she feU beneath the gripe of a madman, cau. ed, all cansed, by my villany. I am now blasted upon the earth; I cannot seek repose, for fearful Vision, haunt me : my brother', . hnek. for ever nog in my ear, I'm haunted by my own fear., ftom town to town I drag my weary limb.; hunger and thirst has seized me, but I dare not . top to ask for alms. I dare not face my Companions of youth, or my fellow men ; I fancy all know me; every finger » pointed toward, me: it make, me mad • I fly from my shadow, for Oere I picture the agonies of mv brother, when he was dying. Bat I must not think thus, or I shall be a. mad a. he. He « eem. to know me, for he crouche. from me, as though my very sight wa. hideou.. Father, turn not from me; I come to seek thy blessing, though it should be a curse. Yet, yet I find comfort in that which m my youth I would laugh and spurn away." , " Back 1 back 1" cried the maniac, waving him off, a& H . nnnaiog from his approach. " Oh, God I grant me this one request j grant that I may jam a blessing, and I will to a monastery, and by diligent and heavy nenance I may hope for that mercy which I refused my brother, Father, do not turn thy face from me." " No, no. thou Shalt not have my child, my own Saladin," murmured the maniac. " Oh, horror 1" groaned the penitent. " He t ha 1 I will not tell thee where I put his body j ' tis safe, safe from thy touch. Ha! ha I ha! I loved him— loved hhn dearly, but a foul monster murdered him. I had my revenge. Ha ! ha t he wanted to murder me, but I did not let him: I watched for him. I saw him approach my couch; he lifted hi. dagger, bat I caught it, and plunged it in hi. own heart. Ha I ha! I had a sweet revenge 1" " Would that you had indeed plunged it in my heart, ere I had murdered my brother." Hush ! hush I— I'll tell you where I saw a man— there— there — behind that wall. I . aw him approach the hole, and peep through. I pretended I wa. . ieeping. He came on to the ground ; he had a knife in his hand. Ha! ha 1 I knew what that knift: was for. He groped round me— he looked into my face; he thought I was sleeping. He went to the wall, and began to dig for Saladin; but I crept slowly behind him and stabbed him— ha! ha! hal—. tabbed him dead." During the latter part of the maniac's ravings, Beroda cast hist eye on the wall, saw sometling . cratched on it; he approached to gain a better sight: he read the word.; they . truck like a dart to lis bosom. The maniac approached him ttnperceived, and grasped him by the throat. A terrible struggle ensued, during which the maniac broke hi. chain: he threw Beroda on the ground, still grasping him by the throat, dragged him along the floor, threw lim down a flight of stone steps. The noise alafiwd the keepers r the maniac heard thelf approach; he laughed, yelled, mid screaked with delight; he threw Ber. da upon hi. back, and fletf like ligM- ning out of the house; he crossed the yard, unfastened the door, and darted across the road. Fields and houses flew by the maniac as he tore along, under, his light thin burden. He approached a tier of rocks, up which' he scrambled : the blood rushed fron hi. car., nose, and mouth through: his exertion; but he heeded it not; onward he went, laughing at his pursuer., and mocking them. J He now reached the top! he could not bear Beroda any longer ; M he threw him off, and dragged him along the ground towards u. cataract. The exhausted senses of Beroda returned : he instanthn^ H guessed his coming fate; he sprung to his feet; they both effl; . erted all their wasted strength. But still they nearecf the catarj^ H . It was in vain that Beroda eatreated for mercy; it was itl^ H he yelled and screamed; his maniac father mocked and 1..'. UKIB his cries. On the very verge of the cliff they both stood. 4fl lost his balance, and they both fell, bounding from rof^ H ' - till their shattered bodies found a grave in the Mj^ K^ V-^ igj the cataract, ^ ^^ H , HINDOO CUSTOM OF SECR^ M The practice of Interring money extent among the native, of Indiu^ H prehension entertained by Indivi^ H Hated of their portable wealth^ H nical hoatile chief.. TrlbutuM dynasty were sadly devag^ H from whom they could nj^ H - circumstance, and the ^ H ting out their monies ^ H ; ^ „'-, , by way of safety, to bu^ H ' mense sum. which hav^ H t the soli has been dl. tnrm^^ B pose., and It Is very • till concealed In the localities e! MHre. « e. WHlch hav^ M tulated to the British arm.. When, some time ago, a^ HIS wa. being cleaned out at Colmbatore, under the Madrat Pre » U dency, two earthen vases were discovered, which were found to con- tain 250 gold coin! of the Roman empire, which were In the high- est state of preservation. They ran down In a series, commencing with those struck in the reign of Augustus Ciesar, and ending with those of Germanicus, and consisted of duplicate, coined at different stage, of the reign, of the above and Intervening emperon. There Wa. 0fl « . track in honour of Titus, after he had laid waste Jerusalem : on the one « ide was repre. ented the head of the above emperor, whilst on the other wa. a triumphal areh, with a military knight passing under it on horseback, beneath which were the word. " De Hierosotuma." There vvas alio another of Nero and hi. mother Agrlpplna Impres. ed on the « ame medal. How these coin, could have found their way to the site, where they were discovered I. exceedingly questionable. Is Is ge- nerally understood that considerable trea. ure is concealed about the old fort of Cuttack. There la a deep wall within it, Into which . everal person, have attempted to descend, with a view to explore the « ame; but, owing to the foul air within, fatal effect, have attended their undertakings. A Kedgeree pot wa. dug up In a gentleman', garden, not f ir irom the above . pot, which wa. found to contain 440 rupees of a very andent date. Considerable . am. In specie hare al » o, at . undry period., been brought to light, whilst delvers have been employed In clearing out ; the Mahah Tulloh, and other celebrated tank. In the Pagan city of Juggernaut, and . carcely Is there a tank throughout the country, of many years' . landing, In which lias not been treasure whenL It , has been cleared for use. Thl. locked- up capital, and the practice .0 universal among the native, of Hindoo. tan of converting gold mohur. and rupee. Into " bangles," and other trinket., which they ! wear about their persons, tends greatly to depre. s the currency of 1 ^ TAALWUS ACT OF KINO JOHN.- Inthe reign of King John, . a clergyman, whilst pursuing his studies at Oxford, had the mi » - fortuaeto kill a woman by accident. Alarmed for his safety ttte c priest fled immediately, and the mayor of the cityrepairedwithhm t officer, to the spot, where they found the h'ody of the woman. The slayer was beyond pursuit, but three othe. t in the same house with him, were seized at id. committed to prison, although they did not even know of the ai- cident. John, glad of t this opportunity to wreak his vengeance upl m tke clergy, Mnt, a ' few d ays af i er wa r d s, orders that they should be immediately hung wUhout the ™ I. T'without trial! This . vfamou. roanda e ^ a. obeyed by the civil authorities, upon which V.^ S and re- . scholars, as well a. the masters, instantly qui. « ed Oxford, and re- i tired to Cambridge and Beading. Some.^ dSTrfTaS I and proceeded to Pa ™ : » ad the Umvernty of ^ Oxford was lett i most empty. " Hark ye, Sir Saladin," roared Beroda, burning with rage an „ hatred, " you are my rival." " Klval!" Interrupted Saladin, with a sneer, marry but you'll n say Flora loves you next." " She doe. love me." — " Ha 1 hal ha 1 love, you I" tl By the mas. you teem wonderfully lurprlsed." h " Marry I am most agreeably « o." K " And why should . he not love me, you braggart ?" tl " Look you, Beroda, i. thl. the way to gain a maiden's love, lo f< Intrude upon her presence when . he would be alone, to a. k her to h love thee, and if . he doe. at fit. t refuse, to talk of shedding the blood of a brother I— Fie on thee, boy, I thought you had more e' sense." „ " By the cro « « , Saladin, you seem Inclined to he my tutor In h these love affair..'' h " Nay, . ay not so, I would not be seen to teach to foul a boy a. n thee I'* g " Say . uch at that again, » nd my life on It you do not live an- h other hour." t; " You talk .0 slight of murder, that were I not thy brother, I „ thould believe you were the blaeke. t villain on earth.'' n " Talk on. you seek your own de. tructlon." a " Ok, I'll not say another word to rai. e thy anger." " Fonl 1 may thy blood be upon thine own head," roared Beroda, li chokirg with rage; he rushed upon his brother, and with one si blow hurled him to the ground | like lightning he pounced upon h hi. victim, grasped the dagger', blade, and twisted It ont ot hi. h brother', hand. It rose glittering and sparkling over hi. head, but it. deadly descent was . layed, Saladin had placed hit arm to h catch Ihe hand of hi. assassin, and In the attempt the blade of the c daggar ma through hi. hand. Heedie.. of the pain, and with the g blade still through hit hand, hi. finger, griped round the hilt, and e he grasped it with the strength of desperation. They both . trug- I gled violently, Beroda venting curie, on hi. brother's tight hold, h and Saladin shrieking for mercy. h " Brother, forgive me," he cried, •• I swear 111 not tell any one, 1' if you will let me go, and you will not have to shun the world at a ' murderer." t " Ha! ha I ha 1 I care not who knows that." " Why do you wish to kill me ?'• •• A. Cain killed Abel, . o I kill you." " What do you mean r'' e " Hid he not . lay him from jealousy I" j " He did j but what 1. that to do with your killing me >•' I " My offering to Flora wa. not accepted, your. wa.; now you r know." t " But . pare me, and you may have her.'* f " ' Ti. useless to plead, you or I must die. I've gone too far to t retreat, and I do not wl. h to be sent to my reckoning yet." t " No, no, ' tl. not too late but what you may save yourself from I being a murderer." i " Will you yield at once 1" I " I. there no hope ?" ] " None whatever.*' l " Then I'll never yield whilst breath 1. In my body.'' I " Then take it at thy liking.'' ' Beroda drew a clasp knife from hi. pocket, opened It with Kl. t teeth, ahd with a few deep gashes severed his brother', wrl. t. ! The shrieks and yell, of Saladin pierced like arrows to Beroda'!' i heart, he tried to laugh, but hi. features bore the resemblance of ' horror. " Oh, tpare me, . pare me 1" groaned tbe victim. | " I cttniiot now even if I would, my own safety depend, on your death. You mu. t die." Beroda again lifted the dagger, but the struggle, of Saladin threw him a little on one side, and Beroda, in the attempt to re- gain ill. former position, . truck the dagger in Saladin'. cheek, knocking several teeth down his throat, and inltantly filling hi. mouth with blood. Beroda shuddered as he witnessed the wound, and placing tbe point of the dagger against Saladln's heart, drove It up to the hilt. Now did the wretched Beroda repent, he leaped from his brother', body with fearful terror, he tore hi. dre.., and strove to « tay the flowing blood with piece, of bit clothes; but all In vain, a gurgling noise was heard In Saladin'. throat, followed by one long, quivering shiver, and the next minute he wa. a corpse. ****** In a high, narrow room, lit up by a loop hole elo. e to the celling, which gave it the dull appearance of a prison, lay an old man, he wa. chained to the wall, and covered by a few rags. He appeared to be asleep, and a few feet ever hi. head wa. a coffin scratched on the wall, under which was the following word. " Here lie. my son Saladin, who fell a victim to jealousy and revenge!' Every- thing around seemed desolate and cold, a . mall iron jug and a piece of coarse bread lay on the floor, but had not been touched for two day.. The old man suddenly leaped from the ground, he stood In a listening attitude, the sweet tone, of a lute fell upon hit ear, and , he amlled, clapped hi. hands, and danced with jov. " Ha! ha!" laughed he, "' ti. the nuptials of my son. He is not dead:— HO, no, I knew he would not die, and leave his father ; to mourn his loss, He comes." So saying, the old man drew a stool from a corner, and placed it i in the centre of his den ; he took up a handt'ull of straw, twisted it into a wreath 1 he walked solemnly to the . tool, and stood over it , as though about to give a blessing: he offered up a prayer to t Heaven, and, kneeling down, his hands lowered gradually till it touched the stool; his eyes fell upon it, and starting upon his , feet, he cried in a voice scarcely audible, while the hot tears ran - down his cheeks, " No, no, my Saladin is not there;— he is dead— stone dead : . gone, never to return again." He approached the wall on j which lay the sketch of the coffin, and falling down on his knees, buried hia face in hi. hand., and wept bitterly; he again uncovered 11 No, I cannot. Farewell." He en. braced her, and the next minute wa. hld'from . lght by a h irnlng In the walk. Flora was about to follow him, when . he was startled by a si istlin? of leave. ; . he turned round and saw a man muffled up; ln cloak— it wa. Beroda. " Flora." rtrrr ert Beroda, tiding her by the hand. " Who art thou >" exclaimed the girl, atruggllng. " Do. t thou not know me ['' asked Beroda, in an assumed voice. " No, let me go, or I'll call for those who will chastise tliee for ly insolence." Il " Stay, girl, make the least noise and you die. You love Sala- li [ n?— Answer me— quick!" ' b " What If I « ay no?" . " You will tell a lie." " If ye. ?'' > t! " Do yon expect to see him again t" " I do." t " Never!" M What meanest tliou?' 1 . 0 " He die., and I am hi. a.. a.. lli!" " Viilali! " » " Aye, and to- night.'' " Forbear !'• " No, he', doomed to death. Tell anybody, and you will follow lm." c " Hear me!—" „ I " Not one word. Leave me— go, wench, I must away." 1 " He is going to see a dying mother," shrieked tbe girl, clinging t o Beroda, I " I care not,'' roared the villain. c " Spare him 1 oh, . pare him I Take my life, but do not harm c ialadln." i " To hell with thee!" roared the villain, striking her to the 1 round. He cave her one fearful look. a. she lay on the cold damp j arth Insensible, and clenching his fist, exclaimed, with a loud : augh, " Now I go to revenue a slighted hand, to wash my hand, in a | irother's blood. Ha ! ha! hat he'll repent belug my rival. Haste, ; ir I . hall be too late to meet my prey." He then rushed through the garden, laughing, and filled with lemonlac joy. It wa. a dull, damp night, the moon bid Itself behind a cloud, L. though anxious to aid, by the darkness of night, the youthful nurderer in hi. deed of bloodshed. AH around Was . ilent, . Ave he occasional rustling of the neighbouring tree., by the slight vlnd that crept lazily over the earth, ever and anon startling the routh who crouched between two trees, waylaying the return of tn absent brother. He trembled violently, hi. right hand nervously trasped the handle of a dagger, hi. left ever and anon passing hrough hi. damp, straggling hair, or wiping the cold per. plratlon; . hat oozed on his fevered brow. Hi. head fell and leaned on his igltated breast, he breathed low and hard, and seemed buried In ieep thought. At last the distsnt sound of footstep, fell on hi. ear, he list ened le arose, stared wildly around him, and his eye. fell upon the japing blade of his dagger— a convulsive shudder ran through hi. .' trior, and with a deep sigh ha drew his eyes from the Instrument that ere long would make lrlm a murderer ! He lifted up hi. face, viewed the surrounding darkness with a grim look of satisfaction, and tried to smile i but he failed— he laughed, but the echoes startled him— he struck his forehead convulsively, aud groaned heavily. The footsteps were nearer to him, he clutched hi. dagger and looked from hi. hiding- place. A grin of fiendish joy passed over his features, and he darted from hi. lair to plunge his dagger deep Into the heart of a brother. But he checked his hasty footsteps — he hung down hi. guilty head— for the eye. of hi. victim were on him. A dizziness spread over hi. eye., hi. brain reeled— he felt sick — he threw his hand wildly in the air— he staggered, and with a heavy groan fell to the earth. Saladtn stood several minute, powerless, he hardly knew whe- ther It was a dream or reality; he rubbed his eyes and timidly ap- proached hi. senseless brother, felt hi. face, took the dagger from hi. grasp, and looked at It for . cme time bewildered. He then . tuck it In hi. own belt, and running some yard, down the lane, found a spring of clear water, and having filled hi. hand, with . ome, returned to hi. brother, bathed hi. forehead, Up., and parched tongue. He . oon recovered, and . tared from side to side, till hi. eyes fell upon the face of hi. intended victim ; but he could not bear the look of Ills intended victim— hi. head felt on hit arm, and he wept bitterly. " Brother,*' eald Saladin, in a soft tone, that struck like a dag- ger to the as. ai. in'. heart, " brother, what ail. thee ?" " There, there," ga. ped the villain, not heeding the question, " I feel quite well now, ha! ha! ha !' 11 was not a laugh, he felt he could not laugh ; he saw that hi. brother noticed the frail attempt, and felt confused, and after a few second. . Hence, he said, at the same time waving his brother off with hi. hand, " You can leave me now, I'm quite recovered,'' but a thought seemed to strike him, and grasping hi. brother', arm, he said, " No, do not go, we can walk home together; ye., ye., we can go home together." " Beroda," exclaimed Saladin, In a stern tone, a tone that made the guilty start, as though a spirit had risen before him, " what brought you with this datrger ?" 1' oh, why I brought it be— because," stammered the youth, fumbling about- his person,—" damnation!" muttered ho, " how could he'have got that!' 1 " Did you not bring it with the intention of slaying me ?— Speak!— ah, your silence betray, you. Monster! away from my tight, nor let me see thy face again, villain." BERODA ; OR, THE MIDNIGHT MURDER. 1 1 J. OALXY— AUTHOR OF " THE SPY OF VENICE." tu Saladin and hi. cousin Flora one evening were walking In the garden joining to tile mansion of Snladin'. father, viewing the re . plendour of the setting . un, and enjoying the breeze wafted on a the air from the wide water, of the Mediterranean sea. The bbds flitted and chtrrup'd in an extacy of joy, a beautiful fountain threw It. eool water, over a marble cl. tern, In which . evetal gold fish lay, with their glistening backs half out of the water, basking In the tun't ray.. It wa. at this . pring Saladin and his cousin tl . topped to ga. e on the dancing water a. It rose In the air and fell, glistening and sparkling. Into the cistern : neither spoke for some dl time, at last Saladin looked in the beautiful face of hi. fair com- panion, and said,— " Dearest Flora, what tliould make you think I hare to dread my brother 1" " I will tell you," answered the maiden ; " a few hour, ago I wat reading in the bower, when your brother entered. I wa. . o Intent upon my book, that I heard not hi. footsteps, nor noticed the intrusion till he laid hi. hand on my arm. I turned roend and . aw him on hi. knee., he wa. smiling as well as hi. rough feature, wottld allow him, and placing hi. hand on hi. heart In a very af- fectionate manner, made a most loving speech, and naked if I loved him. I gave him no satisfactory answer, at which he frowned and with a sneer, asked If I lotted you. I felt confused at the question, h and scarcely knowing what I wa. doing, I unconsciously drew from my bo. om your portrait, and kissed it. Beroda snatched It from me, looked at it, and knew it Immediately; he cast a threat, enlng look at me, aad throwing it on the ground crushed it with t hi. foot, saytnr, at the same time, that he would . erve the giver In the lime way. He was about to depart, when he turned round, drew hi. dagger, and holdtlrg It over my head, . aid, * Mark me 1 8 I know my rival, and . ooner than he . trail have thine hand In mar- riage, even at the altar, will I lay him dead at my feet. You shall g be mine, and no one', else t' he took a fearful oath and left me.' 1 e " Hal ha! I. that all!" asked Saladin. " My dear Flora, do 1, not dl. turb your mind about that, It was hi. nonsense, he Is a fro- llctomo youth, and delight! In teasing the female.— think no more t of It." o " That It impossible, It prey, so much upon my mind j but do you really think there 1. no fear I" j " No, none, I'm sure." " Why!" a " Because he I. my brother, and It 1. not hi. disposition." r " Oh, a. to hi. disposition, I'm sure he's capable of any vlllany." t " No, no, Flora you wrong him, I'm . ure you do. Why . hould y yea take » uch a dislike to him, he never did you any harm 1" y " I don't think he ever did, but then hi. black countenance, and a hit brutality to animals." f " Why, I must say he*, not so kind to the animal, a. he might t be.— Ah! Flora, you look ill, what— what', the matter?— Speak!— t Oh, God 1 what all. ye ?— Help ! help !•' j Flora had . een a vision, It wa. the form of a youth dressed like r Saladin, 111. vest wa. torn open, showing Ills bosom, in which were Severn! large wound.: the blood wa. flowing profusely, and he ] . eemed pale and weak, and » tood in an attitude a. though Im- ploring aid from Flora. The latter, as soon a. . he . aw the vision, ; fainted, and fell into the arm. of Saladin. No one an. wered Saltdin's call for help, and he was almost , powerless from ( right. He offered up a prayer to Heaven for her , recovery, and taking some water In hi. hand from the cl. tern, he ! bathed her temple, and her lip., aud . oon had the satisfaction to find . he wa. tn. t recovering; he gave a long » igh— it was a sigh of joy— and kissed her brow. " Where am I ?" asked the maiden when . he recovered, looking wUdly round her I bvit the remembrance of the vision flashed across her mind, and again she relapsed into insensibility. She was aroused by the sweet voice of Saladin; . he looked up at hi. face and sighed. " Peare. t Flora, cheer up, do not let thy—" " Ha! ha! what now?'' interrupted a welt- known voice. Saladin turned hi. head, and beheld hi. brother; he fixed a piercing look upon the Intruder, and in a . tern voice asked hi. bu. tne. s, " You called for help," growled Beroda, hi. eye. fla. hlng with r. ge and envy. " I did, but not from thee." " You did not call for any person, particular, so I answered the luminous." •' Then you can depart, yon are not wanted.'' " When I feel Inclined I . hall go, not until then. I've brought ' tht. note." 5 Saladin took the letter from hi. brother and read It. " Who gave you thl. ?'• hastily demanded Saladin. " A man," was the rough answer. " A stranger t' aiked Saladin. " Ye. I but look to thy maiden." Saladin obeyed, and he had the gratification of seeing . he had nearly recovered; he spoke kindly to her, and after an hysterical flood of tear, the felt quite well again. " Dear Flora." whl. pered Saladin, " I mu. t leave you." " Leave me," . he exclaimed, " what for ?" v S", la, di. o '?°. kttl Pa'e' h' » breast heaved convul. lvely, and ha handed the letter to Flora. " J" thl » '" " he exclaimed, when the had read It. " I fear it 1. too Hue." " Then your mother may— may be dying.'' i gota| I, d. ™ re.' t"?'' d 1 mU" in'Un" y aWalr- Yoa rannot bl ™ <! my " No, no, but cannot I go with yo- rv' " f'f, » t< sight may be too much for you." « • ' JT " k,! lo my aant befo" " he expire.." i Flora, detain me not, I am wanting time, let me go.'' " Then you will not take me, Saladin ?•' MANSION HOUSE. Soon after the opening of the court, a very little piece Vif female humanity, who would have made a moderate- siied ornament for a twelfth cake, charged one Mrs. Ellinor Golightly, a lady of a gingery complexion, ant) ill- tempered eyes, with an assault, and with calling hei ' the very reverse of an honest married woman, As she, ' the plaintiff, was prepared to prove she was. The diminutive plaintiff, who stated her name to be - Mrs. Arabella Fubbins, would have made a very ex- cellent subject for the pencil of the immortal George Cruikshank. She had a Dutch cheese sort of a body, triangular legs, aud a pair of dough beaters of remark- able dimensions, the shoes in which they were inclosed having more the appearance of canoes than anything else. Her mouth monopolized the greater portion of her face, the complexion of which was that of an Egyptian mummv ; her nose looked like a slug crawling down a pumpkin; her eyes were odd ones, and resembled a pair of glass eyes in a wooden doll; and, in short, as she thought herself, although, ia a different sense, she was really ' AN EXTRA- ORDINARV WOMAN. The Lord Mayor having requested the plaintiff to state the nature of her complaint, sbe dropped a profusion of curtsie?,, ahemed several times, theu, with great effect, got u'() a sniTei( and seemed in a very great mind to tweon outright. LOHI> MAYOR.— Compose yourself, my good woman, and do not detain the court unnecessarily. MRS. ARABELLA FUBBINS.— Yet, your highness,— that IS, yer majesty,— oh, dear! oh, dear'. I am cut up, that I can hardly help going into euteiishs. You see that wretch, that wicked creetut. ! » DEFBNBANT.- Am I to stand tare to be put down hy Wat ere little insect, yer lordship ? Am I to be abused in this wile manner ? I wou't stand it; I'm a woman, every inch ot me. The Lord Mayor seemed particularly obliged to the Sidy ot the gingery complexion for this piece of infor- Hialion, as It was extremely doubtful before whethershe was not a gigantic man in petticoats. LORD MAYOR— I will not suffer any abusive language nere, and I must again detire you will get to the charge as soon as possible. PLAINTIFF.— Yes, yer highness, only 1 hopes you will excuse a po ,, r injured woman's wounded feelin s. The whole on <; u is, that that here woman is jealous of me. LORD MAYOR.— Jealous of you ? Pt-. AI^ TIFF.— Yes, I can insure yer, fir, as it is a fajt, and vt'sonly acos her old man wos an old sweetheart ov m'. ne vonce ; but I'm sure I dont vant anything of tbe I *. elter now, acos I have got as good a husband, and four ' ats lovely children as any woman iu th « - parish. K it mottling could persuade her but vot her husband was sweet upon me, owing, I suppose to my tuperiour • Aarms ( a laugh); aud so yesterday morning she met Ime in the street, and vithout so much as vith yer leave, or by yer leave, she gives me sich a vop vith her double tist ill the stummack as sent me flying like a cricket- ball. It knocked all the vind out of me; and I do think that if she had given me such another, it would have killed me outright. Then she called me sich a name, 1 tjuite blush to think of; she actiwally, yer lordship, said that I was mithink more nor less than anythink but a Mspectkbel married lady, as I am ; and so to prove as she has told a falsity, 1 wants yer lordship just to look at way loins. ILORD MAYOR.— Look at what ? PLAINTIFF.— My loins, yer royal highness ; my mar- " riage loins ( laughter). LORD MAYOB.— Oh! the register of your marriage, you mean ? PLAINTIFF.— Yes, yer lordship ; and then see whether $ ain't a honest woman, and married to as respectabel a dealer in hearth- stones as any one in London. The Lord Mayor lead the marriage loins, as Mrs. Arabella Fubbins called them, and expressed himself satisfied. I LORD MAYOR — Have you witnesses to the assault ? PLAINTIFF.— Yes, yer lordship, I have one, Mr. Jemmy Bummell, who seed it all. LORD MAYOR.— Let Mr. Jemmy Bummell be called, then. Mr. Jemmy Bummell accordingly made his appear- ance in the witness box, turning a greasy old white hat round in his linger and thumb, and having been sworn, deposed to seeing the whole affray, and declared, on his " davey," that the blow given by Mrs. Ellinor Golightly to Mrs. Arabella Fubbins, was enough to " knock bei into immortal smash;" and according to his graphic description of the said blow, it was, as the theatrical bills have it,— THE PENNY Sl'NttAt TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE; mm* THITIHW THE DEATH GRASP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE! BY THE AUTHOR OF " ELA, THE OUTCAST," ETC. [ Continued from our last.) As Montcrino gave utterance to these few words, his features became pale as death ; — his whole frame was violently convulsed, and he fixed his eyes upon the bri- gand chief, in whom he BOW discovered his brother, with a look which spoke the consciousness qf guilt. " Can it be possible?'^' he gasped forib, " or is my tancy at work to deceive me ?" Allesandrio, or rather the Duke Alberto, for such he really was, appeared to enjoy his confusion, and, with nis arms folded across his broad chest, and his fine com manding figure erect, he stood gazing at him for a few moments, without making him anv reply,' " Yes, villain !" he at length answered, " to your con- tusion, it is the Duke Alberto Montcrino, your much in- jured brother, whose title and estates you have so long unjustly held." Monteiino recovered himself, and assuming his usual haug/ oty and scornful air, be said :—• " Your title and estates I hold by right; they were granted to me by that state to which you turned traitor!" " Liar!" returned many days have elapsed, be Wade known.*' • Slgismnnd endeavoured to laugh scornfully, but it was very evident that be was suffering great emotion and apprehension of mind, and there was something in the calm dignity of his brother, which inspired him with awe and tenor. " Was it not proved that you were a traitor ?" at last demanded Siwsmund, and ' at the same time his lips quivered, and he shrunk beneath the stern glance of his brother. ° It was not;" answered Alberto ; " the whole charge was asfa'. seas nell!- Say, Sigismund,' since yonr inform- ation opon this subject seems to be so perfect, who was s!" y Accuser ? ' . Sifiismund trembled, and hesitated. " I know not;" at last he replied. " Liar! dastard!"— exclaimed Alberto;—" it was you ! " Ah!"— cried Sigismund;—" who dare thus charge me ?' " I do ; and iri a few days hence I hope to be enabled to prove my wovrtS, to your confusion." Sig/. smund endeavoured to appear cool, but in vain ; there was something in the looks that his biother fixed npon bim, whictt chilled his soul; besides, was he not in his power, and entirely at his mercy, and, after tbe manner lit which be bad behaved towards him, and wilh which Alberto seemed lo be so well acquainted, what else could be expect than to suffer from his hatred and vengeance! Alberto eyed him narrowly, aud for some moments re mained silent, and appeared to watch the emotion which Sigis'mund < » ultl not help evincing, with much satisfac- . tKtKUj.:; vr:( linwH h » » E « » "! w. » j " Yes, - fi'lain!" he said, at last; " it was you who trumped up a false charge against me, through which I was uncostly plundered of mv rights, and banished with ray unfortunate wife from my home, my native land. I have Vearned all, Irom a source on which 1 can fully de- pend,, and doubtless ere this everything is made known in the proper quarter, and your doom sealed. Tremble 1" s " By hell, you accuse me wrongfully, Alberto;" fal- tered " out. Siglsmund ; who did indeed tremble at the words of his biother, and the confident tone in which he spoke them. " Liar! I once more call you!" cried, Alberto. Sigismund again endeavoured to assume an air and tone of haughtiness, as lie replied : — " ' Tis Wt'll for you, Alberto, that you have me now in your nowcr, or you would have reason to repent that word." Alberto laughed scornfully, and then proceeded :— " No doubt, Sigismtind, you thought that I was dead, and that your guilt would remain concealed for ever, but you - will quickly be undeceived, atid it will then be my lorn to triumph." " You will repent this outrage, Alberto," answered his brother, " you will have to answer dearly for it, to " A loud laugh of derision from Alberto, interrupted Sigismund, and the former ejaculated :— " Idiot! ere I have to answer for this outrage, as you call it, you will have to answer for the crimes of which you have been guilty." " And who wiil dare accuse me?" " I will!" " You I— ha '. ha !" " Ay, laugh now, if you can," said Alberto, " for you will have but little causfc, met kinks, by aud by!— 1 tell you that J will accuse you, and " " You accuse me ?" demanded Sigismund, as a thought appeared to Hit across his mind; " are you not an out- law,— a brigand,— a robber ?" " True ; but what has driven me to it .'— Bad it not Tieen for you, I should never have become guilty; but 1 trust I have not proceeded too far to he forgiven." " Never!" ejaculated Sigismund, aud his courage seemed to revive as the idea darted across his brain; " never!— Is not your name a terror to the country?— Haveyoti not been" guilty of crimes at which human nature must shudder, and think you, then, that there is any for- giveness for. you ?" " My hands. were never yet stained by human blood, al- though the tongue of slander has attributed the most fearful deeds to me ;" answered Alberto, with the ut- most coolness; " but you, Sigisniuti'd, I accuse of mur- der!" " Of murder!" repeated Sigismund, and his face be- came paler than ever, and his lips quivered; " of mur- der I" he added, and he fixed a penetrating glance upon i brother. " Yes, of murder," returned the latter, " of the nmr- of my poor wife, my beauteous Elvira." ~' a. s foul and unfounded charge," replied Sigismund ; ot your Wife fly with you i" , could 1 be her murderer ?" he privations we were made to endure 1 conduct, preyed upon her consti- oke. her heart; and therefore do her assassin. For that 1 ismund, and again all the in his countenance, lied Alberto, with a d, " 1 am in your our mercy ; but still, .. ed my blond, you—" _* interrupted Alberto ; but I will have a deeper revenge. Marceline di noni " " Ah ! what of her?" " You forget that she is in my power." " You would not harm her ?" " No." " And how know you her name ?" " From the lips of him whom you attempted to mur- der." " Ah !— Henri le Sange !" " The same ;— you acknowledge the crime, then ?— It was a brave deed, forsooth, for three ruffians to attack a single man." " Does he still live?" " He does." " Confusion '. — How know you that ?" " Because lie is at present an inmate of these caverns," answered. Alberto. " Ah ! spy rival also within your power ?" " Even so. You see I have some little cause to exult; — I did not boast of my triumph without ample reason." Sigismund bit bit lips, and paced the cavi rn with hasty Strides. " Alberto," atlast, he said; " what is your intention towards me, and the beauteous Marceline di Velionl?" " You shall see anon." " You will not bestow her upon my rival ?" " Ah ! have I then found the way to torture you?" cried the brigand chief, and bis looks bespoke his exulta- tion. " You shall be present at their meeting ; no doubt For the present, I leave yon yourself, and I am certain that y" U will he convinced you accuse me wrongfully; and——" " Psha!" interrupted Alberto, with a look of scorn ; " you must kave beeu a most affectionate brother to quietly take possession of the property which belonged to me, and knowing that myself and my poor wife were driven beggars upon the world." " 1 did believe that you had disgraced yourself, and—" " Bah!— a weak excuse!— You knew that the charge brought against me was entirely false, and that it origi- nated in your own brain." £ " By all my hopes, you accuse me of that of which I am not guilty." " It is useless for you to deny it tome, 1 have too power- ful evidence of your guilt, which 1 will shortly produce, to your confusion. But I waste, words with you." " Alberto," returned Sigismund, after a short pause, during which he seemed to be struggling violently with his feelings, and to he trying to assume a tone of as much plausibility as possible; again I tell you that vou wrong me. You know full well that I Was in another country at tlie time when the ckaige was brought against you ; rind, therefore, could nothave had anytking to do witk it." " A weak subterfuge!" exclaimed Alberto, impa- tiently, " but it cannot deceive me." " It is true," answered Sigismund ; " I knew nothing whatever ofthe charge, and when 1 was informed of it, my astonishment and grief " " No more, base, shameless hypocrite," interrupted Alberto, frowning fearfully; " 1 bave not Patience to listen to you." " One question, Alberto," said Sigisinund, eagerly ; " if you knew yourself to be innocent of the charge, why did you take to flight ? Was not that a tacit acknow- ledgment of your guilt?" " No," answered Alberto, " but I knew that the plot to destrov me was so deeply laid, that it would have been' an impossibility fur me to make my innocence apparent, and I, therefore, yielded to the entreaties of my unfor- tunate Elvira, and made my escape." " Would, Alberto, that I could convince you of the utter fallacy of the charge you have brought against me," said Sigisinund; " and also give von an idea ofthe an- guish which your disgrace caused nie, and how 1 tried, but in vain, to discover what had become of you," " Liar! once more 1 call you !" cried Alberto ; " but all you can say will have no other effect, upon me than to meet with Biy utter scorn. But I will listen to you no longer; 1 go to fulfil my promise. Prepare yourself to meet Marceline di Venoni, and your rival, Henri le Sange !" Having thus spoke, Alberto folded bis cloak around him, and fixing upon his disconcerted and guilty biother a mingled look of hatred, scorn, and exultation, he quitted the place in which he wai confined. When he had gone, Sigismund Monterino traversed the cavern with disordered steps, and in a state of the utmost excitement. " Curses,— ten thousand curses light upon this misfor- tune !" he cried. " Alberto living !— I had hoped that he had long since been numbered with the dead. Should he speak the truth, 1 am ruined ; but whether or not, hi: has me iu his power, and will uot suffer me to depart from hence. Here, then, I must remain, to endure his taunts, and to be exposed to his vengeance. Henri le Sange loo, still alive, and here to witness my captivity ! Hy hell! 1 shall go ma- i !— Oil, fool! unguarded, thoughtless fool that I was, not to ascertain whether or not he lived, and thus securely have prevented the. discovery, the disgrace and inlamv which will now, in all probability, be my portion. But still, let me not entirely despair. There is yet hope, unitss Alberto should he sanguinary enough to take my life ; may not the persons who were at the Casino, at the time the attack was made, and who. effected their escape, have guessed into whose hands 1 have fallen, and before many hours have elapsed, the proper authori- ties ; may have sent a party to rescue me. Oh, yes, the idea- is too feasible to be easily scouted, and I will'not en- tirely despair. Besides, it is not likely, brigand as he is, and wiihsthe crimes tit which be is accused attached to his name, that he would make any attempt, as he has boasted, to exonerate his character ttom the charge which rests upon it, well aware as he must be, should he be ac- quitted of the offence through which he had been com-, pelled to flee, that he is liable to capital punishment for the many offences lie has perpetrated since be has been following the lawless course which he now pursues. No, I will not despair, but return his irony with equal sar- casm, and brave his utmost wrath." As the villain Sigismund thus soliloquized, befindea- voured to persuade himself tliathe was prepared to meet his deeply injured brother with fortitude, and to com- bat all that he might bring against him. But Ihe effort was only attended with partial success, and he could not help quailing with fhe consciousness of guilt, when he recollected fhe many rfifuries he had heaped upon Alberto. We will now return to Marceline, and her attendant Marie, who was still suffered to remain with ker, and who, when she had recovered from the terror consequent upou their seizure by the brigands, and the conflagration of the Casino, endeavoured, all that she possibly could, to console M arceline, and to persuade ker tkat their sex would protect them from the insult she apprehended. Tliey were placed in one of the best sections of this subterranean retreat, and everything which the place contained, gave it more of the " appearance of an apart- ment in a gentkmaia's mansion, than abrigand's cavern, and the manner in which it was furnished, combined elegance with taste. Marceline, in fact, was not so ter- rified at her situation as might kave been anticipated, I. 1A 1: i ri i ( rvs Onnnw i r> the basis of those M-( h arcs' institutions, in association with which his JI• medias chiefly attracted public not e-', and will engage future remembrance. With lib. ral ty rarely evinced in such quarters, he invited the mecha- nics of the City to a gratuitous attendance on his lec- tures; aid it was in consequence of their grateful ac- knowledgment, and the benefit that flowed from the practice, that lie was induced, on his removal to Lon- don, to project the foundation of Mechanics' Institutions in the metropolis and throughout the country. Nor was It his time alone that was devoted to this laudable ob- ject— his purse was not less { freely bestowed. We be- lieve he lent £ 3,000, to establish the London Institution in Chaucery lane, and, by a singular coincidence, the members of that body were to meet for the purpose of celebrating its 18th anniversa'ry within a few hours of he pent d when its founder bad ceased to exist. As a medical man, Dr. Blikbeck enjoyed consider- able, practice— much more so than is generally bestowed ou those . given lo scientific or literary pursuits. In personal appearance Or. Birkbeck was a man be- tween 60 and 70 years of age— with a quiet, reflective, beneficent countenance, a venerable and very unpre- tendiug aspect. In his disposition he was mild, and in his deportment unassuming. As a public speaker he acquitted himself witk credit— his ideas were always sound and practical, and conveyed in appropriate lan- guage. These remarks have been drawn from one not accus- tomed to bestow undue praises on a member of the faculty; but, iu the language of Junius—" the pane- geric will wear well, for it has been nobly earned." TO CORRESPONDENTS. Tie title of the new Romance of deep interest, which Kill be commenced in No. 92 of this paper, on the comple- tion of " ERNNESTINE DE LACY, 1' to ill be stated in our next. TheRiddle by W. O., is toe long. > " LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF A MIDSHIPMAN," will not exactly suit. We have no recollection ofthe tale mentioned by W. U. Under consideration :— Answer to " THE STORM KING." We are obliged to " EBEMEZER." " LINES TO SUSAN ;" " STRIKING ANECDOTE OF CON- FIDENCE;" " MELANCHOLY;" " EPIGRAM ;" W. S.; R. F. E.; HORATIO ;" " SPECTATCS ?" J. HOME ; " EMILY;" and J. WHITE, are accepted. " OSCAR OF THE GLE> J," was written by MR. W. STAFFORD, of Redditch. We shall be happy to give insertion to the tale mentioned by MR. T. WHEATLEY, G. COWIE In No. 43. *#* All communications to be addressed ( post paid) to the Editor of THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, 231, High- stfeet, Shoreditch. THE PENNY PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. forske remembered the kind manner in which the bri gand chief had spoken, when he gave directions to his fellows to convey her and Marie to the vehicle, and she considered that she had far le. s to dread from him, than she would have had had she remained in tke power ot tke Duke Mouterino. Her and Marie kad only j tis t began to converse to- gether upon the novelty of ' their situation, when they heard a key turning in the lock of the iron door, and immediately afterwards, a beautiful female made her ap- pearance, and advanced gracefully towards them. It was Ziiella, ( To be continued in our next) MEMOIR OF THE LATE DR. BIRKBECK. The grave caunot be permitted to close over the re- mains of this estimable man, without some tribute of respuct for his worth being paid in the columns of a public journal. He was a Liberal in his politics ; but science i- s of no party : over it aud its votaries the storms of party war and civil strife should alike roll innocuous. The subject of this sketch never allowed party motives to influence the exercise of his benefi- cence; and those who have exerted themselves to ame- liorate the condition of their fellow- men are entitled to commemoration, whatever be their polital or religious creed. Dr Birkbeck was the son of a merchant and banker of considerable eminence at Settle, in Yorkshire, where he was bom in the year 1776. After receiving the usual rudiments of education at a village in the neighbour- hood, during which he displayed a strong inclination for those mechanical pursuits to which be afterwards became so devoted, it was determined by bis friends that he should embrace the medical profession. This choice was, perhaps, to be regretted, for such a pursuit was undoubtedly unsuited to his natural bent. Had he b « en encouraged to follow his own inclination, he might have rivalled the discoveries of Arkwrig'it or Watt. But, unhappily, at this period, and for nearly half a century afterwards, it was customary for every man who bad three sons to bring up one as a lawyer, a second as a medical man, and a third for the church; as if the mental, physical, and moral state of the com- munity could ever be in such a lamentable condition as to afford employment to such a disproportion. After studying his profession in the first instance at Leeds, he removed to London, where he had the good fortune to become a pupil of the celt- bra ed Dr. Baillie, whose friendship he retained until deatk put an end to that illustrious man's career. Afterwards he removed to complete his education in Edinburgh, then in the zenith of that fame as a school of medicine, which, by means of nepotism, mismanagement, and conceit, it has subsequently lost. Here also he had the happiness to form a friendship wilh Brougham, Horner, Jeffrey, Scott, and others of that race, who were then beginning to blaze in the northern capital with a splendi ur such as ils past annals had not seen, and its future are not liktlyiosee. But, while cultivating this brilliant SO' you will eiy. oy the scene , . to ynur reflections; in a short fmc I will see you again. In the meantime; 1 hope you, will enjoy yourself in this I cicty, he did not neglect his scientific pursuits, and in elegant apartment, and reflect with satisfaction upon your these he had made such attainments, that be ore the past deeds, and the reward they are likely to meet with." j 2 » nd year of his age he was appointed Professor of " Stay, Alberto,," iihplored. Sigisinund, his fears over- Natural Philosophy in the Andersonian Institution of coming all that haughty air ol defiance lie had with so . Glasgow. little skill assumed ; " do not leave me thus!— Recollect I It was while in tkis situation that Dr. Birkbeck laid MARVELLOUS THINGS RECORDED OF THE ANCIENTS. Writing Elephants.' — Ctelius Rhodiginus, lib. 12, cap. 3, says, that elephants have baen sometimes known to write. The Sun setting in the Fast.— Herodotus, iu Euterpe, says, that the sun did, two several times, set and hide itself in the east instead of the west. Large Tortoises.— Diodorus Siculns, in book 4, cap. 18, tells us, that the tortoises in the Indian Sea are so large, that the people sail in their shells on the rivers, as well as in little cock- boats. A dumb Man speaks.— Aulus Gellius, lib. 4, cap. 9, says, that tha son of Croesus, born dumb, seeing a sol- dier of the Persian troops about to kill his father, cried out aloud in this manner, " Oil! do not kill the king." A Bull changing his Colour like the Cameleon.— Ma- crobius, lib. 1, cap. 87, describes a wonderful bull in the city of Hermynfa that the people worshipped, which changed his colourevery hour of the day. Double- hearted Partridges.— Theophrastus tells us, lib. 7, cap. 17, that ihe partridges of Paphlagonia have two hearts in their bodies. A Woman becomes a Man.— Pliny says, ( see also Ci- cero de Divinatione) that LHia Cossuiia. being a wo- man, was turned into a man on the day of her marriage. N. B. The author of Tom Jones says, Pliny lies for lying sake,—( Voyage to Lisbon, p. 9.) Large Ants.— Rhodius, lib. 5, cap. IS, says, the anfs in India are larger than foxes. Men whose Hearts have been covered wilh Hair.— Pliny, lib. 11, cap. 3, tells us, that men have been found with their hearts rough or hairy, and he that hath it so is a valiant man, and stoutly disposed, as was eiperimented in the dissection of Aristoihenes, who, with his own hand, slew three hundred Lacedemonians in one hattle. An incombustible Heart.— Suetonius Tranquillus, in his Life of Caligula— and Pliny says the same— if a man dies by poison, his heart cannot be burned, although it be thrown info the tery hottest fire, as was verified by the heart of Germanicus, the fathor of Caligula. Women more modest when drowned than Men.— Pliny tells us, that a dead body in the water, if it be a man, in rising, hath his face upwards towards heaven ; but, if it he a woman, she riseth with her face downward. Some Men walk after their Heads are cut off.— Aver- roes de Med. saith that Ac sate a poor unfortunate pa- tient, who, having his head taken off, walked too and fro for a small whilo in sight of all the people. It is also written of Dionysius Aeropagita, that, after hi' head was smitten off, he walked certain paces. Some say it was a league and more from the place of his exe- cution, St. Denys did the same. A Merman.— Alexander, of Alexandria, declares that, iB his time, he was credibly advertised, that in Epirus, in a river there, a triton resorted thither, and would hide himself in a cave near adjoining, watching till he should see some maiden come along ; whereof, speed- ing at last, lie would seize and carry her along wilh hiin into the sea, and this he did to divers young maidens. The inhabitants being hereof informed, beleagured Ihe place in such sort with spies, that he was taken and brought before a justice, where, being examined corpo- really, he was found to belike a man. He was con- fined, but disliked the provisions offered him, and so died. Petrus Gellius giies this history over again in his Book of Animals. Peacock's Flesh will never corrupt.— This is demon- strated by St. Augustine, when treating of the resur- rection. A talking Ox.— Livy gravely relates, that an ox, in full market, cried out—" Rome, take care of thyself." A talking Dog.— Pliny, in his Sth book, tells us, that a dog spoke when Tarquin was driven from the throne. A talking Rook.— Suetonius says, a rook exclaimed in the Capitol, when ihey were going to assassinate Domitian, " F. sta panla kalos."*- Well done, or all is well. The Brain ofa Phosnix good.— Plutarch gravely says, that Ihe brain of this bird, ( of which there is only one at a time upon the earth,) that lives a thousand years, is a pleasant bit, but apt to occasion the heail- aclie. A Bird that is ils own Physician.— The ibis is the bird wlich, according to the ancients, gives itself a clysfe wilh Us beak. —( See Garth Dispensatory, canto 5, a note.) Hewing Blocks with a Razor.— Livy says, that King Prisons, defying the power of an nngvir, desired him to cut a whetstone in two , wifh a razor as a proof of his magic, which he did I A handsome young Man destroys his Beauty.— Vale- rius Maxinius, 1. 4, c. 5, says, that Spurioa, a young man of Hetruria, was of exquisite beauty ; by this means he allured the hearts of many illustrious ladies without the least design on his part, but, as soon as !> was aware of ( hat, he disfigured his face by inflKjjj,,, wounds. '"• " An old Gentleman who drank no Liquid^ p| iDy jn his Natural History, lib. 7. e. 18 tells of a gentleman, whose Qrfyle was Julius Victor, at Rome, who, having beieu prescribed not to drink largely, in all his old age forlibtt-' fo d ink at all. Ccelius Rhodius tells a similar story of one of tbe Tomacrlli of Naples. A Woman sleeping two Months.— PI it I arch fells us, out of Aristotle, that the nurse of one Timon jised, after the manner of Bome beasts, to lay in a torpid state for two months, after which she revived.— ( Plutarch de Sympt. queest. 9.)' , A Boy losing fifty- seven Years of his Life ly Sleep.— Pliny tells of Epimenides, the Gnostic, who, when a boy, being wearied with heat and fravel, laid himself down in a certain cave, and there slept fifty- seven years; then awakening, he very much marvelled ( like MoUrjailad) at the great changes he obseived in the world.— Pliny's Nat. Hist, lib. 7, cap, 62.) People living to Two Hundred Years.— Pliny, Nat. Hist. 1. 7, c. 2, says, that there is a race of Indians, inhabiiing certain valleys, whe live fo the age of two hundred; that, when young, their hair is while, but blackens as they grow^ old. Sir John Sinclair speaks ofa ioo- salubrloUs valley * hich people are obliged to mo\ efrom for foar of living for ever. Men with Dogs' Heads and Tails, and Fountains of liquid Gold.— Pliny tells of men in India with dogs' heads; others with only only one leg, though perfect Achilles' for swiftness of foot; of a nation of pigmies j of some who lived by the smell; of tribes who had only one eye in their forehead ; and of some whose ears hung down to the ground. — Ctasias, as cited by Pholiui, talks of fountains of liquid gold, and of men wilh tails, in India— true, we ought to remember that Fernando Alarchon, a Spanish voyager, of undoubted credit, saw men with tails on the coast of California ; and that several olhers have seen men with dogs' heads. ' Mtia- boddo rejoiced at this testimony, although Alarcbon tells us that those tails were discovered lo be fictitious j and, we are also assured, that the dog- headed men were found to wear vizards. As to tho fountain of gold, the Indian legends say so metaphorically, and so they are credited as real.— ( Mickle's Lusiad.) The language and even the thoughts of Brutes may be known.— Philostratus, in his Life of Apollonius, says, that ha understood Ihe speech and thoughts of tile bruto creation; and the way he achieved this faculty was, ' according to some, by feeding on the heart, and ac- cording to others, on the liver, of dragons.'—( Berwick's Life of Apollonius, p. 35.) Alexander ihe Great emitting a fragrant Odour. — Qumtus Curtius says, lliat there issued a fragr. m odour from Alexander the Great, somewhat like, we suppose, what we perceive when passing Rigge's, the perfumer's shop. Our Sir Thomas More thought he smelt odor- OHily. The Deliverance from Egypt because the Jews were leprous.— The words of Justin tire, ( lib. 36,) " But when the Egyptians discovered that the Israelites were scabby, Moses was ordered to retire outof Egypt, to prevent tho distemper from spreading." Aud Tacitus ( lib. S) says, " Many authors agree that the Egyptians, having an eruption upon their bodies, King Pfcardoh was commanded, by the oracle of Hammond, which he had consulted, to clear his kingdom of the Israelites, and to drive them out of the land " A pair of pious, though pagan Pigeons.— By the story of the Dodonian oracle, in Epirus, we learn that two pigeons flew out of ( Egyptian) Thebes from ihs temple" of Reins, erected there by the ancient Sacrists ; and that one of these Had eastward into Libia and the De- serts of Africa, and the oth « r into Greece, namely, to Dodou ; and these communicated the divine mysteries to one another, nnd afterwards gave mystical solutions to the devout enquirers. First, the Dodnnlan pigeon, perching upon nn oak, spoke audibly to the people there, that tho gods commanded them " to build an ora- cle or temple to Jupiter In that place, which was ac- cordingly " done. The other pigeon did the like on a hill in Africa, where it commanded them to build another Jupiter Amnion or Hammon. A compact set of Teeth without a Division.— Valerius Maximus says, that the son of Prasias, king of Bithy- nia, instead of separate teeth in the upper jaw, had one solid undivided piece from side to side. A Serpent one hundred and twenty feet long.— The same author says, tbat the arlillery of ReguTtis, had to con- tend wilh, and at length killed, such a serpent by stoning him ; tbe serpent's bide was sent to Rome. A Fish with only one Eye.— Aristotle says, that a thuuny had but one eye, and that one on tbe left side. A Man born Laughing.— Pliny says, ( Nat. Hist. 1. 7, c. 16,) that Zoroaster laughed the sattie day wherein he was bdrh ; and that tbe brain of this young philoso- pher so panted aud beat, that it would raise up the hands of those who laid them on his head, anil which Plltly pronounces an excellent presage of the great learning Zoroaster attained to. A Triton caught.— Patlsanias relates a wonderful story of a monstrously large one, which came ou shore in the meadows of Bocetia. Over his head was a kind of finny carlilage, which, at a distance, appeared like hair; the body esvered with brown scales ; and ndse and ears like the human; the moufh of a dreadful width, jagged wiib teelh, like those of a panther; thet eyes of a greenish hue; the hands divided into fingers, the nails of which were Crooked, and of a shelly substance. This monster, whose extremities ended in a tail, like d dolphin, devoured both men and beasts as they chanced in his way. The citizens of Tanagra at last contrived his destruction, They set a large vessel full of wine, on the sea- shore : Triton got drunk with it, and fell into a profound'sleep, in which condition the Tanagrians beheaded him, and, afterwards," wilh great propriety, hungup his body in fhe temple of Bacchus; where, says Pausanias, it continued a long time.—( Mickle's Lusiad.) F'Ve hundred thousand Wi'd Beasts killed in ihe Colos- seum.— Historians say, that on the first day of the open- ing of the Colosseum, at Rome, Titus produced five hundred thousand wild beasts, which were all killed in the arena. . An Earthquake rent only to be closed by a Man Oh Horseback jumping in.— Livy and olhers authenticate tho story of Martius Curtius, when a falling in of the earth took place in tbe Forum, at Rome, the sooth- sayers discovered lhat it would never close until some valuables were thrown in. Curtius, therefore, rode into the gaping gulph on horsebai k, as a seif- devoted victim, '• which soon after closed itself upon him." Colossill Hones.— St. Augustine lelis us, that he found on the sea- shore, near Ulica, a fossile human tooth, which was a hundred times the size of tha tooth of any person living. Pliny sajs, that by an earthquake in Crete, a part of a mountain was opened, which disco- vered a skeleton sixteen cubits, or twenty- four feet long, supposed ( o be that of Orion. At a much later period, Kirclier tells as of a skeleton dug up neat Rome, which, by an inscription attached to it, was known lo be that of Pallas ( slain by Turrius), and was higher than the walls of the city. The same author tells us, that another skeleton was found near Palsrmo, lhat must have belonged to a man four hundred feet high ! Another Polyphemus, we suppose. After all, the ancients deal less in the marvellous than the miracle- mongers of ihe middle ages. Xor is this short history presented to depreciate them : we are to sift from their writings the credible from what is not so. The treasures thoy have bequeathed to us are beyond estimate : their labours have occupied and de- lighted countless millions now gone to " that bourne from which no traveller returns," and will continue to charm and instruct myriads of mortals yet to appear upon this planet. Jack, a little more than half seasov< r, stepped into a gentleman's trout door, and on walking up the hall ivas asked by the lady nhst he ivnhjd. ' I hep yi nr pardou ma'am," Baid Jack—" I though it was a mee— meet- m: ei'„. nciusf I" Wiethe fetnfj, e3 ot ! he pVesr„ t day like thelillyin ths scrip rear oecat' rt thav tr. ii mnt Ii. itlme rln sriin. cot Snlnmnn lure hi ail his f' Me they toii not, neither do they spin ; yet Solomon, '^' CST- was riot arraytnl like one of: those.' . - c Wiity tilings are attributed to Cromwell than he appears to '"- s eatltied to; for Cowley says that " Cromwell did not lears be- hind him the memory of one wise or witty apothegm, evea among his domestic servants or greatest flatterers.'' A HOPEFUL BABE.— A fellow who had grown so tall that he could not stand up out of doors, and said to be so thin in the face that there oould but one person look at him at a time. THE FORESTERS. A TALK. BY ROBIN HOOD. ( Concluded from our last.) It was evening before he returned. The house of the old . baron was l'ghted up, and again were the joyema faces of Robin and hia merry men beaming forth with mirth and happiness. Little John, who had been absent all the day, and who had not yet. returned, caused some little uneasiness on the part of Robin Hood, but he was soontreiiev « d from that by the arrival of his comrade. " Holloa! holloa! John, my lad," said Robin, laughing, " you have missed all the sport; we have had a glorious day's bunt- never saw a finer stag in ali my life, and the dogs ran most elsganU ly. But what— what makes you look so down to- night? What has happened? Take a cup of this good old sack, it will comfort you." " No, no, master, ' twill not comfort me. No, nor can any other remedy comfort me until I have gained back to ma my lovely Louisa. You must know, I have long, loved a beautiful angel, who resides in Wakefield. She. returned my love with ali the ardour with which I wooed her, and she made me happy with the thought of eur future bliss. But; alas ! she has fallen a victim to M'Dorff, the bandit, and she Is now either dead or— but no. I dare not enter- tain sueh an idea. Her father has promised her hand to the youth who will restore her to her home; and will you hut assist me, my dear master and comrades, I know I shall be that haprayouth." •• Aye, aye, willingly," replied Robin ; " we will b r^- ge him in the morning, aud on the nearest tree shall M'Dorff hang, th^ re to feed the crow and raven," " What noise is' that ?" said the baron, at this moment, when many voices ware heard outside. *' Ah! ah!" replied Robin!"' tis Will Scarlet and theremainder of our comrades. Holloa! holloa! Welcome, my boy, bring in your flock." , , ,, Immediately Will . Scarlet entered, along with thirty other bold foresters; and never did the hall and the baron appear more gay than when they were sat around a large blazing fire. A. senile wits diffused over every eounUnance, and merrily was that ev'^ ri ng spent. " Now for the parting glass for this evening," replied the baron, " and success to your undertaking to- morrow; and when Litt'. e John weds his Louisa, let tha weddlcg- feast be here, and every one of his comrade* 1 must be present, and that day shall be kept in dancing, singing, eating, drinking, and nothing shall be spared in my m ins ion that can make all happy.'* " And now,' said Robin Hood, " I propose the health of the baron, and long may he live." " Aye, aye/' said every voice; ** the health of the baton, and long may he live." In time all the hail, which feat a few hours before had sounded iri every part with the merry voices of so many souls, was now ailent. They had all retired to rest, and the unhappy forester, Little John, followed their example, but it was not for rest, for during that night he never closed his waary eyes. He conjured the beautiful fotrii of Louisa in his m'nd in various horrible shapes. Som- ftlmeB he sees her laid pale and wan— a corpse. Again he sees her in the grasp of the ruffian bandit, and he, with uplifted arm, about to sttike the bloAV of death whilst she is crying aloud the name of her lover to her assistance; and again he sees her struggling on tha ground, " with the last death wound," breathing forth a prayer for him she loved so dearly* At length the long wished- for morning arrived, Little John was the first who arose from his cotich, and prepared everything as well as. possible for the departure to tbe bandit's cave, a « d soon all were ready. " We need but halt our men," said Little John. " Well, but, perhaps, they'd like the treat of seeing M'Doiff suspended twenty yards in the air,' saidRob'n. as a lotfd fit of laughter burst from the foresters, accompanied by—" yes— yeS.'* " Well— well," said Little John/" I hope, too, they will be well gratlfitid." They now started on their jotlrney, and reached Sandal Comnnn as the sun was just beginning to dispel the dew from the branckea of the trees, and seemed wishful to cheer the heart of Little John,. Not^ a soul was to be seen stirring on that wide expanse of heath. " Very likely,' observed Will Scarlet, " they are yet asleep, or their senses overcome by retell j ; but they may depend they'll find something to sober them." " Now, my comrades," replied Robin, " as Will Scarlet says, we'll sober them— so we will; Little John and 1 will go together, and leave you in this valiey, as I know the way to the mouth of the cave j and We will return to you immediately; but-, mark me well, comrades, should you here me blow this horn, fly immediately to our asnistance. for we shall then be in danger." So saying, the two foresters left their comrades and proceeded towards the robbers' fortress. They had not far to go, and were soon at the cave. They walked up to the door and listened atten tively a minute. " Who's there ?" replied a voice therein. " By Heavens we're discovered,' said Robin Hood, and he im- mediately applied the horn to his mouth, and blew a shrill blast. Immediately an alarm was given amongst the robbers, who armed themselves. The door would only admit of one to pass out at once* and Robin Hood observing that, immediately scUed an irame ise club, which he sWung with the greatest ease. As soon as the bandit had aMost come out, he Was struck a severe blow on ttia head with the club of Robin, which brought him to a parallel jvltn the ground. Another was making hi « appearance, when he was served In the like manner. By this time Will SC irlet arrived at the \ head of the foresters, all of whom were clad in green, and pre- sented a beautiful sight on that wild heath. « ' Now let them come out, if they dare," said Little John. " Dare," said the bandit chief, who had caught the sound of the Words; " dare, said ye, Js green devils ? Come, men, eome, we'll show them whether we dare, or not." e' Comrades," said Robin, " do not pull a string or strike a blow until the whole band are come otit, and we'll give thtm fa. ir play." They now came out one by one, a5 Robin Hood counted their number. " One," said Robin, " two, three, four, five, six, seven, el^ ht, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen." " Men," shouted the bandit chief, " they surpass us in number ; nevertheless, We wiil chew the dirty cowards we will stand against them.'' " Holloa'holloa! M Dorff," said Robin Hood; " did I not tell thee Robin would come aud unearth ye some day? ah ! ah ! ah 1 But ye shall have fair play, and it's more than ye deserve, bloody mon- sters. There are fifteen of ye. Mow, my comrades, let me haye fourteen of ye here, and I will fight myself.'' Little John, Will Searlet, and twelve, others, came forward. " Now," said Robin, " we're r.* ady.-' " Stay," rettirned Little John; " I undertake to fight that mon- ster of the heath hand to hand myself." " Come on! come on!" said the bandit captain, in a ragej V I am ready to receive thee, thou forest demon." The battle now btgui to rage, curses and imprecations fell from the lips of the bandit captain, as he fought lika a tiger with his " Retire a pace or two," said Robin tfood; " I see they use pis- tols; you, then, my men, use your bows. Cnoose out each your mati, and giva each an arrow in Ills breast." They all fetired for about twenty paces, excepting Little John and M'D > rff, who were wafrtily engaged. Their steel clattered as their swords niet, and told that each was determined to fight to the last: meanwhile Robin Hood shouted aloud to his ! hens-^ " Now, my bold lads, lot your arrows fly." Immediately a thick shower of arrows covered the foe. Eacti bandit was pierced to the heart, and e^ ch one was groaning be- neath his wound. " Ah!, ah P' satd Robin, " 1 knew w?,. could soon lay them low." Little John wha was engaged with his foe, gave a glance to- wards the place of slaughter, and seeing that all the bandits were destroyed, he collected together the whole of his strength, and With one blow, shivered to atoms the sWotd of his foe* " Monster !" said Little John, " I will not allow thee to die like a man— no, I have reserved for th: e thy fate— thou shalt hang like a dog ; seize him, comrades." " Now, Sir M'Dorff, did I not tell ye that; Robin Hood and his toga would be down upon ye some day." The bandit said not a word— he was pale With rage— his llpa quivered— and he trembled ffrdm limb tollmb. " Now," said Little John, placing the muzzle of a pistol to hjg head; " go dewu into that dungeon, and tell me, devil, where that maiden is ye stole— come on, sir,— on— or the next moment shall sea ye in eternity.'' The bandit descended through the door into the cave, followed by Little John, Robin Hood, and Will Searlet, and several other foresters. As soon as he had crossed the floor, he opened a door at the farthest extremity of the cave and entered. Little John fol- lovved closely With a light. The bandit as toon as he had got through, Snatched a da^ er fjom his belt which he had had concealed, and Said,—" Wench, thou It die to- day Instead of to- morrow." He w. is about to makes rush upon the unfortunate victim, when he was seized by little John around his arras and waist. The maiden gave a shriek and swooned. " Here, comrades!" said Little John, " seize this ruffian and bind his hands." He then ran to the assistance of his beloved Louisa, and delighted lie was to see that she was still living. " Will Searlet,'' said Little John, " pray stay and assist nli with this lovely creature j reach a little water if there is any within this place.'' Will Scarlet looked around and found seme water, which he took to his comrade, and sprinkled the pallid face of the unhappy girl with it. I " Here is seme brandy,'' said Will, " it may be of service to ' her,* " Aye, aye, lend me it. * After having taken a little brandy, she gradually revived, and soon, to the great satisfaction of Little John, she found out under whose protection she Was. A sweet smile played across her countenance, and she gazed on her handsome preserver. " Ah Kshe said, " I knew I am safe ; it Is my lover." " Yes, lovely Louisa, you are, indeed, now safe, and for ever I hope We shall live happy.!' She soon recovered, as she was able to walk; and had not the bandits been destroyed on lhat very day, probably the life of the poor Louisa would have been sacrificed; for it was in vain, either by entieaties or threats to win the beautiful Louisa over to his pur- pose. She firmly determined to await her death. In the meantime Robin Hood and the remainder of the foresters led the terrible bandit forth from the cavern to the place of execu- tion. His hands were tied behind him. and a rope tied round his neck. Then one of the foresters climbed up a h'gh tree, and placed the rope across a thick bough. It suspended within the reach of the spectators; ali eagerly snatched at it, and in a few moments he was suspended high in the air, and there he hung as lood for the crow and magpie, until n< thing but a mere skeleton remained. Soon with a joyous heart the beautiful Louisa was conveyed heme by her preserver and IpVer, little John, who claimed her as ' itis bride; and, without the least opposition, the father of the fair girl consented to the marriage. - The happy pair were united In tha ho y bands of matrimony, and the bridal feast w is kept at the old baron id I hall at Walton, with great mirth, and afforded much plea- sure to the old baron himself; and nuny Wire the long years of happiness enjoyed by this handsome couplo. Leeds, October, 184l' R. H. B— it. THE PENNY STJNiJAY TIMES AND PEOPLES'] PO& fCfi GAZETTE: MEMOIRS OF MADAME LAFARGE, WRIWEN BY HERSELF. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH EXPRESSLY FOR THIS WORK. u You are In pain?" I said to him. Then involuntarily, under the influence of my malice, I added,—" might that also be through transfer, and for M. de V ?" He looked at me with astonishment. and hastily replied :— * « Might this marriage displease you? Be candid,. I beg of you, and pardon me my egotism, in wishing to retain you in our forests for our's and for Felix's happiness. ' • ... - , . ; ' « « M. deV might, doubtless, appear amiable to me, if he was willing to try to be so by himself." Thus you punish him for choosing me for interpreter?" • « No $ but I should have believed, sir, that you thought, a little less like everybody, and that after having told we, some days g >, of your disgust with the melancholy and Immoral speculation mat 6 m- ide of marriage,-. you would have abstained from making your- self it's apostle, and from cliooslRg. me for the purpose of your ex- periment?" - You don't wish to be ever married ?' I dont wlah for an end without a beginning. I wish to be loved seriously before giving away all my life, all iny heart, and all my will." 41 Pardon— thrice pardon. I knew you to be amiable, intelli- gent, but I was atraid you might Have common sense." " And rit. w you doubt it?" " I now esteem In you what pleased me." I pardoned M. C—- the wrong he had done me, and the un- pleasantness it had caused me, by Imposing on him tha penance of perfect frankness, and the obligation to give himself much mote tr uble to prevent this marriage, If it did not suit me, than he had given himself to make it succeed without my consent. He told me that M. de V • had the character of being loyal, generous, but vlelent and despotic; that he wished to marry, to have a wife, for tune, a iaore agreeable position; that ' lie heart had no weight in those arrangements, and that M. de V had for several years entertained a passion for a woman of the world he was but Im- perfectly cured of. " 1 am, perhaps, wrong," added M. C ,44 to avow all this to you. To repair an inconsistency, I am betraying Felix. Your nappiness is become so precious to me, that I am perhaps, unjust and partial. Speak of it to M. Elmore j believe h'. m rather than me : afterwards your will be done." M. G asked me again how I had been kind enough not to Jjhare all the prejudices entertained against him in the World, and If it was through ignorance of his crimes, or through goodness of disposition', 1 had been so frankly amiable with him during our long ride with my uncle. I owned that 1 Was ignorant of none of the accusations that pursued hUn; and that, far from having beer, frighttned at them, like the others he inspired me with a confi- dence a* great as the youog man most estimably " comme il faut." " Oh! thank you, thank you," he said to me. " Interest and pleaiure attract many yourg men to me, but I have not one friend. I am believed to be very foolish, very wicked, very extravagant; 1 am, above all, very wretched, and I reckon more pains than faults in my life." *• Marie, give up the piano to your aunt," my grandfather came and said to mej " she will have the goodness to play while you dance, and you know that enlivens my old thoughts.' * 4. You are going to danoe?'' whispered M. C to ma. " I must. A young lady to marry ought to shew off all her little advantages. It s your fault." " And you will dance with me?" " No ; M. de V Is coming this way, and I read in my grand- father's eyes that I must accept him. Take out one of my cousins." M. de V—- was perfectly silent ; and his system of amiability by proxy was so strictly followed, one would have said he had even cha'ged his friend with looking at me, and making me blush be- neath his glance. At the moment of departure, M. C begged me to confer with M. Elmore, and to dictate my orders to h in ihrotfjjh that friendly Interpreter. When I next day spoke to M. Elmore of tnis marriage, I found him as averse to advising me to it as he the day before was im patient to see it accomplished. He told me the same as M. C— that M. de V—- had but little fortune, a character too despotic to ally Itself with mine, and an actual passion, which was a secret to none of his friends. He persuaded me to give a refusal; and it Was agreed between us that he should charg* himself along with M. C , with giving the " coup de grace" tu the plot, without my having to brave the will of my grandfather and the imperative ad- vice of my aunts. In December my aunt received a visit, from her father, the Count de Montaigue. His friends said he Was an original; his enrmies said he was——; I have, doubtless, forgot what; but no matter I am one ot his friends, and I ohly found in him a lion cf sixty, perfectly kind and amiable. M. d& Montaigu had established his pehates at the Opera, had obtained letters of naturalization on the soil of the Royal Academy of Music, and during forty years never m'. ssed a single representation. My aunt's two brothers accompanied their father. The eldest, who was much talked of; Was a perfection of talent. 4 and virtues; the second, W. io was nevar mentioned, was a savage and noble young man, who h id engaged, as a soldier, to win his epaulettes with the good blade of his sabre— who intrepidly brtk? in the wildest horse, and blushed before a woman, even before a young girl. In a few days after this visit, my uncle had the glory to ba a father, and I remained a whole hour with him ly my auut's bed- side. CHAPTER XXIV, \ RKTiriiNKD to Paris very late in the season of balls, of plea- sures; and my aunt Gat& t, always kind, wishing to initiate me a little in that life of the World and of fetes, presented me to those ot her friends Who saw company. The society of my aunt consisted of the mbBt elegaat Women of the Chaussee d Autin, of bankers, of exchange agents, of men, Wearisome enough, but a- la- itode. Gold is certainly not a chimera in that part of the world ; being the a m or the means, the com- mencement or the end of all things, it was found in every mouth, Upon every forehead, and with it many women created for them- selves wit, grace, beauty. The pride of wealth Is still more in- tolerable than the pride of ancestry; to cover oneself with the shade of one's progenitors; to make ourselves great, vittuous, powerful, is, doubtless, a mistaken pride j bnt to cover ourselves with gold, and till up with crowns all the emptiness and nullity of one's person, is even not to have the idea ot what makes man a noble and powerful creature. There were, however, some exceptions amongst those gilt divi- nities. Amidst others, Madame de Vatry, full of grace, fu 1 oi mind, full of talent; Madame Wells, who possessed a goodness of heart quite as graceful as her beauty, and Madame the Countess Lehon, who was an adorable and a very adored Woman. I saw Marie de Nicolai no more, and even rarely obtained per- mission to go and pass a day at Madame de Montbreton's., Thus, aftei having loved so much, I was without a friend; and during three months I had so much pleasure, that I did not suffer from this complete void, and 1 lived Without exchanging a thought that was not a thought of ba is or pleasure. Two young persons shared in my life ; Madem - iselle G——, amiable, pretty, who talked marvellously of the yesterday's bull and of th-. t for the morrow; Mademoiselle M , with wnomT in- dulged in visions of the future- and of husbands; but husbands, according to the world, husbands beloved and desired as pre- cursors of nnntial presents, cashmeres, . Jewels, settlersen. tsj iude- ptndc- nee, aud pleiiufeflj . .. , . After aOme wearisome balls, In which, knowing no one, I had the honour of dancihgonly at the request of my aunt, or the lady of the house, and with partners disagreeable enough to be . com- plaisant, I Was taken to charming, Where I amused myself with all the enthusiasm and all the vivacity of my character. At the prayer of Madame Weils, who was to give a magnificent fancy ball ou the day of mid- lent, my aunt arranged a quadrille, and we had Uie pretension to dancc a pas of the ballet of Gus- tave. Our lessons of. Styrian graces created us a whole mouth of pleasure. Mademoiselle Gautier forming one of the quadrille, all the rehearsals took place in her mother's grand apartments, who was still impregua'ed with the remembrance; of her pretty balls, and always full of h r Bordelfds, intelligent, amiable, and indefa- tigable dancers. The soiredi ot Mademoiselle Gautier had an all peculiar aspect, which partook a little of the grace with which she did the honours of them, and a great deal ot the freedom, of the cordiality, of the gaiety, natural to the meridional young persons of both sexes who crowded there. Madame Alexis Dupont and M. Mazllller had charged themselves with rendering us aerial Styrians as much as possible. The'lirst attempts were discouraging, intolerable ; We then improved a little, were next tolerably graceful, and, at length, deserved the entire approbation of our illustrious masters ; and when the great day, or rather the brilliant night, arrived, set off in our . pretty cos- tumes, we met with complete success, bravoa, and flatterers. All these pleasures ceased with Lent; and to those days, ani- mated by the remembrance of past fetes, and the hopes of fetes to come, succeeded all solitary and all unoccupied days. I scarcely saw minutes in the twenty four hours, for her visits begin At noon, and she passed her evenings at the theatre, or at r- rWSlif/ lerlVsY- 1 by the hand down the loftg* a^ f! nu> my child, and I fancied- that everybody- env'ed-- me- my love y ar g^ l thatT was doublya woman and doubly worthy of r* sp? ct. ' One day, when I had my gcv. eful decoration jn my hand, Gabrielle gently pnlltH my sleeve,- saying— " Listen, then, to that tali gentleman; he says I am quite a little cherub." I saw in effect a young man a few paces behind, who, while following us, locked with an eye ol admiration and with smiles at my little treasure. I so pie time after met Gabrlelle's admirer at the Louvre in-, the grand gallery, and he followed us, as before, to the Bank gate. Next day, the following* days, the same meeting ; if we went into a shop he was waiting for us in the street ; if we turned the- corner ofa street, he did the same with indefatigable patience. His look sever quitted me -, if I smiled, he smiled ; and if I looked sad, hia eyes anxiously interrogated me ; while mine, which at first sought for our unknown through curiosity, soon accustomed . themselves to find h'ra, turned no mire away to avoid a mutewelcome, no* the sorrowful adieu he addressed to Mi wheu the heavy g* te of the hptel was being put to. It was a diversion my ennui accepted without reflection, and that my v. iuitywas very glad of. The figure, the walk, the features of our unknown, infallibly announced a gentleman. Tail, genteel, pale enough tc imagine he had- aome^ HV, comprehended sorrow, or, at least, some slight pul- monary affection, having expressive eyj » s,„ varnished boots, and yelloW gloves of the most fash'onable shade. He had been declared a verv honourable cavalier by our old English governess, who, far from being uneasy at these meetings sail that Ih* yourg ladies in her country began the romances of their marriage the « i> ma - way; and shtw- id herself flattered to h ive a pupil who deserved " the attentions of this noble gentleman." CHAPTER XXV. THESH little romantic meetings, the remembrance of which came to enliven my weary thoughts, being ho mystery, and made rather ridiculous, by thS expressions and the definitions of our im- piudent gjvernass, would have remained very innocent and without danger, if, at the same time, a romance had not fallen into my hands— a romance written with heart, with eloquence, that made a lively impression on me Jn that book full, of interest, the hero, Anatole, follows everywhere the woman he loves, Baves her life, gives her proofs of the most, delicate— the most impassioned l& ve; writes to her, makes himself beloved by her Without seeking to come near her, without atteiiiptin.? to speak to her. After five or six hundred pages, after Anatole Is adored, rt « t only by her he loves, but also by those Who read hifc letters, it is discovered that he is deaf and dusttb. They weep, tliey would still be weeping, if she did hot marry him, it they were not perfectly 1 appy, thanks to the Abbe Sicard, who teaches the language of signs to the lovely and noble friend of the hero. How shall I dare to say I was mad enough to dream that my unknowu w is deaf and dumb, that 1 wished him that misfortune, that I tried to Spy out its symptoms in his countenance, in his melancholy, in his eyes! He. being unable to comprehend the enquiring solicitude of my look, showed himself happy at meeting1 with it so often j and, after following its for two hours, he then stopped twb hours longer under the ' Windows of my aunt's saloon. He came one Sunday to pray by us in the chapel of Calvary at Saint- Roche: on the following Sunday he was there again. On going out he offered th * old governess holy water, then to me; and when my glove had lightly touched his to take the drop oi holy water, I saW him respectfully put his glove to his Hps, and return me thanks in a happy look. I was accustomed to frequently carry my aunt roses and violets, which I purchased for that purpose at a florist's in Vivienne pas- sage, My shadow sometimes stopped there near me, and gene- rally put one of the flowers I had touched, when choosing mine, into his button hole. One day, when he had preceeded us by some minutes to the pretty florists, she presented me with some sprigs of admirable white roses. " What beauties!" I eiclaimed. 14 t believe you want to tempt and ruin me." " Oh," she replied, " give . me what, you will for them, but keep thjm. I want you to g ve me a handsel this morning, it will bring me luck for the whole nay.' Without waiting for my answer, she put a piece of tissue paper round them; and I carried my bouquet aWay with an inexpressible sentiment of Vague expectation that I dared not avow to myself that I couldn't explain, and which, however made me blush whan I met the radiant look of my unknown fixed upon my roses. On arriving In my chamber, I immediately broke the thread that held th « flowers aud a small piece of paper fell up# n the floor, which I picked up and hastily read. It was a declaration, flowery words, that told me I was loved— passi-' tiately loved, and for life* I thought 1 was dreaming, and crushed the note in my hand to be sure I was awake. I looked at myself in the glass to see if i was prettier since being adored; in short, 1 was rather crazed, and, notwithstanding ffiy wish to enter collectedly into this grand phasis of my life, I jumped with joy like a child, and I read again, then again,— then once more all the charming exaggerations I had inspired, I avow J had pot for ope instant the prudent UloUghl of ihowlag my note to my aunt or my goVefness. I knew 1 w** doing wrong, bnt my imagination quickly drove that salutary i. dea away to Whisper me 111 it made me distfy, that t Was twenty years old, that 1 was an orphan, that I was my own mistress i I passed the who'e of the night avhlke, Wishing to reflect seri ously upon the conduct I ought to pursue; but wlthotit finding a single reflection that had not been adulterated and falsified by that rapid transition from ennui to exaltation, from a void to the daz That was hot all. My letters were afterwards read aloud ; and, when thin cooly read were most inexpressibly stupid and ridicu- ' OUS. " Then, aft", r that t. nr'ure, liberty was given cm- to retire and indulge In'' myr*( J! lt& » y'• refi'- rctiohs,. wh1ch were'' hofrlbfy m'elancij'oly, painful; and maddening ! Ml de Pourc « auquae; the Malads ima- ginaire ( characters in Moliere) rose up around me like threatening phantoms. I would, without hesitation, have marrried a well- informed peasant, a honest mechanic; but to niarry a druggist, and without love!— it was enough to break one's heart. For- tunately my grandfather came in secret to abridge my anguish. He confided to me that this marriage was only a fable to serve me a . lesson? that my imprudence had been easily repaired, and that' the young hero, on learning I was an orphan, and by no means heiress to the bank of France, had very willingly renounced his eternal love. CHAPTER XXVI. I HAD undergone too many aad anri profound enictlopg to sup- port them withou - giving'way. On the very evening of these pain- fully ridiculous' scenes I remained six hours insensible; I had two violent attucks of intermittent fever, and . returned to life With nervous pa'fis' that ' made it! e shriek' aloud, These flpa'shis occa - sioned me to pass all i> iy nights Without sleep, and brought on a vague, feverish, insurmountable d'piession of spirits during the time of the crisis. I passed near three months in that state ; and during those three months the moat affectionate attentions ware lavished on me by miy fam. ly, by my friends, by our good peasantry. The finest fruit, the sweetest flowers were for ine; and the young girls of the vil- lage disputed with Lalo the right of sitting up a*. ight by my bed- side. The Count Ch came to make his annual vi » at the mo- ment Wh? n I was still very 111. I passed my days, lying on a cano- pied couch, under the tali elms on the lawn. He was brought to me, and appeared greatly affected at the change he perceived in me. He enquired after my sufferings with affectionate solicitude, he was to have given us hilt an hour; h » remained the whole day, and was punctiliously attentive, and on going away, M/ Ch spoka of his return, and demanded permission to send and en- quire after my health. The visit you announce to me will it count for next year ?" said my grandfather to him, laughing. " I, no longer count," he replied,? aeriously, and turning towards me* In effect, not a fortnight passed without bringing M. Ch— back to fillers Hellon. He always came when Ws had no visiters — occupied himSelf particularly whh me— sought for the subjects of conversation that seemed to interest me— brought me books, reviews, poetry;— in short, he knew so well hoW to diveft my at- tention, that it was permitted him not to kavfc my couch or arm- chair, to shade me from a sun ray, a too tharp air, to save nie from' a melancholy thought, a painful emotion. When autumn brought back the vacations, pleasures— when we had letes, numerous parries, and my health was better, our new friend's visit were more rare. He resumed his former habits ot reserve, of savageness, aud thoughtfulneis, augmented by a re- markable eagertless to aveid me. This change made me unhappy, and I soon Wanted to know the cause of it. Have 1 involuntarily displeased you?" I. one evening asked him. " Must one be ill to obtain a word from you, to be worthy of your attention ?' " What need have you of me? Are */ m not surrounded with friends J" " That may be, but you had the kindness to amuse me when I was suffering, and I would wish to repay you when you seem un- happy. You refuse, We are quits j let's spe » k of it no more." " Oh ! yei— listen to me," he said. " I esteem you with all my heart; your friendship, your confidence, your counsels, wauld be my dearest treasures; but 1 fear for you the calumnies of the world, which I wilMngly brave for myself. I fear that my friend- ship, which ought to honour you, may expose you to stupid and ridiculous suppositions. My refutation is very bad, I fear——" " Couldn't you ehange your manner of life a little?" " Are you acquainted with niy life, then ? ' " Yes. I know you have fi lends who ar « destroying you— specu- lations which are ruining you— principles that persons repeat quite low, and that you avow quite loud." " And then ?" " And then ?— is not that enough? ' " But I have more than that, mademoiselle. I have in my house a female, who Is not my wife, who has quitted her husband to fol- low me." " Poor fallen creature! I pity her." " Rather pity me. She is happy, and I am wretched.*' " That is to sny, then, that she is contemptible, and that you are weak." " Are you willing to convert me— to save me— to be a friend to me?" ( To be continued in our next.) W T* 9* HF mm the house, of her intimate lrlerids. I endeavoured to re « ume th. . todie. null oeeup « lon » which had I), en » o ea « y to me In for. mer year., but could only half succeed. 1 attempted to call re- collections to my aldi I was not more fortunate. Some vague llgures did glide into the memory of my Imagination, hut they wir « danclDg, whirling about; none of their word, could be re- peated without accompaniment; they wjre friends of ill-, grand orchestra The joyB ot this world, which hold neither to the heart uor to the thought, leave al: er thern a void, a discourage- ment an intolerable di. satlsfacllon with ourselves and others. I have already said th. it our days were sad. I shall say, more over that they were all ahke. A walk lor my health, talten at two lu th - afternoon, under the guard of an old and grumbling fcng- llsh governess ; a soli( 5e, during which my couslu and myseli yawned without daring to spuali, tor fear of Increasing our ennui, and . onie counsels given us by our Argus under the toruioUermom. What a dull existence! And then, wh le we w.- re umlergoli g It at Paris the trees at Vlllers Hellon were puuu g orth pl- etty lilt e irreen leaves- the violets were springing u>, numble arm per- fumed between tile m> ss aud meadow gras,— the ulrds were sing- lng - th « butterflies again coming into life, to flutter over the sweet fluwers of the peach and nlm ind trees. The Pleasures ofthe winter had fatigued and put > iy imagina- tion to sleep • it awike In the solliude and silence still more extor- tionate than during the put; It demanded of n-. y hsai t who were its r ends? — It no longer had any i it demandud ot niy reason to- wards what e . d it was progresiing, and my reason was silent as mv heart Then the powerful despot maud for lt-, elt vis on « ol haoDliiess of loves, despite reality, prudence. « » <• eve", sometimes, o. will A sole gracelut; poetical, charming little be. i- g smiled on mv isolation, end m ide me forget it. It *- a » G.. b letic, my aunt Oarat's second ctild, a llltfe feirl and little angel, three years old, who was the joy anil the piide other mother. One ot my greatest happluesses w. s to obtain permission to take Uabrfelle along with nie In my morning promenades. I then made her more elegant than usual i I myaelt curled her flaxen and silken hslr. I assumed o proud aud maternal gravity, and, leaving the nurse and governess some paces beh. ni me, I led htr s'aie nf a first love letter! However, that I m'ght not ex- pose myselfto let him read in my eyes that I had been happy and pleased w ith the little audacious aad burnitg letter of the pre- ceding day, I pretended, at the hour for walking oat, to have a violent pain in the head; but 1 could not resist the curiosity uf leaning out of the window, aud his eyes saluted my look ! I had put on a stern and d: g, rifled air ; but one of his ' roses, forgotten in ray sash, destroyed its effect. The expression ( Jf triumph and success, the sight of that flower, Impressed on ihe countenance of my unknown, wounded my pride, and 1 resolved to punish him for it. Atl that day, and all the next I renounced, not only the recreation of walking out, but even of looking from the window— or, at least, I hid niy head ao well behind the folds of the curtain that If I should see Him he couldn't perceive me. Ou the third day, alter remaining a very long time, and very use- lessly, In my silken hiding place, I went to the window l he was not there— he came not. I went to take my customary walk, forced to go through the long avenues of the Tulleries alone, wearied as before. He had forgot me, as by my conduct I h id ch& llenged him to do. His indifference made ma dull, melancholy, wretched j It seemed to me I was going to remain alone upon the earlh, that God had placed but one loVe in my life, and that 1 was condemned to be loved no more, to remain with regrets and without hope. When, a week afterwards, having lost all hopes, 1 again saw him sad, pale, and wretched, looking towards my window, I was foolish enough to grant the mute prayer that solicited ine for an answer, to write to him that I had suffered from h s forgetfulness, and th it i had doubted ot the affectiou that he had offered me. His an- swer was lull of p-. ssion and gratitude; lie gently slipped It into my hand after a long walk made, aa before, at ten paces distant from each other, The lovely month of May arrived : we sometimes went with my aunt to the offices of Ihe Virgin, he also came to pray with me, anil we met every day In the Tulleries. Twice did the admliable accents of Duprtz make our hearts beat in unison ; little notes concealed in a ilower, or exchanged in the street, prepared these fywkzvous of our looks. I sometimes, also, opened the window, and sung him the alts I sung the best. All the month passed away In this quiet manner; then came the departure lor Vlllers- Hellon. It was impossible for me to receive his letters there: he himself was going to travel. His look swore to love rite always— mine pro. mised not to forget him. I don't kn iw if lie was very unhappy, but I W is not very sad ; for I had not felt mwch love for him onl> dining the days irhen 1 believed he iud lorgot rue and loved me no longer. I had scarcely been two il. t- s at Vlllers- Helton when an unlucky incident discovered all this Imprudent and ridiculous intrigue t.. my aunt Garat. Never, oh, no 1 never sliail I forget my aunt' 8_ indignatl.' n, the humiliating words she addressed to ine. She- wanted to know all, and did not leave me time to answer her. At sight of ihe letters she became still more violent, told me that I was ruined, dishonoured,— ih it I would be disowned by my lamiiy, by my friends— that-. that man would shew my letters, that after pretending to love he would despise me— that he would blush to ea'l me his wife, and would never marry a young woman Imprudent enough to write to a young man unknown to her family, with Whom she had not even exchanged a word ! " He has wanted to make a speculation," she added: " he believed you to be a rich heiress, and now all your portion would lie Insufficient to purchase his silence." Was it really possible? I was twenty- one, and my hopes were all ruined, iny honour lost! " Good Heavens, auut I' I exclaimed, sobbing,—" save nie, in pity 1" But she left my room Without even listening to me, and locked me in. I was in despair, my brain was on fire, bursting with those words of contempt and dishonour. I told my good I.; uo I was going mad — that I wished to die. My grandfather was gone out; Lalo had vainly prayed my aunt to forgive me, and the poor woman, no longer knowing how to'tranqulillze me, gave me au Idea of writing to the gentleman, who couldn't be wicked enough to hurt a poor child who had done him no harm. I wrote, then, a despairing supplicating letter, and Lalo sent one of her nephews five. leagues to put it secretly Into th; post at Solssons. 1 wis something quieter when my grandfather came home; I threw myself ail lu tears round his neck. I couldn't speak. Lalo attempted to relate to him the cauie of all my sorrow. " Come, come, don't cry any more," he said, embracing me; " your aunt was right to scold you, but not to make you ill tills way. You are not dishonoured; you shall have ft husband. Now smile, and let in t give you a lecture on the imprudence that made you write tho- it stupid little notes. Prlino, I shall tell you it's very bad, then it's very stup'd ; and that if your repuUttun is not compromised by it, your tact and judgment will be infinitely so. I promise you that the consequences ot this giddy trick shall be easily prevented; then embrace me. and don't wet my cheeks any more with your tears. Be calm, calm; I am going to find your aunt, and I'll make all right. You know how I love you, my little malefactor!" Tw j hours after, my aunt Garat, furnished with my Instructions, Wis on the road to P . ris. from whence she returned In two days, and assembled a little family circle, before which I was forced to appear. My aunt told me she had seen my hero— that he was a journeyman apothecary, with a salary of six hundred lrancs— had - a father a chemist and druggist, who would assist him iu opening a shop. Site said my hero offered me his heart and hand, and lhat L should n- ign over itiy rhubarb and senna betore the end of the summer. 19 HI I was confounded— I dared not raise my eyes— I dared not speak — 1 dared not weep. • I * m vexed ai this marriage,'' added my aunt; " you could have remained amongst us, happy, honoured, beloved, iiut let us s* y no more about it; love knows no obstacles, we are aiwiys luppy with the heart of our choice.' ERNNESTINE 0E LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. , BY TUB AUTHOR OF " ELA, TUB OUTCAST," ETC. ( Continued from our last.) The event at the totirnaffleflt had caustd'the greatest uneasiness arid etciteriient in the breasts of Lady Celes- tine, Mslrguerite, stud our heroine, but more particu- larly the latter, and the defeat which Lord Raymond had experienced from the knight of the burning heart, had caused much speculation in their minds, but they- were quite unable to form even the slightest conjecture as tn who tiie young stranger was. Lord Raymond, fearful lest he might cause ihem any alarm, had forborne to mention the words which the unknown knight had made use of towards him, after he had unhorsed him in the manner we have described $ biit he was unable to conceal from them the agitation undef Which he la- boured, which, however, Appeared to them to be much more violent than that which would be occasioned by the chagrin which must be cot. sequent upon his defeat. Ernnestine had marked the peculiar demeanour of the young knight, tor such he appeared to be, as far as could be judged by his person, throughout the whole event, but more especially on his receiving the scarf, inscribed with her name, the vehemence of his manner, as he pressed her hand to his lips, and ihe sensation which had ciept over her at that moment, she had never been enabled to banish from her bosom since. The feeling with which she was imbued was a mixture of awe, mystery, and plea- sure } and she could not help feeling a dread yet an anxiety to behold him again. She had frequently men- tioned it to Lord Raymond, but he was evidently anxious to evade the subject, and, although his conduct appeared strange and inexplicable to her, as she saw that it caused him so much uneasiness, she did not press it, notwith- standing, she had a presentiment th'it it would be the forerunner of some painful events to them. Singular dreams had also haunted her pillow since the day ot the tournament, and ihe scene had been several times re- enacted in her imagination. In fact, from that day, the mysterious knieht of the burning heart, had been ever present in her thoughts, and she in vain endea- voured to conceive why he should have created sueh au extraordinary interest iu Iter bosom. The prolengtt. ened absence of Lord Raymond from the castle, on the evening when he encountered the kuight of the burning heart, and which we have just beeu describing, had caused much uneasiness to the three ladies, and fearful lest some accident might have befallen hill), they dispatched a couple ot domestics in quest of him, but ihey, having taken a different route to that, which he had pursued on his way home, misse. il him, and did not arrive for some time after he had reached the castle. Although he tried all that was in his power to disguise the excitement which the combat he had had with the unknown knight, and the appointment they Jiad made in the morning had caused, bis uneasiness could not escape their penetrating eyes, and they would have questioned bim upon the subject, but a peculiar 1 ok from him stayed their tongues, and having changed the topic ot conversation, he gradually became more com- posed, and by the time the hour had arrived for them to retire to their chambers, he was much more collected than might have been anticipated, but although he appeared so, he was very far from experiencing a composed state of mind, for he was still rather irreso- lute how it would be advisable for bim to act, and whether he should actually keep his appointment with the Knight of the Burning Heart, unattended, at'ier what lie had said about his being bis mortal foe, although lie could not conceive why he should be so, or who he ac- tually was. Hekuew not but that he might mean trea- chery, and he was more than once halt inclined to have two or three of bis retainers secreted near the « pot where the hostile meeting was to tsrke place, lo fly out to his assistance, should he need it; but then again the idea of shewing the least symptoms of fear, prompted him to abandon such a project, and he finally determined, at all hazards, to go atone. " Yes," he said, " I will dare everything ; there was something in the manner ofthe unknown kuight, aud the tone in which he spoke, which inducts me to believe that he is au honourbale foe, aud would scorn to take any unmanly advantage. 1 will meet him, and may Heaven piotect uie, as 1 tiimly believe my cause to be just. This event may be the means of elucidating all the many mys- teries by which 1 have for some lime beeu tormented and bewildered. * Ernnestine or death,' that motio will nerve my arm, and render me doubly powerful in the combat." Lord Raymond, however, slept but little that night, his mind was too intent upon the combat which was to take place iu the moruiiig, and which, Irom the samples he had already experienced of Ins unknown adversary's skill and prowess, convinced him would he a desperate one, to suffer him to court the druwsy god ; aud long be- fore the grey mists had disappeared from the horizon, he was up, and having buckled on his armour, he stole cau- tiously from the castle, fearful of being seen by any of tjie: inmates, and havii g mounted hi$ favourite steed, rdde off in the direction of the place' " where he and the Knight ofthe Bur « ing Heart had encountered each other on the evenit. g before. His fleet courser 6oon bore him thither, but he found that the knight, had not yet arrived. He dismounted from his horse, and leading him to the thicket, he there determined to remain and watch, which lie could do without being observed himself, and if he saw anything which might lead him to suppose that the knight meant to play him falsely, he might easily depart again unseen, aud thus frustrate his designs. He had not stood there long, when he heard the sound of horses' hoofs upon the turf, and immediately after- wards, as well as the otncarfc li « ht would permit hifn, he saw the: knight of the burning heart gaflbjj up to tiie, spot alone, He was armed in the same manner as he had been on the tvftf . former occasions when they had met, and was encased in tlie same glittering suit ot mail, with his vizor down, so . lhat Lord Raymond bad no more chance than before of seeing his features. The kniglit looked around htm, an 1 seemed disap- pointed at, not seeing Lord Raymond, mattering some incoherent sentence*' to himself j but his lordship having satisfied himself that he was unaccompanied by any one, did not keep him long in suspense, but advancing from the place where he had been standing, he greeted him. " Ah!" exclaimed the Knight of ihe Burning Heart, " ' tis well; you have not, then, broken yntir word." " Lord Raymond St. Aswolph never does break his word, Sir Knight; returned Raymond, haughtily. " But art thou still resolved not to let me know with whom it is I am about to contend ?" " 1 am ;" answered the Knight of the Burning Heart; " as 1 before told thee, defeat me and know." " Thou art a man of mystery," observed Lord Ray- mond, " and 1 know not how I can be thine enemy." " Thou wilt have the mystery solved ere long, may- hap," returned the~ Knight of the Burning Heart; " thou lovest the fair Ernnestine I" " 1 do." " Art thou willing to resign all pretensions to her hand I" " Never!" " Thy doing so is the only way by which this combat, which must en# ia the death of one or both of us, can be avoided." " Death, then, rather than resign the hand aud heart of her to whom my whole soul is devoted." " Be it so, then, Lord Raymond," said the stranger, in a determined tone $ " ' Ernnestine or death !'" "• Ernnestine or death!'" repeated Lord Raymond; and having mounted their steeds, they advanced nearer to- wards each other. It was yet too dark to to see each other sufficiently distinct enough to commence the comhat, and they, therefore, agreed to await the first streak - of day. By mutual consent, they stood at fifty paces distant from each other, nor stirred, nor spoke ; but laying the bridles gently ou the necks of their horses, with folded arms tbey watched the eastern sky, while the uncon- scious beasts calmly partook of such green herbage as the spot on which they stood afforded. At one and the same moment they hailed the dawn, and gathering up their reins, they drew their shining swords, and uttering the name of Ernnestine, ad- vanced furiously against each other. Every moment the increasing light gave energy to their strokes, and the rays of the rising sun added fire to their rage. Soon the brittle swords were shivered to atoms; they then had recaurse to their battle- axes. The feathers that waved on tbe helm of the Knight of the Burning Heart vtere scattered to the winds, and his broken vizor fell, but left not bis features exposed to view, as they were concealed beneath a black mask. Fired at the stroke, he aimed at Lord Raymond's casque; thai, too, gave way, and over bis brawny shoulders f. ll the dark locks which bad always been so much admired by the fair sex. His noble counte- nance shone with avenging ire; his mild eye bore the hue of the basilisk. The sound of an approaching horseman now met their ears; they looked around, each at fhe moment suspect- ing [ reachery, but they saw nothing to strengthen that supposition. Their expiring vigour was renewed by this liitle excitement. Seizing their lances, they first retreated some paces distant from each other, theu, whirling their horses round, they advanced impetuously forward. Useless was the scaly steel meant to protect the breasts of their noble steeds; such was the force wilh whffch they threw their deadly weapons, that, at one and the same moment, each animal received the point ef a lance in his breast. Shrieking with agany, the horses fell to the earth, and their riders rolled on each ether. Disarmed of sword, battle- axe, and lance, nothing remained but the dagger; panting and bruised, they still Bought to continue the contest, and wrestled on ihe ground. The scarf, with the name of Ernnestine embroidered in gold, which rested on the heart of the unknown knight, attracted the eye of Lord Raymond j lie ex- tended his left hand, with the intention of seizing the envied prize,— in his right he grasped his dagger. The Knight of the Burning Heart held off his hand with one of his and with his dagger, threatened vengeance with the other. One knee on the ground, and with uplifted daggers, both struggled unconquered; but at length, Lord Ray- mond, by a sudden movement, succeeded in getting the Knight of the Burning Heart underneath him, and was-' about to plunge his deadly weapon into the unguarded bosom ofhis unknown foe, when a loud voice from be- hind him skouted " Hold 1" and at the same moment he was seized by the arm and dragged violently to the earth ; he looked up, and to his astonishment beheld the White Knight standing by his side. The Knight of the Burning Heart, who had been panting from exhaustion, beheld him at the same mo- ment, and rising gradually upon his feet, he stood ap- parently anxious to hear what the White Knight would say, although it was evident that they knew each other. -* Hold !" repeated the White Knight, in an authorita- tive tone of voice ;—" this combat must cease." Then turning to the Knight of the Burning Heart, he added :— " Instantly begone, and remember thy oath. Lord Raymond St. Aswolph is reserved for my future ven- geance, and thou wilt then have an opportunity of ratifying thy reveuge in a much more ample manner than his dealh could now afford thee. Away, I say I" The Knight of the Burning Heart mattered some words that did not distinctly reach the ears of Lord Raymond, and having fixed upon him a glance of m. irfal hatred, lie bowed to the knight, and hurrying from tiie spot, was soon hidden from the sight. The White Kuight did not speuk another word, but waving his hand in a menacing manner, he also disap- peared, leaving Lord Raymond astonished and paralyzed to the spot. ( J'o be Continuedinour Next) " James,-' said my father, " we must be resigned to the will of God, but we need not make ourselves miserable by anticipating evils.*'; ft* I f. S • ; > % - -. ;• " Your honour was but a slip of a gorsoon when you danced at the brlcht girl's wedding, and you're come now In time to see the last of the old woman— tbe old woman— the old woman!" repeated ha, as If something struck him in the sound of thewords as strange. " Two- and- foity is not'old, but tfiey called her the old wom^ n since the boys began to grow up, but she never grew old to me, she's the same now that she was the first evening I told her thjit she was the only treasure on tha face ofthe earth that my heart coveted ; only, much as I loved her then, I love her more now. Oh1! Mary, Mary! pulse of my heart— would to God I could dje before youf' The younger son, Pat, the mother's favourite, now entsred the room in a state of pitiable excitement. He had been at the dis- pensary to procure the medicuie prescribed by the doctor, and, to Ills imagination, every person and every thi^ g seemed to have con- spired to delay him, whilst the lookers- on deemed hishaste almost super. humap. He Immediately attempted to administer tbe draught he bad brought, but his mother cou'd ' not be made to un- derstand What was wanteH ofher; and, at length, as'if teased byhls Importunities, she suddenly dashed the cup of medicine THMR fijr. " ov n . no ; is* tnt J'. a • Tile look of unutterable anguish with which he regarded her as she rejected and destroyed that upon the taking of which depended the last hffpe, was indescilbable. The almost fierceness of'his haste, which he now saw had been useless, had flushed his cheek aad lighted up his tount£ nacc£, and he stood with his hands clasped, and raised as in prayer, with firmly shut lips, and his eyes, in ffhich you could view the transition from eager hope to utter de- spair fixed upon her face, like a being that was changiug into stone. At the other side of the bed was his father, who had resulted h: s former attitude, and beside him stood his eldest son, whose utterly wretched countenance, alternating from one parent to the other, showed that he suffered that lowest state of misery, which anticipates still further and greater woe as a consequence from tha which overwhelms at present. My father left the room, I looked npon the group one instant— I felt that I ceuld have resigned the possession ol worlds to be permitted the luxury of raising the load of grief from those afflicted hearts! But it could not be, and I re- tlr d to relieve my surcharged feelings in solitude. Ere morning dawned Nature had received another Instalment of her debt. My father and I attended the funeral, and were surprised at the apparent fortitude of Mr. S. anlan. We wished to bring him with us to the ball after the sad ceremony, but he would not come. We then accompanied him to his own house. As we entered, I glanced at him— he was ghastly pale. He lookati slowly round— fixed his oyes sue moment on the countenance of his younger son, another on the elder, and sank upr n ft chair. Since the period of which I now write I have often witnessed th. closing scene of mortality, and various are the opinion. I have heard as to which point of time, between the moment ot death and tire first appeaiance abroad of the survivors in their mourning apparel, is the saddest, the most afflicting, or the most trying^ whether the moment of the dissolution-— the first appearance of the undertaker— the laying out in the apparel of death— the bringing oi the coffin— the last frantic kiss and look— the screwing down— ths carrying out— the dull thud of the clay upon the coffin- lid— oh! think not that I am coolly writing this, that I am probing with the surgeon's calmness the deep, the sensitive ( with many bleeding) wounds that Death has given, I am but a young man, yet my brain reels, and my eyes burn, and my heart swells to my throat, as memory holds the mirror to my view, and I see depicted in it the scenes, and feel again the feelings that have been more than once or twice excited at the stages which I have recounted in order. But of all the stabs thus given to the heart— of ail those moments of anguish, the keenest is that felt when the survivor re- enters the house where the form and the voice, and the cheerful laugh of the departed one had made his home a little paradise, and feels that that home is now for ever deserted! Is there a desert so de- serted? James," said Mr. Scsnlan, after he had looked steadfastly at him for some time, " y ® u were the first she brought me, and when' you came into the world I was almost beside myself with joy; and when I was allowed to enter the room where she was sitting up in bed, with you in her arms, I almost smothered you with kisses. And I eried, and laughed, and danced about, as if I was mad. Sure I needn't be ashamed to own it now she's gone. And when I told her that they said you were the imagts ol me. 8he answered me, 4 So he aught, for you were always before my eyes.' An t when I couldn't be always, she said that ' twas the eyes of her heart she meant. So Pat, avourneen,'" addressing the younger, who had been crying all- this time bitterly) 4< though you're the image of her that's dead, and though father couldn't lova son more than I do you, you're not surprised that I gave James the preference some- times, though I never loved you the less." 44 Father dear," said Pat, " I was never jealous of Jem, nor he of me; we both knew that our faces, and tempers, and dispositions toe k after you both— Jem's after you, and mine after my mother. Oh! mother dear!— mother dear!" He burst into a paroxysm of gritf— ran wildly into his mother's room, and threw himself upon the bed, roaring in a frenzied manner—" James, honey, isn't the house terrible lonssome?" and a violent shudder run through poor Scanlan's frame. " isn't there agraat echo in It? It's very chilly- I believe I had better go and lie down on the bed." He stood up, and continuing the forward movement of the body after he had risen to a standing position, would ha* e fallen ex- tended on his face, but that I caught him just as his wachful aon had sprung to save him. Poor Pat now mastered his ftelings In some degree, and turned his attention to assist his surviving parent. He was laid on the bed, and shortly recovered himself, and addressed my rather — " I know your honour feels for my trouble, and will excuse the boys 2- nd me fc* r not showing the attention we ought to show for your goodness.' " Say nothing about attention to me, James, I am sorry for your trouble, and God knows, I Wish I knew how to relieve and comfort OLD PROVERBS. " There's luck in leisure, Delays are dangerous.'' " JAMES SCANLAN wants to see you, sir; I told him you were hardly done dinner, but he begged me to let you know that he is waiting.'' " Dear me," said my father, " what can he want ? show him in, Carey. Well, James, what is the matter!' " Oh, your honour, sir, won't you come to see my poor father ? he'll speak to you, but we can't get a word from him j he's dying with grief— my poor mother is so bad.'' " Your mother, James, what has happened to her?"' " She took a heavy cold, sir, on Friday last, from a wetting she got going to Cork: and when she came home she took to her bed, and it's worse and worse she has got ever since; and, at last, she began to rave this morning; ana as Doctor M'Cartliy was going past to the Dispensary, Pat called him in, and, when he looked at her, he just shook his head, and said he'd send her something, but that we must be prepared for anything that might happen. Well, sir, when my father heard that lie went and sat down by tbe bed- side, and taking my mother's hand in his, says he—' Ah! then Maiy, a- Cuah- la- machree, am I going to lose you ? Are you going from mel Did I ever think I'd see tals day? Ah, Mary, avour- neen, sure you won t leave me ?' and from that to this he has never stirred nor spoken, nor taken the least notice of any one— not even me!— not even me!" The poor fellow burstintoa flood of tears. In a t'evv minutes I was standing with my father at the bedside of Mrs. Scanlan. She was quite unconscious of what was passing around. Her husband, who was my father's principal tenant, and a substantial farmer, sat as his favourite. son had described; and, although the Object of my father'* visit was to rouse him from his lethargy, it was long ere he addressed himself to the task. It seemed almost sacrilegious to disturb such hallowed grief. At length he laid his hand upon Scanlan's shoulder. " Corns, James," said he, lock up, min; don't be sj utterly cast down. You know the old saylug,' whilst there's life there hope.' " ^ It's kind of your honour to try and comfort me, but your's was always the good heart, and the kind one} but it s 110 use, thei « ? s no hope— she's death on her handsome countenance.'' He groaaed deeply, and rocked himself back warda aud forwards. ^ k you." " I am sure you do, sir. Boys, I Won't be long with you. The pulse of my heart is gone. Look up to his honour, and never for- get that, though there's no clanship in these times, and though many a shoneen holds a higher head than his in this country now, you still owe him your love and fealty, for he's one of the real old stock, and your forefathers followed hia forefathers in war and peace. When, if you stood on the highest crag of the Bogaragh, you couldn't see the bounds of their wide domains; and, while his honour Is present, and I have my senses clear about me, I'll lay my commands on you both boys, and if ever you break through them ( though I am sure you never will), let his honour, and tbe yout>" master here, bear witness ag. dnst you.'' He^ thb? delivered What was simply a verbal will, directing how they should dispose of and divide his property and effects, and concluded as follows,— '' " Whfn your mother and I were married, we were both © f us full of old Sayings and Proverbs, and we thought, like most others, that their meaning should be taken in the plainer and the fullest signification; and, as most of them are universally allowed to con- tain a great deal of wisdom and good sense, we thought, that whoever regulated his or her conduct strietly according to their rule, would, of necessityi be the wisest person in the world. One of these sayings which I had been taught to believe, was one of the wisest aver pronounced by man—*' I here's luck iu leisure,'— and this Wa » my most favourite maxim : but when I got married, I found that your movh? r had a favourite one also—' Delays are dangerous.'— Well, the first year, when tha corn was coming up, the cornfactor came to this part of the country, and offered a middling fair price for an average erop, Mary bade me take it as I'd have that much money certain, and if the season should turn out bad, the factor would be the sufferer, and I d be Safe; take it « it once, said- she, vou know 4 Delays are dangerous.' " I began to. consider, that if the season should be only middling-, inclining to bad, I migiit get as much money still as the factor of- fered, and If it should turu out fine the crop would produce a gre~ deal more, whilst- it Would be only in the event of a bad seas- tliat I would ba likely to lose—' There's luck in leisure,' sa I'll wait. Well, the season was dreadful, most of the cro" totalsy destroyed, and we suffered more than almost neighbours. I was afraid to look Mary " in tha facc out the extent'ot my loss ; but she only said, ^ Cc can't be helped, the worse luck now the b you'll attend more to w. se old sayings made out of wiser head? than yours.' " Ah, but Mary, a- ctiehla, it was was ; sure you've often heard say, •' said she, 4 that's only a foolish 44 Next year the sky- faimsr no one would deal with hin hear how heartlessly he'd hearts in their bosoms, had lost; and then he'd good offer another time, me a good offer, and h. offered as much as would and labour. Why," said I, " you'll give^ gHppws y • Not I,' said he, 41 bought expeTrence instead til corn las and you paid for it; and he laughed and shook himself with g and chuckie. i, and jingled the guineas in his pockets until I was hardly able to keep from knocking him down. " Well, I higgled, and bargained, and tried to raise him, but not another penny would he give; and, at last, he said that he was going away in the murniug, and so I might take it or leave it as I liked— he wouldn't force his money on any man, nJt he. 4 Delays are dangerous,' thought I; and, though it was a certain loss, I agreed. 44 A finer season than that never came from the heavens. The factor came to see the crops— and such crops aa they were! Seve- ral others had done lite me, and if he laughed at us the year, be- fore, he laughed ten times more so now. The year before he had lost nothing, this year he made his fortune; he had laughed at our losses before, but lis now laujhid over his own gains—• They may laugh x\ ho win.' 4- If he had taken it quieter, he might have done the same thing again; but, by acting as he did, he set every one against him, and he never atterwards couid lay up growing crops here. *' Mary, my darling,' said 1,41 we re almost ruined in the second year, by following old sayings,'' 41 4 I'd never believe in them again, Jemmy dear,' said « hs, 4 I have been thinkli g the matter over, and I b> lieve it's not the say- ings that are wroug, but wrong use that's made of them, for if we said them the other way, we'd have made money instead of losing it; and, for the future,, we'll try to use the sense that God. has given us, and the acquirements such as they are that He has enabled us to obtain, in directing us to the proper use and timely application of those proverbs that are really wise and useful wheu properly applied. 4- As It wa3 the will of the Almighty, boys, that your dear m > ther should n » t have had her senses about her when departing, and it s likely that these are the last of her- sensibie Words thit I'll ever be able to tell you; I'd have you take them, and. think ' upon them aa if they \ y « re- her .. last addressed to you; and let neither prqyerba, however apparently wise in themselves, nor . superstitious remarks' ever guide your actions or sway your conduct, until1 you have ap - plied to them the touchstone of you'r own - common senSa. May God . bless and guide you, my^. darling boys; and now 1 have done with the world and Its affairs.' That day fortnight the funeral of poor James Scaniart was atj tended by the writer. TETE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLES' POLICE GAZETTE. tftagmm* lot m Curious. | THE TWO LONDON LOCKSMITHS; BIVAL AUCTIONEKRS AT A FAIR.—" Her* you » re," cried one | genius; " here's a beautllul brass- mounted two- foot box rule, with • llde and all complete— agoln' for the Small mm of one shlllin — only one shlllln'— think of that 1 Why, it'* worth the money If It VBI ouly for the purpose of pawning It for elghteen- pence, and jelling the ticket for two shillings. What! none of you give a flhlllln' I Wky, then, I must take nlnepence, that's all. Goln' for Blnepence. I see a genl'man afeellng for his money i out with it, • Ir,— don't be afraid. This here rule ' 11 measure the extent ot your sweetheart's affection fer you— it ' 11 measure the integrity ol a Jew, or the virtue of a woman— It ' 11 take the breadth and depth of all the professions of friendship that a man makes when he wants to borrow money of you ; and it ' 11 give you the square and cube of the promises that a candidate for a seat in Parliament makes to the - voters at a contested election. What I nobody give nlnepence) Why, then, I must take slxpeuce, I suppose. Agoln' for sixpence, the smallest coin but one in Her Majesty's dominions. You'll never miss tt out of your purse, sir. That's your sort. Hand up the browns, If you haven't got silver; one ' 11 do as well aa t'other. Thankye, sir; there's your rule i do you live by tt, and you'll live • wisely." " Here P' cried his competitor, who now began to make himself heard, " here you have a bran- new watch, chain, and seals, and all for the low sum of six shillings. It keeps time surprisingly, for it never varies; it's just the thing for a genl'man what goes . courting, for whenever he pulls It out, if it ain't quite correct, his sweetheart's sure to think it I' the time o* day,' at any rate. Look at the seals. Here's on one— let me see—' Too- joor fcddel.' That means' A lass and a addle;' and on the other,' Sem per idem,'. which means,' Yours, I'm daumed.' II they don't take any girl's " heart by storm, why then it must be harder than Belle metal gene- Tally Is, that's all I've got to say. Who'll say 5s. for the lot? look at the chain. It's like one of Cupid's— so airy you can ftardly feel it, and yet so strong you can't break away from It any more than a prince can break hie word, and it's proverbial as that's a thing they never do ;— oh, no, not at > 111 As for the watch, when you're all wound up to the bidding point, all I can iay is, the sooner It goes the better. Don't let me put it back again j lt'i the cheapest watch that ever went upon tick. Come, say 4s, for the tot. Coin'— goln'— gone ! for that young genl'man In the smock ftock, and very green ribbands In 111* straw hat. i ou ve got a dead bargain, sir, andoae that'll t onaakintly never trouble you With any complaints. Thank ye, sir! Hope youve got plenty of brothers sna inters. Don't forget to bring ' em with you to the fair to- mor- row. You re a nice farailj, I'll be bound.' — Old Snorting Maga- zine fer December. " SONG,— AS I LOVE THEE, NOW I ( Written for " The Penny Sunday Times." © , quit the World, so very gay and bright, And live with me In yonder shady grove; The gentle moon shall ihed her sllv'ry light, WMle I will sing thee songs of truth and love. And when the moon withholds her lurid beam, The evening star shall gild eaoh dewy Rower, And fairy elvei coae floating o er yon stream, To keep their revels near our happy Power. And should you, dear one, ever lonely stray— Or thro' the grove— or tempt the sunny plain, I'lltoueh my harp with Love's emphatic lay ; And long, and harp, shall lure tbee back again, lit twine thy hair with myrtles and with rosei— They'll borrow beauty trom thy graceful brow : I'll strew thy couch each morn with fragraut posies, And love thee, EVER, as I love thee now. ANNA, MINSTREL OP THE HEATH, A certain reverend drone in the country, was preaching a very dull sermon to a congregation not used to him, and many of them went out of church, one after another, before the sermon was near ended " Truly," said a gentleman present, " the learned doctor has made » very moving discourse," 80NNET.— THE COMMENCEMENT OF WINTER. BT ROBERT ROSE, THE SARD OP COLOUR. Transient as shades of the magician's glass. The seasons come and go; we sorrow feet To see how swiftly all below must pass, Like baseless fabrics, fancy forms unreal, Ka'h b° ur that trailed, now frowns, and onward lcadj To Winter, throned in dem'/ atlon grand I Oh Summer Is a lovely with meads myrtle- orowne^— Autumn , cenes are bland : o? i? for surly wlnter- hours ,„ ' c , ai - nd storms, Is to see some dear friend mat en er( aIned U1 ln gay fa| ry bowen, . . a to the darkness of the grave descend. Gruff winter wakes from desolation's bed, As a wan ghost just rising from the dead. Dr. Franklin said he made It a rule, whenever in his power, to avoid becoming the draftsman of papers to be reviewed by a public ' body. I took my lesson, said he, from an Incident which 1 will re- late, When I was a journeyman printer, one of my companions, who was an apprentice liatter, having served out his time, Was about to open shop for himself. His tirst concern was to have a handsome signboard, with a proper Inscription. He composed it in these words : " John Thompson, hatter, makes and sells hats, ( or ready money," with the figure of a hat suspended. But he thought he would submit It to his friends for their amendment. The first he ihowed It to thought the word hatter tautologons be- cause It was followed by these words, " makes hats," which shew he wai a hatter. It was struck out. The next observed the word makes" might a, well be omitted, because his customers would not care who made the hats; If good and to their minds, they would buy, by whomsoever made. He struck It out. A third said, he thought the words 11 for ready money" were useless, as It was not the custom ofthe place to sell on credit— every one who pur- chased expected to pay. They were parted with, and the Inscrip- tion now stood, " John Thompson sells hats." " Sells hats,"— why no one will expect you will give them away. What, then, is the use of those words ? They were stricken out, and hats fol- lowed tbem, as there was one painted on the board; so his in- acript-' on was reduced ultimately " to " John Thompson," with the figeis of a hat subjoined. THEATRES. " — Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." —•— SHAKSPERE. Great preparations are making at all the theatres for Ihe Christmas holidays, and it is expected that the Ipantomimes will he got up with more than their usual spirit. Mr. Nelson Lee, one of ihe most prolific of the pantomimic concocters, has furnished most of the thea- tres with these provokatives to laughter, and we have no doubt that his efforts will be attended with his usual success. In the meantime, however, there is very little in the shape of novelty to notice ; scarcely any change since our last: consequently, the space usually devoted to this department of our paper must be limited. The commencement of the winter campaign at Drury Lane Theatre, under the management of Mr. Macready, looked forward to with much expectation; and we i doubt that all the talent disengaged w ill be « d by him. The alterations in the iheatre are ; rapidly, and Old Drury will present quite . novel appearance. At Covent Garden, he new comedy, Court and City, and pie, continue to attract crowded At the Haymarket there : our last. Ten Thousand a I Die Hexen am Rhein, flowing during the week. " Tiler, and Quadrupeds, Olympic. Mr. and Queen's in the very J'entleman in a Pecu- "( he popular domestic uter. Tbe new drama, i also been played with Elated success. The Hack Rover has continued to played every evening at Sadler's Wells, to over- flowing and delighted audiences. At the City Theatre a new drama of peculiar interest, from the inexhansti fcle pen of Mr. Dibdin Pitt, called Colin Clink; or, Doings in a Madhouse, founded on the popular tale ot that name, has added one more to the list of triumphs lately achieved by this clover and industrious dramatist. The drama is very skilfully adapted, and many of the passages tell with thrilling effect upon the audience. Kathleen; or, the Secret Marriage, increases in attraction at the Pavilion, and the storm- accne is one of the best we bave witnessed upon the stage for many years. A Mr. Beresford has been playing the legitimate here with considerable success. The Two London Locksmiths, at the Victoria, which we had the pleasuie to praise in our last, is fully established in popularity, and is nightly hailed with the most rapturous and enthusiastic plaudits. The other amusements have been of the most popular description, and the house has beer crowded to the ceiling every evening. Batty's New Circus, at tha late Swimming Baths, in tbe Westminster Road, has been vary well attended, and his company is very pow- erful. Mr. Batty, with a spirit of enterprise which deserves encouragement, has taken a lease of the ground on which the late Astley's Theatre stood, and intends building a new and elegant theatre at his sole expense. A great numbor of workmen have already commenced operations, and it is said that it will be ready for opening at the commencement of the regular season, on Easter Monday. The entertainments at the Albert Saloon continue to be of the most attractive de- scription, and to draw overflowing audiences every evening. Extraordinary preparations are making for Christmas. THE THIEF, THE WILL, AND THE BANKER, A DRAMATIC TALE. FOUNDED OH TBE POPULAR PIECE 0E TttAT NAME, AS PER. FORMING AT THE ROYAL VICTORIA THEATRE, WlTII CHEAT APPLAUSE, CttAfTEE i. TftE sfo » y on which the successful drama at the Victoria Theatre is founded, derives its origin from fact, and is most interesting from its peculiarity. The scene is laid in London, and the events take place in 1820; fifty years prior to which, a gentleman of the name of Hospur, of good fortune, and descended frsm our Norman an- cestors, residing in the North of England, had four children,— three sons and a daughter, and though . possessed of a good estate and income, could not leave all his ciiildreh independent; and being a stickler for primogeniture, lie resolved to leave all to his son Edward, the eldest. Feeling that he should not long temain an inhabitant of this world, he called his childreh touiid him,— Edward, Johh, Rosalynda, and SamUel, and told them that as he had received the estates, so should they descend, on the eldest, and for the rest they Would receive fifty pounds each, and must seek their f6rtuhfe as they could. Ah alteration subsequently took place in favour of the girt, who had a Mnidifed a year fixed on her: but this was chiefly owing to th » spirited behaviour of Jehn and Sa- muel, who loudly exclaimed against the injustice of giving all to Edward, Samuel positively refusing to accept of his fifty pounds, Which was ultimately given to John, The father died shortly afterwards, and EdVvard taking posses- sion, the three took leave of their parental home, all of them giving up any claim to the name of Hospur, being resolved that since Edward had the money and estate, he should have the name also. Samuel, the youngest, having also another reasoh. that as he should most likely have to pass a considerable portion of his youth in indigence, he resolved that the name of Hospur should not be disgraced. John, having a gpdd commertidl situation Offered him in Edinburgh, he Wok his sister Itosalynda under his protection. We will no'V conBne oUrselvlPto Samuel, the youngest, who aftcr- wartls become father to the hero of the story. Samuel wandered half over the island in search of some employment, suffering under the most severo deprivations, oitcn living for days on turnipB, blackberries, and other produce of the fields, fot he could nbt stoop to beg: sleeping by night in barns, or Under hedges, or where he could. In this manner, cold, hungry, and nearly in rags, he en- tered the city of Bristol, where his forlorn appearance, and the modest way in which he shrunk from observation, attracted the no- tice ofa humane and kindly locksmith, named London, who called him in, and inquired his name, nnd ivhSre he was g'dinir Samuel fsithful to his ieterminatton, gave the naafrof Sdmuel'Davb ™ e- 5 ™ mn? ta one foff'"''** * » 0° r ™ "^ S North and n wait What , - ^\ losk, mit » > t the time Was rilw A' teri° ei Jhe WW*** In general is SrffS Ss > 0A 6f^ 0, lr Parents, who, having been taken without « jnjfmlum, goes all the errands, and performs the menial / etU » n/°, rwlilch they Set their board » nd > knowledge I,' lndon t, o d S' ™ » » 1 ' hat Such a place was va- th. mS ii ke, i he ? ™ ? ld take hil? a month 0" ttial, and if at F1? * U"' h « w » uld Mm a trifle of money in P ™ ™ ™ I ' 7V1Ce9' he mi « ht be at libM'y purchase his C7: SaTd> YT bv fatigue and misery, and takes by the SS258rtm ° f th? good locksmith's countenance, thankfully accepted the situation, humble as it was; attfr now we see Samuel Hospur, the Oxford student, ( for all three of the brothers had re- ceivetl a college education,} metamorphosed into an humble me chanics labourer. In a little time tie had gained the good will of his master and mistreis, the former of which, finding how well he could write and keep accounts, promoted him from the drudge to be the clerk, or keeper of accounts. He diligently applied himself to gain a know- ledge of the trade, and in a few years became a most excellent workman. At this time he was foreman to Mr. Lendon, who was now in a great wa£ of business, much of which he attributed to the management of Samuel Davis, and to his excellent method of keeping the locks. An attachment having sprung up between Samuel and Maria, Mr. Lendon's only child, that wertliy man, though he had re- ceived the most flattering offers from men of rank and fortune for his daughter's hand, wished to see her happy sooner than behold her ill splendid misery, gave his consent to her marriage with Samuel, settling his entire fortune on them at his decease, which took place shortly afterwards. Samuel removed to London, taking extensive premise", and in- creased his business greatly, living in plain yet elegant style, with- out superfluities, but with all comfort. If anything might be termed extravagance, or too great a lavishment of means, it was sending his children, two sons, named George and Paul, at the proper age, to Oxford tb be educated, as he himself was. Though Samuel was married in the name of Hospur, explaining to Mr. Lendon the cause of his farmer change, and of his determination never to use it, except in cases where property was concerned, for which Mr. Lendon commended him. The two youths were noble- hearted young men. George, the elder, was determined, indefati- gable in purpose, and admired by everybody. Paul, the youngest, was of a more irresolute turn, but amiable in his manners, and possessing an excellent heart. The two brothers were also two friends, and inseparable : at college the brothers were looked upon as a pattern to the university, and Heaven knows the Oxonians want such a pattern, and grace to apply it to their improvement. Being admitted into tke tirst circles in the city, George became acquainted with a young lady, a Miss Lydia, the niece to a widow lady of the name of Athol. Also Paul became acquainted with the daughter of a small farmer, to whom he swere eternal fidelity. CHAPTER II. WHILE the young men were thus pursuing their studies, and forming attachments in Oxford, Samuel, in an unwise moment, be- came responsible for a friend to a very large amount. The gentle man was a merchant, and so strict were his principles, that Samuel was convinced that it was impossible, while Statford. lived, that ke could lose any part of the sums for which he had become answer- able. But, alas I who can look into the took of Fate ! Mr. Staf- ford met with a severe loss in the wreck of one of his richest laden ships, and applied to Samuel for a new loan, who began now to reflect that if anything should happen, him and bis family w- ould be reduced to beggary. His friend pleaded hard, and the heart of Samuel pleaded for him. He had before borrowed considerable sums of money, and was ever punctual in payment. Samuel re- collected, too, that if a friend had not taken him by the hand, he must have lived, and perhaps died in poverty. He advanced the sum required. A short time after this, liis wire, on whom he doted, was taken ill, and having ever been of a delicate consti- tution, great fears were entertained on her account. Ske expressed her fears to Samuel that they had gone too far ( for he did nothing without first consulting lier, J in lending the great turn they had to Stafford, and Samuel having become answerable for so much be- sides. He endeavoured to calm her apprehensions, knowing that if the ship, then hourly expected, arrived safe, he should be repaid, and released from all responsibilities in a week. That very day a gentleman entered the apartment where Samuel was seated in a manner so sudden, that the locksmith was startled. He saw by his face that something was wrong— Mr. Stafford had cut his throat the night previous, in consequence of receiving the news of the utter loss of his ship, Samuel sunk into a chair in speechless horror, but summoning Philosophy to his aid, he kept tiie news awhile concealed from liis wife, and went to make the necessary inquiries into the affairs of his departed friend. To his horror, be found thein in such a position that lie was himself a ruined man. When he returned home, his wife, who had read the disastrous account in the paper, which had teen thoughtlessly given to her, was in strong fits. It was some time before she recovered, and ere that day week Samuel followed her to the grave. After the funeral of their mother, the sons returned to Oxford ; and Samuel, as soon & s the shock hud. in some degree subsided, applied himself to the arrangement of his affairs. He sold off his house, and paid all, with the exception of some bills held by a banker of the name of Murray, to whom he applied by letter to ask for time. This was refused. In vain he tried to see Mr. Murray, but never could succeed, while he, as if actuated by some private pique or dislike, proved a most severe and cruel creditor. He was obliged now to part with his shop and business to meet some of the bills, and going down to Oxford to his sons, said, " My children, the day of prosperity is over ; you must now quit the rank of students and gentlemen, lay aside your books to handle a mechanic's tools, and work with your father." Afflicting as tbis was to young men of spirit and talent, admired in the first cir- cles, and looking on themselves as independent, they obeyed without a murmur; they felt but for their father, who they per- ceived was lieartstruck. They immediately sold off their books and effects, even to their apparel, and attired themselves in plain clotheR, more " fitting their little state;" and nobody who had known them a month before could have recognized the plain lock- smith and his sons for the same persons. The young men had their hair, hitherto worn in the fashionable style, altered to the sober tradesman cut: a little shop was taken, and George worked with his father. Paul, having a wish to learn cabinet- making, a master in that line, who had known Samuel in his prosperous days, undertook to teach him the business, and allow him a small weekly sum for his labour. And now a distressing circumstance came to light,— Paul had privately mairied the farmer's daughter; her father had broke, and Paul was obliged to take her home, alas! to a sinele back room, up two pair, to subsist on a weekly sum scarce sufficient to find them in bread alone. His father and brother were most kind to them, and for a time, during which George applied himself to his trade of locksmith with assiduity, things went on fairly,— a subsistence was gained. But another of the bills became due, and they were obliged to part with their last remains of property to save Samuel from going to prison. A nervous fever seized on the father, and it was very plain that he would never be able to work again. An apartment was taken for him and George, who went to work at the shop of a Mr. Muller, and contrived by his earnings to support his father and help his brother. Here he became ac- quainted with a young man of the name of Charles Burt,, who was bred to the same business, and worked next to him. Burt was a joung fellow of loose conduct and bad principles, one who trusted to chance for all, and what he called his " luck." He possessed insinuating manners, had an appearance superioy to the com- monalty, and was ever planning some scheme for getting money, and was then never quiet till he had spent it. It need scarcely be said he was a gambler, and under the rose the captain © f a gang of thieves. This was not known to his shopmates, but all won- dered how he could always be possessed of so much money as he seemed to have, and which he laid to his winnings at races, cards, & c. For George he had ever evinced a friendship, often pressing him to take money, which, though circumstances had compelled the other to accept as a loan, he always repaid it regularly at the week's end; and when Burt would refuse, for reasons hereafter shown, to take it, the pride of George would take alarm, and the other be obliged to receive it, or run the chance of offending ; and few that knew him cared to offend a man of George's determined principles. It maybe necessary to remark that the " two lock- smiths" which give name to the story are George and Burt, who both worked for the same master; but Burt was far from being the expert hand George was, who was eyery day bringing forward new inventions aad improvements. At this time n circumstance occurred Which overwhelmed this hopeless family in fresh grief* Paul's wife expired iii giviiig birth to an infant girl. This was a severe stroke, particularly as the last bill held by Mr. Murray the banker had been paid the day before she died, and had drained them of every description of coin, albeit in her illness she had never wanted, for George was ever an affectionate brother to her while living. Samuel and his son George resided in two rooms up two pair of stairs in Bfownlow- Strefet, Diitry- lane. To rwe ihe money fqr her interment, they Were Under the necessity of borrowing it. After her fiineral; Paul, who had lost his employment, from the bankruptcy of his master, and not being able to get another situation, was obliged to remove to their lodgings with the infant. Thus was the family, that so short a time since had been residing in elegant mansions, and at- tended on by a retinue of servants, all, from the head, the grand- father to the finish, or last scion} in the cradle, crammed into two sihall rbdtiis, Without attendance, two of them ill, and the late events pressing hard on the hearts and minds of all. The poor infant for a time was J> ut ovtt to a wet- nurse, but afterwards their necessities compelled them to have it weaned, atid employed a giti for a few pence to 109k after it. The infant, deprived of its proper nourishment and protection, pined away; a complaint settled on its little lungs, and consumption had com- mene^ d ere there was scarcely a commencement or hold for disease to seiste one . .. Burt, who had noticed the invention of George, and his sur- prizing adroitness, in fitting keys to, locks, hi? strength, his wit, his firmness, all combined, made him a most, desirable partner or companion, endeavoured by all means iii his power to debauch him, and persuade him to Join in ttibir nightly depredations, calling them adventures; but George repelled the advances with honest indignation, when Burt would laugh and say it was but to try him. One day, while musing on the strange offers and conversation he had come to the conclusion that there was something wrong in it, and he resolved in future to keep Burt at a distance, well knowing , that evilcommunications corrupt the, most virtuous minds. Thi^ passed in hi? mind, as lie Arrived in Pall Mall, oil his way home, When, hearing & ioiid outcf- y, he ttirnfed his Head, and saw a lady seated in a curricle, with two blood- horses to it. A gentleman had just got out, and gone into the Treasury, and the horses, being alarmed at a flash of lightning,— for a storm had been coming on for some time, started off at full speed. The reins had fallen from her band, and her danger was great, the frightened creatures tearing . along ; And alij instead of endeavouring to atop them) ran out cif the way to. save themselves> A single glance con- vinced ( Jeorge it w& s the vety same yoUng lady;. wHosdt firtme he belieyed to be Miss . liydia AtHol, whom he had seen at her aUnt's in Oxford* arid to whom he had be6h most tenderly attached, till the change in his circumstances determined him never to approach her again, Forgetful of his appearance or the danper, he uttered the name of Lydia, and seizing the trailing reins j checked the animal's in an instant, while with the 9th<? r hand he bore hef falntltig foViii OUfc of the vehicle* . At tlje same moment the hotses, plfcrigihg again, dafted off with headlorig S^ ieedj arid the aide Of the Ciirritle editing in contact with his arm, broke it in two places, besides being other- wise hurt, before he could free himself. But he had saved the lady, who was now surrounded by servants, and in the arms of a gentle- man, who appeared to be her father. Satisfied that she was safej George now bethought himself of his humble mechanic's dress, and hurried away, avoiding thtfhks or notice. When he reached home, his brother Paul, riOtiting the paleness tif his countenance, had just placed a fchalr for him, and his father anfclo'usty inquired if he was unwell, When he fainted from eicess df pain. Their dlztriti was great, and in trying tt) open liis shirt Collar, they perceived, that it was stained with blood, and that his arm had been broken. No- thing can describe the grief of the old man, or the affectionate soli- citude of Paul, On coriiing td himself, George requested them not to be alarmed;— that there Was no immediate danger , bUt that as they \ Vere in subh straitened Circumstances, and his father being so ill, and the infant also, it would be better fer him to go to an hospital, where he could get every attention and comfort requisite, and which it was impossible he could get at home; and to send for a surgeon would be both madness and dishonesty, as they had not the means of paying him. The pride of the father made him oppose this fer a short time, but the arguments of both his sons, and more especially the increasing pain of George's arm, made him consent, and Paul suppbrted his brother to St. George's Hospital, where life was kindly receiyed, and his arm sec; but in consequence of a fever, he was put to bed, the surgeons informing Paul that it would be a month ere he could be pronounccd cured. Paul, after seeing him in a comfortable sleep, returned to his hope- less father and child, neither of which he thought could last many days longer; and with his heart and mind thus torn and lacerated, between the three, nothing could exceed his misery. The illness of George, preventing his work, stopped also, of course, his salary, on which, small as it was, they had all subsisted. Each week saw tbem in greater misery. George recovered but slowly, it being a violent compound fracture ; and the fever wast- ing him, it became evident to all who saw him that it would be some months before he could recover strength sufficient to allow him to work. On the fourth week Samuel's illness had become so fearful, that Paul, in his agony of distress, mentioned it to the landlord, then nearly their only creditor, who immediately sent an execution in. The old man who had the care of the house— the landlord not living in it, when the bailiffs came on the Wednesday night, would not open the door to them, observing that Mr. Davis was in no plight for running away; that he was asleep then, and they might come in the morning, a permission which tbey took care to avail themselves bf. The old man Samuel had passed a worse night, and when Paul addressed him the next morning, he was shocked to see the change in his parent's countenance. Very soon old William brought them the news of last night visitors. They then discovered that the person they had taken the house of was not the landlord, but only the agent. The landlord, it- ap- peared, was Mr. Murray the ^ banker; and from his previous behaviour, they knew that no mercy could be expected from him. The old man said to Paul, " I feel that I am dying, but, my son, let me not hear him condemn me as the unprincipled man who had sought death to cover his disgrace. I have sacrificed my life to pay my debts: I will not leave one behind." Paul was plunged in misery on hearing his father say this, for they were without the money — everything, even to the means of getting food. Here they had been so long, that the neighbours around well knew their circumstances. Tbis hurt the old man, who saw that when he was gone his memory would be taunted, While thus lamenting, the door opened, and George, the much wanted George, entered the room, his arm in a slin^, and his face pale and haggard. He was much hurt to see them in such misery, and still more when Paul, taking him aside, told him of his father declining so fast. The account sensibly wrung his heart: he wa* convinced that the loss © f his labour had caused this, and, weak as he was, he deter- mined to get money by night. In vain William, and his father and brother, tried to oppose it; he took his little basket of tools, and ran off to his old master's. In the meantime the old man had sent for a doctor. Why, when they could better afford it, he should refuse, and now, when they were still worse off than ever, he should send, and for the dearest doctor in the place, raised the surprise of Paul: but it was soon dispelled, and the real truth seen. Old Samuel, having told Doctor Merton that he did not send for his professional advice, for that he was dying, and should be a corpse in a few hours ; but he believed the faculty occasionally wanted subjects on which to practice. Mr. Merton said that such things were had occasionally. Samuel then offered himself for one of the subjects. Paul was sorrow- struck to hear this, but entreated his father not to do such an act, which would for ever plunge his children in misery; that George was already gone to work, and that he, if he could not ge t work, still he would not be behind his brother in trying to save a father. He then left the room abruptly. The doctor, who had witnessed all with great surprise, now felt the old man's pulse, aud finding that life was fleeting fast, wrote a line to his apothecary for some medicines which he thought might hold life a little longer in the old man, and then, telling him never to mmd the money, but to keep quiet till he cauld see him in the morning, he left. Old Samuel was now alone with the infant. A low moan from the cradle caused him to look at it: the infant was in a fit. 41 Alas! poor child," he cried, " thou and I have arrived at the two great periods of our existence when sorrow and disease have their full power. Better thou shouldst die, and thus escape the horrors, wants, and vices flesh is heir to." While thus apostrophizing the sick infant, on whom the pangs of famine were_ gaining fatal powers, the door opened, and George entered, but like " the mes- senger who drew Priam's curtains ; t the dead of night," so woe- begone, that the heart of Samuel sunk as he asked him what had happened. It appeared that the master, Mr. Muller, whom George had formally served or worked for, was dead,— had died the week before, and the establishment was utterly closed. He had displayed to others, but it was the wrong time of the year; they were stocked with hands. But the grand thing was that masters who did not know him were fearful of engaging a workman looking so weak as George did, and with his arm in a sling. His heart sunk under it; but still he tried to calm his father s fears, who now, struck to the centre, begged of George to lead him to his room, and when at the d: oor of it, blessed his boys and his poor grandchild, prayed for his enemies, and warned George against Burt, whom he sus- pected, from his wish to take George aside, and draw him from his home. He then retired into his room, and a knock being heard at the front room door, he closed that of the chamber; ami on opening the other, a fellow of the name of Wolfcur, the head of the bailiffs, and the most unfeeling and cruel of the whole shoulder- tapping fraternity, entered the room with his followers. George, asiing his business, was soul- struck on understanding that his father was to be dragged to a gaol, and at the suit of Murray the banker. In vain did he implore them to have pity on his father, and take him in his place; but they were inexorable, and Wolfcur, finding there was no'money to be got, ordered his men to seize and sell, laying hold. of the cradle, which George resented by knocking him down. He then had to defend the chamber where his father was, 011 whose person they resolved to seize. In the struggle the door was burst open, and Samuel was seen laying as dead ! At the sight, horror seized all; but it was true, and when Georg- e placed his hand on his bosom, he was cold ansl stiff. George breathed a curse on the banker Murray, who had been the murderous cause of all. Paul now returning, produced money that paid the rent, and dispatchGd the bailiffs on their business; but though he had saved his child from starvation, he had been too late to preserve his father. He had enlisted in the army, and the money was the fruits of his filial sacrifice — the bounty given. He was allowed only time to go home, and a corporal waited for him below. He had then immediately to set off for Windsor, where the regiment lay. Bequeathing his child to the care of George, then leaving the half of his little store that remained with them, he kissed his in- fant, embraced George, pressed the hand ofhis father to his breast, and rejoined the corporal, and set forth on his march to Windsor. George was thus left in charge of the infant and his father's dead body, and without the means of rearing the one, or burying the other— the Antipodes, the poles of life. While musing what was to be done, Burt entered, and rousing George from his reverie, told him to have a good heart, for that though their old master, Mr. Muller, was dead, he had met with luck, and if George had a mind to join with him in a certain scheme, he could make a princely sum, and George should be a sharer. George asked what was the nature of the plan. " To rob," said Burt with a smile ; and on the other expressing horror and indignation, said he might call it what he liked— it was to open a lock; and what difference was there in shutting or open- ing a lock; that he should remember the perilous situation he was in, and if he was wise, to lose no time in foolish scruples. " Noj". says George, " I may be poor, but I will be honest; As a lofeksmith it was his duty to stop the egress of thieves ; to pre- vent robberies, not Cbirttnii them,; asking Burt if he had lost all sense of probity; on which the othfe'r laUghed aloud, and asked him if probity would fill the pocket. George stopped him in his im- pious arguments before the body of one who had died a martyr t ® his integrity, but that for himself he would sooner die thus like Ms father, in honourable poverty, than grow rich on means abhorrent to Goa and man. Burt, finding he could make nothing of him, left the place, re- solving tcf wait till time should overcome the scruples of his honest brother locksmith; George now calculated the eip'ensfes Of the funeral, and of a nurse for the child, and sunk into despair. P'a! ulh'a! d Wished him to apply to the young lady whose life he had saVed, btit he knew net she lived, nor could he overcome his pride to solicit alms of the woman to whom he addressed the language of love. A servant now inquired for George Davis, and on his aiKmg his business, told him that he was wanted by a gentleman to make a key aiid bpett & certain lock, for which he would be handsomely paid. Overjoyed at this prospect of work, he seized his bag of tools, and followed the messenger to a stipSfb fcotwe near Temple Bar. ( To be concluded in our next.) LLOYD'S LIST or POPULAR WORKS. In Weekly Number* at Id., and Monthly Fart, at 4d., tke Mi* and Highly interesting Romance of. KATHLEEN I OR, THE SECRET HIARRIACE. In Weekly Numbers at Id., and Monthly Part* at 4d, EMILY FITZORMOND 1 6R, THE DESERTED ONE. Thl* la decidedly one of the best work* at fiction we have lately perused, and the exceedingly low price at which It is published, must command for It an extensive circulation, Sally Ftlsonnond is a beautifully drawn character.— DISPATCH. In Penny Weekly Number* and Fonrpenny Monthly Part*. THE MANIAC FATHER I OR, THE VICTIM OR CHARADES. SY 0. W. P. CO POSED IfJ A JotmWEY TO- a s nsn t vn, SEDUCTION. I'm a greenhorn, arid once t set outfof a tictgf Atid took rtiy departure from busy Cheapside; I rode a fei^ miles to a totfn of some fame,' And asked a young bumpkin to tell tfifi the risim£ ; He replied with a grin and ridiculous stare, " The first's found in music, the second's a snare." Not pleased with the answer, I rode on awhile, Till I saw an old man leaninc; over a stile ; " > Vhat's the name of this place ?" I exclaimed— he replied: " The same as si man's,- who^ for treason was tried." I met with a drover, a meaii ot: Cupa{ i6, fi,, Who quickly replied to my interrogation • " Three fourths of a toy, and the name of a plant United, will show you the name that you want." '! You're a foolI exclaimed, when he cri. ed with a shout Sir^ mind you don't fall .-— doe? your, ma' know yoU'recut?' i pexj; rket with cheeks like a rose; Said li " pietty tttaiden* prtt? cftn yoU djtscloge The nftme of this piace ?" she answered vfith glee j, " If you transpose Giles Wagbed, the name you # 111 I next entered a house, and callcd for a glass Of good ale, which was brought by a good- looking lass : To my usual inquiry, she answered me straight:—• II ' TIs the half a dagger— the whole of a weight.'' i sooii met a pedlar, and gave him a guinea, To £ ell me the name of that '/. What a ninny fou are," he fcpiifed, ris he put down his load ; " Tis the name of a street that's in Blackfrrar s Road. I was chagrin d at this, but made no reply \ I had rode many miles and was hungry and dry, So I went to an inn to get something to eat, And of roast veal and ham, and good wine had a treat; At a table quite snug, sat a medical tinker— ^ sii- bottle mas, who was no small beer drinker. I accosted him xvith,—" ? ray, kind sir, can you tell Me the name of this fflace* Which, no doubt, ytfu know well ?" With look mighty pomftous, and squint of his eye,- The bombastic Esculapius made this reply :— " The first's the reverse of worn- out, and you 11 find The second contained the whole race of mankind." " Curse the folks," I exclaimed, and I left in a pet, The devil a straightforward answer I get To all my enouiries ; each one takes delight To banter and jeer me; I m bothered outright: " But man 8 born to trouble,' so said a fam'd Jew, And I found by experience, the saying is true, For the further I rede, the more I was vext, And with quibbles and taunts, was completely perplext. " What's the fcarfie of this place ?' I bawl'd out to a clown ; " Find out by yer laming, he said, With a frown j " And pray, sir, who trusted you out for a ride On the back of a horse, without yer legs tied ?'' But, if you would know, by water transpose, And leave out a letter, the name you'll disclose. Next a rosy young urchm attracted my view ; " Here's a sixpence,'' said I, " if you'll tell me true, What the name of this placeis ?" hegrinn d, scratched his head, Then laughing outright, thus unto me he said: — " A foreigner's title, and ma^ i of great use United, an answer will quickly produce." " You're an insolent rascal," and at hitn 1 made A cut with my whip, when the saucy young blade, With fingers extended, and thumb to his nose. Cried—" Take a sight, cockney ! twig him,— there he goes !" I met with a Quaker by denomination ; " Friend ! tell me,'' said I, " without equivocation, The name of this place;" he with haw's and with hum's, Drawl'd out this reply, as lie twirl'd round his thumbs :— " Make use of the first to go under the second, The'll see, friend, the name is most easily reckoned.'* Sure the fate's have conspired to plague me this day, I mentally said, as I rode on my way; " There's no peace to the wicked," so said the prophet Isaiah, and I wished all the people in Tophet. Now, I wanted refreshment, and likewise repose ; I dismounted, and entered a house—' twas " The Rose." At the bar loll'd a long, lanky- limb of the law, Half full of good liquor, and whole full of jaw; I so » n pop't the question, and he hiccup'd out:— " Ask old Charley Wetherall,— he'il tell you, no doubt.' Non suited again, I soon made my retreat, When a groggy old sailor I happened to meet:— " Hollo ! shipmate," cried I, " tell me, if you please, The name of this place ;" when the son of the seas, With arms cock'd a- kimbo, and see- sawing attitude, Exclaimed: —" You land- lubber, you're out of your latitude^ 1 Then reel'd, turn'd his quid, and with lack- lustre eye, Stared up in my face, and made this reply:— " Take a nut and a fur, a plank, and a pain, Three jewels of value, a tree ; Then join the initials, and they will explain The question you now ask of me," Or a sheep and an adverb united, will show __ The name of this place you are anxious to know." I stared with astonishment,—" How's this?" I cried, " Sure the people take pleasure to jeer and deride ; I've been bantered by losses, with sweet- smiling faces; By yokels a drove, and hawker of laces, A quack and a Quaker, a sailor and pleader; One question 111 ask of " THE PENNY TIMES' reader J" I spurred on my my steed, and soon entered a city Of fame, where the ladies arc buxom and pretty; But my gelding's got tired, my cash u all spent, too ; Can you tell me, kind reader, the places I went through ?'* II* I am a word of fourteen letters.— My 6, 3, 8— is an insect; my 6, 12.12, 13, 14— is a fruit; my 1, 11,6.5- 1$ a part of the dress; my 5, 9 10— is a metal; my 13, 14, 2. 7— Is a province ln Spain ; my 13, 9. 7, 1, 2, 13 10— is a county in England ; my 1, 6, 8— Is a domestic animal ; my 8 14, 14, 4— it a small river In England ; my my 10, 14 13. 4,2, 10— was a celebrated English admiral; my 13, fi, 12, 13. 6. 8, 5 14— Is a river ln North America j mj 9, 1, 14— Is always cold; and my whole Is a celebrated c't? in Europe. " A LOVER OP FICTION." ANSWER TO C W. WHITE'S CHARADE, IN NO. 86. I fear ( my friend White) you'll your minstrel upbraid, For not answering sooner your handsome charade ; But, pray now, m? tardiness this once excuse;— It was not my fault, but tbe fault of my muse, Who , eonsciou* your praise had exceeded her due, Fe t timorous In lier approaches to you, Lest she should unwittingly dim ihose bright bays. Whose fnahness re- blossoms in thine eloquent lays. But havlr g with pleasure thy " mystery • solved, To lay by mv diffidence next I resolved j An 1, as HESPERUS follows bright Phcebtis's ray, Sn I will thn « follow the Unlit of thy lay ; ( Tho' not with his " Halo'' of radiance divine, [ After thy'brilliant l'ght] can my feeble star shine). The Ilelespont, I with Leander retrace, And stem its dark waves to the beauty of Thrace. Poor " HKRO !' IHY beacon flam d high in the air. To lure two fond hearts on to death and despair! " EPEUS." F recognised, qu'ckly, of course— The far. fam » d or j- ctlon of the " Trojan HORSE;" And, a* I proceeded your theme to discuss. My dullness was cleared by a gleam of noaus ; And EROS ( that tyrant mischievous) just then, Laid a veto on paper, and pllfer'd my pen, ' Till I threatened I d fly from fair EUROPK, and go Beyond rapid RHONE, or the silvery ro. And now, avaurit fancy, plain truth shall Inspire These few simple tones that escape from my lyre : Your compliment, courtly, assigns nv to be 1 ( If I'm light) • omswhat favor'd by EUPKROSYNE, > And [ lowllvst] handma'd to the Graces three.— J By the bve, tho'. to me it seeins pretty plain, Those ladles will claim you their own fav'rlte swain. Permit me yonr pardon, again, to entreat. Aud bore in these " Tiniics" we may fiequently meet. I remain ( and your bright gem adorns my fair wreath) With respect, air, ANNA, MINSTREL OF ' TIIE HEATH. Nov. 30, 184'. ANSWER TO THE RIDDLE BY. J. W. I. V NO. 88. A Mass is a form of praytr, To which Catholics atteud ; An Acre is a well known name, To those who till theland. J'ass and Acre combined In one, Form a solution to your pun. Great Gulldford- strcet. J. T. BIDDLE. Although I am small, I have got a name, Which I leave for you into notice to bring; And I have often set whole towns in a flame, Yet have no connexions with Swing. But If you behead me, you then will see clear, That in me, k'nd reader, there is oft to be seen A fine old mansion and a herd of good de » r,— And sometimes hi Prince and our Queen. Again, then, behead me, and I shall be changed To a name that in the Scriptures you 11 find ; And, although I'm neither a city or town, I once contained all human kind* AN HIGHLY INTERSSTINS TALK BY A CKLKBRATBD AUTHOR. We have perused the first and second number of this n « tr ro- mance With much pleasure, and recommend it to the admirers ol the romantic and pathetic.— SATIRIST. Now Publishing In Numbers at One Penny, and Fourpenny Montu Parts, ERNNESTINE DE LACY! OR, TNE ROBBERS' FOUNDLING. The lovers ofthe wild and wonderful will fin* rich food tor their tastes ! n the romance of the above title*— Complete in 104 Numbers at One Penny each, or Eleg50tiy Bound at Nine Shillings and Sixpence, ELA, THE OUTCAST I OR, THE CIPSY CIRL Of ROSEMARY DELL. A TALB OP THE MOST THRILTFFTD INTEREST. ^ LETTER FROM MR. JUDSON, WOOLWICH. To'the I'ro^ rfetOrs. GENTLEMEIV,— Frt m the commencement of Parr's Life Pill* being introduced Into this town, the sale of them has rapidly int creased ; I now sell at least a doaten bdxes where I formerly sold a! single box. I am not at all surprised fry £ iVe great demand made for thim, when Instances of their efficaty are frequently communi- cated to me by those who have either witnessed, or personally ex- perienced the good effects of them, and, cona « fUferitl?, are happy to make kncWn their beneficial properties to others. If requisite, 1 could bring forward several instance* whichtiaVi? recently cjme under my notice, but thinking it will be tfSKpaBSingf on the limits of your bills, 1 Will briefly mention two cases. The erst is that cf a YOUNG LALY, whe had bten nu& mg for many years with frequent periodical attacks of a painful af? ee- tlon in her side, quite Incapacitating her for the time from attend Ing to her domestic duties i having beard of Parr s Life Pills, she purchased a box ; experiencing relief, she continued their use, and Is happy to say she has derived more benefit ftom l! he « e Pills, than from any other mcdiclne she has taken, the paroxysms being mnefe less frequent, and far less acute, and she has reasofl to betlsve they may effect a permanent cure. The next Is that of an OLD GENTLEMAN, upwards of seventy years of age, In a very declining state of health, whose wife, hearing that Parr's Life Pills were an excellent invigorating mcdiclne, purchased a box of me: on her coming for a second box, she said, ber hu'band, to her agreeable surprise, Was very much better; his health had returned, his spirits Wsre revived, and his strength renewed, and he now seemed seve/ ft? years younger, and, for the future, she tf'ould always keep some tyf hit* I im. gentlemen, yours, riSost respectfully, B. R. G JUD30N. 23, High Street, Woolwich, Oct. 12,1841. This letter needs no comment; it must conv1ft£ e the most in- credulous. TCAUTION OF GREAT IMPORTANCB. Purchasers are requested t « ask for " Parr's Life Pills," di ihel? great and deserved reputation, and consequent la* ge scale, hM Induced several unprincipled parties to attempt various imita- tions. Persons who are desirous of testing the wonderful efficacy of this medicine, must observe that none are genuine without the words PARRS LIFE PILLS be engraved on the Government Stamp, in WHITE letters on u RED ground. Sold by most respectable Medicine Venders in town and coun- try ; to be had, wholesale, of Edwards, 67, St. Paul's, London, in Boxes, Price Is. lgd., 2s. 9d., and family boxes Ils. each. Full directions are given with each box. GRATIS.-" The Life aadTimes of Thomas Parr," who lived to be 152 years of age, containing Remarks on Diseases, Health, and the Means of Prolonging Life, 32 pages, with beautiful En- gravings, Anecdotes, Poetry, & c., may be had, gratis, of all Agents. IMPORTANT TO THE PUBLIC. NIXON'S UNIVERSAL HERBAL OINTMENT* THIS Ointment is no longer amongst those'of doubtful utility, It has passed away from the hundred that are da'ly launched upon the tide of experiment, and now stands before public, higher ln reputation than any other in use, and as extensively used in all parts of the country has any ointment that has hitherto been discovered for the relief of suffering man. There are but few towns that do not contain some remarkable evidence of the wonderful cures It has perfomed to persons who have applied it. Indeed, the excellence and efficacy of tbis oint- ment has been established beyond doubt, and will be found to merit the notice of all persons and all ages; the most unequivocal and convincing testimonies have, unsolicited, been sent to the proprietor by persons who have experienced Its rapid and salutary effects, some of which will be seen on the wrapper with each box, and directions for use. Nixon's Universal Herbal Ointment will be found to possess superior virtue oyer any other preparation yet known, being com- posed of ingredients purely vegetable, and of the most harmless and inoffensive qualities; In short, its cleansing and healing pro- perties are such, that one trial will convince the most sceptical of Its cfficacy in curing Inflammations, Abscesses, Green Wounds, Ulcers, Gatherings, Gathered Brea « ts, Scurvy, Erysipelas, or St. Anthony's Fire; Burns, Scalds, Bails, Tumours, Ciiapptu Plles, Bustlons, White Swellings. Chilbalns, RingWorms, Scald Heads, Gout, and Rheumatic Pains, Scorbutic Eruptions, or other similar complaints. This valuable Ointment Is sold in Boxes at Is. lid. and 2s. 9d. each, and may be obtained, wholesale and retail, ofthe Proprietor, John Nixon, Martin's Bank, Talk-' o- th'- hill, near Tuntstall, Staf- fordshire ; and by Messrs. Mander, Weaver, and Co., Wolverhamp- ton ; and also retailed by H. Leese, J. Seckerson, and Edge, Tun- stall; Harper, Hawthorn, and Timmls, Burslem; Jones and Dixon, Hanley; Pierce, Shelton, and Jones, Stoke Library, Lane End; Mortand Hughes, Newcastle; Johnson and Blades, Leek; Bamett, Congleton; W. and R. Wright, Hodgklnson and War- die, Macclesfield; F. Mason, Oxford- street, Manchester, and by most respectable Patent Medicine Venders In the United King- dom. N. B.— In any serious case persons calling on the Proprietor, at his residence, may have their wounds dressed free of expense, by purchasirg the Ointment. JUST PUBLISHED, 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 j being an enquiry into the con. cealed cause that destroys physical energy, and the ahtlitu of manhood, ere rigour has established her empire ; with observations on Ihe baneful cffccis of Solitary indulgence, and Infection ; and on the loss of the Reproductive Powers; with menni of restoration. The consequences of neglected gonorrhoea, gleet, stricture, secon. dary symptoms, and the influence of mercury on the skin are pointed out and illustrated by engravings; followed by observa. tions on marriage, with directions for the removal of disqualifica- tions. By It, and L. Perry and Co., Consulting Surgeons, Bir. mingham and Leeds. Published bv tne Authors, and sold by Strange, 21, Patcrnoster- row j Wilson, 16. Bishopsgate- street - Purkcss, Compton- atreet, Soho; Jacltson, and Co., 13S, New Bond- street, London ; and by J. Guesi, Stcelhouse- lane, Birming- ham ; Joseph Buckton, Bookseller, 50, Briggate, Leeds; and all Booksellers in Town and Country. The CORDIAL BALM OF SYUIACUM is exclusively directed to the cure ol nervous and sexual debility, obstinate gleets, syphilis, irregularity, weaknes* impoteucy, barrenness, Sec. Sold in bottles at lis., or four tirrn. the quantity in one bottle for 33s. Sold by all Medicine Venders in Town and Country. Observe the signature of R. and L. Perry on tbe stamp on the outside of each wrapper. The Five Pound cases may be jad as usual. PERRY'S PURIFYING SPECIFIC PILIS, price 2s. gd., 4s. 6d., and lis. per box; are the most effectual cure for every stage ef the venereal disease in both sexes; including secondary symptoms, disorders of the urinary passages, and all ex- ternal diseases of the skin, without hincrunce from business. Messrs. Perry expect, when consulted by letter, the usual fee of X'l. Partients are requested to be minute in the detail of their case". Medicines can be forwarded to any part of the world, pro- tected from observation. Messrs. Perry may be consulted as u « ual, at 4, Great Charles- street, four doors from Easy Row, Birmingl ham, and 44, Albion- street, Leeds, punctually from 11 in the Morning, until 8 in the Evening, and on Sundays from 11 till 1. Only one personal visit is required from a country patient to enabl. Messrs. Perry to give, such advice as will effect a permanent cure, after all other means have failed. N. B. Country Medicine Venders can be supplied by most of the Wholesale Patent Medicine Houses in London, with the above Medicines. Lond ™ -.— Printed and Published by E. LLOYD, 231, Hi « li Street, Shoreditch; < u> 4 at 8, Holywell Street. Strand,