No. 40.— VOL. I.] SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15,- 1838 THREE- HALFPENCE. TO OUR SUBSCRIBERS. A SPLENDID MEDALIION PORTRAIT OF QUEEN VICTORIA, ( Worth Five Shillings) will be printed in No. 43, of this Miscellany, without extra charge. All who wish to obtain this valuable Portrait are requested to give their orders immediately to their Booksellers and Newsmen, as the earliest impressions will be the best. It will be accompanied with a Life and Pedigree of Queen VICTORIA, and will form the fourth and fifth pages of No. 43 of FRANKLIN'S MISCELLANY- There will be no impression of type on the reverse side of the Engraving, so that it may be either bound up with the MISCELLANY, or be cut out and framed, according to the taste of the Purchaser. ON FRIENDSHIP. Some seek, ' mid pleasure's smiling train, To pass life's fleeting hours away ; But pleasure's chief attendant, pain. Flings shadows o'er the brightest day. Some, goaded by ambition's power, Soar loftily on fancy's wing; But, what is proud ambition's dower ? ' Tis disappointment's venomed sting. Inspired by beauty's glancing eye, The lover stems life's boisterous tide; But finds, when age and want draw nigh, That beauty spurns him in her pride. One bliss will cheer life's gloomy way, Like radiance beaming from above, Will Jast, when other joys decay, ' Tis Friendship's pure and sacred love. For Friendship, like the moon's pale beam, Sheds peace o'er all its ray illumes; While love, too like the lightning's gleam, The heart it rests upon consumes. WOMAN. As the rose in summer blighted, Droops its head, and fades away; So with Woman, in love slighted, Does she wither and decay. But, as the rose will still retain Its fragrance though the colour's flown ; So woman's virtue will remain. Although her beauty may be gone. P. S. THE GOOD EFFECTS OF SMOKING. I had not been many days off the Reef Buoy before I was enabled to venture upon deck after sun- set with impunity ; and it was on one delicious evening, when I had seated myself on the hen- coops, and was idly watching the phosphoric effect of our rapid passage through the water, that our Skipper joined me. Worthy soul! a kinder, a more liberal, and as he had proved himself, a more gallant spirit breathed not. He was one who, by his own merit, had risen from before the mast to hii present station. " Glad to see you on deck again, Sir: I'm thinking we've chiselled that ague of your* altogether,'' was hii opening salutation.—" Thanks to your kindness, and the sea bieeze, I think we have, Captain," re- plied I; " but I must also attribute some portisn of my cure to JTJ being enabled to resume my cigar, notwithstanding the faculty in Cal- cutta assured me that smoking was most injurious." " Them doctors are regular humbugs anyhow! Smoking hurt a man ! why blow me if I'd give it up, no, not if I were threatened with being made a volunteer again. I saved my own life, and the lives of a ship' » crew, ay ! and Honorable John, a pilot vessel, into the bargain, by smoking a cheroot once."—" The devil you did !'' said I; "' tisthe funniest result of inhaling tobacco I ever heard of, the very fuuniest." —" No lie for all that though, and I'll tell you, Sir, how it came to pais." And the pilot commerced his yarn somewhat after the follow, ing shape :—" Why you see, Sir, ( said he,) ' twas in the Sou'- west moa loon, as we were riding in Balasoxe roads with a hundred and twenty fathoms out— sure enough it did blow that night uncommon ! I was a youngster then, and had charge of the forecastle watch, and was trudging it backwardi and forwards with a cheroot in my gills, and the Lascars were a taking it easy under the lee of the booms and weather bulwarks: well, Sir, it wanted but a little of eight bells, and I was thinking of sending down a ' tween decks to rouse up young Pipes for the next watch, when, blow me ! if I didn't see a thundering big ship bearing down siap stem on us. There wat'nt time for us to slip : and we might as well have halloo d to Old Davy, as to that ship on such a night, when the wind was a howling and whistling through our rigging like ten thousand devils: so I whipped off the apron ( you know what the apron ii? it covers the touch- hole of our six- pounder,) and clapped my lighted cheroot to jt. Bhoom ! you ought to have seen the big vessel when she heard thaj^ as ihe suddenly rounded to, just carrying away our jib and flying jib- booms. They were in a tarnation funk anyhow, letting all go bythjS iun like mad ' uns. And so you see, Sir, as I was say- ing, if I hadn't been smoking, should all have made a hole in the water that tight, for the ship " wtould have walked clean over us." " It was indeed, a narrow escape," 1 was going to say; but the Skipper interrupted me with " Bah! but that wain't the worst of the business, for the powder from the touch- hole blew away my cigar, and I never recovered it since anywhere." 2 ___ Printed and Published far Benjamin Franklin, of No. 31, Great- Wild- street, by B, D, Cousins, 18, Duke- street, Linwln's- iym fields, London. CHINESE BARBFERS AND TAILORS. Pekin, the metropolis of China, is erected on a very fine fertile plain, not far south of the Great Wall, in the most salubrious part' of all China, abounding with corn, fruits, herbs, and roots, and all the necessaries and comforts of life, except that of tea, none of which grows in that province. The streets are alwayi crowded, though Chi- nese women never appear in them, except in covered seats and chairs. The reason af this crowding is, that all provisions are brought thither by land caniage, no river or canal coming within three miles of the city, which occasions the streets to be filled with carti, camels, horses, and other beasts of burden, with their drivers, insomuch that it is difficult to pass thiough the gates in a morning or evening. The arti- ficers also contribute to increase the crowd, as they work in the houses of thoie who employ them, and are perpetually looking out for busi- ness. Barbers go about ringing bells to get customers. They carry with them a stool, basin, towel, pot, and- fire, and when any person calls to them, they run up to him, and placing their stool in a con- venient place in the street, they shave the head, clean the ea- rs, put the eyebrowi in order, and brush the shoulders, ail for the value of a little more than a halfpenny. They then ring their bell again, and are ready for another customer. The tailors who ply in the streets go home to the houses of their customers, and do their work there. They do not use thimbles, as ours do, but tie a rag upon their fingers ; nor do they sit down to their work, but sew standing, except when they grow tired. The work is upon the table, and they stand close to it. The motley crowd busied in their several occupations, cause a vast confusion; while jugglers, ballad- singers, and nostrum- mongers, are encircled by their respective mobs. THE CHOICE OF A GRAVE. In Fontenelle's Dialogues of the Dead, Mary Stuart meets Rizzio, and by way of reconciling him to the violence he had suffered, says to him, " I have honoured thy memory IO far as to place thee in the tomb of the Kings of Scotland." " How," says the musician, " my body entombe ' among the Scottish Kings ?" " Nothing more true," re- plies the queen. " And I," says Rizsio, " I have been so little iensi- ble of that good fortune, that, believe me, this ii the first notice I ever had of it." " I have no sympathy with that feeling, which is now- a- days so much in fashion, for picking out snug spots to be buried in. What is the meaning of such fancies ? No man thinks or says, that it will be agreeable to his dead body to be resolved into dust under a willow, or with flowers above it. No— it is, that while alive he has pleasure in such anticipations for his coxcomical clay. I do not understand it- there is no quid pro quo in the business, to my apprehension. It will not do to reason upon of course but I can't feel about it. I am to blame, I dare say— but I can only laugh at such under- ground whims. " A good place" in the church- yard !— the boxes !— a front row ! but why ? No, I cannot understand it: I cannot feel particular on such a subject: any part for me, as a plain man says of a partridge.— London Magazine. GEOGRAPHY. How necessary it is for a young woman, not merely to consider and study her place on that map, which once a wise head at Leipzig printed of the Land of Love, the following anecdote may prove, which really happened a few years since. Two poor young maidens at. Newcastle received a letter from an old rich uncle at Peterborough, which invited them to come to him as soon as possible, for he felt his end approaching, and that he would consti- tute them his heirs, under the condition, that they would nurse him for the few remaining days of his life, and then close his eyes. This re joiced the sisters, and they consequently immediately made inquiries whereabouts Peterborough was; but, unfortunately, they addressed themselves to a man who was even as ignorant as themselves. " O," said he, " this happens very fortunately, for one of my friends, who is a captain of a ship, is just ready to sail for Petersburg!); I will recom- mend you to him ; by him you will be well treated." He kept his word. The girls took leave of all their acquaintances. As there is a very large English factory at Petersburg}), nobody thought it improba- ble that they would find their uncle therein. They set sail, arrived, asked in vain ; were, by their deriding country people, brought to a knowledge of their error; were ashamed, suffered want, and were in the greatest embarrassment, until a captain of a vessel from Hull took compassion on them, and carried them back again with him. On the 22nd of November, in the next year, they again arrived in good health in England, got into a stage coach, and proceeded, after having made this little roundabout journey, to Peterborough. Whether they found their uncle still living, we are not informed. DEEP PLAY.— The late General Ogle had an unconquerable attach- ment to play. A few weeks before he was to sul for India, he con- stantly attended Pain's, in Charles- street, St. James'i- iquare, where he alternately won and lost large sami. One evening there were be- fore him two wooden bowls of geld, which held fifteen hundred guineas each ; and also four thousand guineas in rouleaus, which he had won. When the box came to him, he shook the dice, and with great cool- ness and pleasantry said, " Come, I'll either win or lose seven thousand upon thii hand; will any gentleman set me the whole ? Seven is the main."— Then rattling the dice once more, cast the box from him, and quitted it, the dice remained covered. Though the General did not consider this teo large a sum for one man to risk at a single throir, the lest of the gentlemen did, and for some time he remained unset. He then said, " Well, gentlemen, will you make it up amongst you ?" One set him ."> 00/., another .5001.—" Come," says he, " whilst you are making up this money— 7000/.— I'll tell you a story." Here he be- gan to relate a story that wa « pertinent to the moment; but observing that he was completely let, stopped short, laid his hand upon the box, saying, " I believe 1 am set, gentlemen ?" " Yes, iir, seven ii the main." He threw out! Then, with astonishing coolness, he took up his snuff- box, and, smiling, exclaimed, " Now, gentlemen, I'll finish my itory, if you please." LUXURY.— The luxury of Capua deitroyed the bravest aimy which Italy ever saw, flushed with conquest, and commanded by Hannibal. The moment Capua was taken, that moment the walls of Carthage trembled. They caught the infection, and grew fond of pleasure; which rendered them effeminate, and of course an easy prey to their enemies, \ THE COLOSSUS AT RHODES. The soil of Rhodes is so fertile and rich, that it produces every deli- cacy jyhich man can wish to enjoy ; and the air is the most pure and serene ,£ hat he could desire to breathe. Such is the beauty of the country and salubrity of the climate, as to give occasion to the poets to feign thar Apollo rained golden showers upon it. Here the inhabitants erected the celebrated Colossus, one of the wonders of the world, to the honour of Apollo, or the Sun. This prodigious statue was made of brass, 70 cubi^, or 130 feet In height, proportionably big in every part. It stood aatride. over the haven, so that ships could sail in and out be- tween its legs. • In one hand it he* ld a light- house, and in the other a sceptre ; and its head represented a golden sun. The space between the two feet was 109 yards, and two men coHld scarce, with extended atms, embrace its thumb. After having stood 76 yeajs, it was over- turned by an earthquake, and though the Rhodians collected from the various Grecian States a prodigious sum to defray the expenses of repairing it, the n^ oney WM embezzled, and the image was suffered to lay on the ground for upwards of 900 years, when the Saracens took the city and sold it as old; " bras'* to a Jew, who loaded near a thousand cameli with it. It weighed. 7' 20,0001bs. avoirdupois. Thii wonderful work was made by Clares,- a\ native of Rhodes, who was twelve years in completing it. Just on the spot where the feet stood, a castle on one side and a tower on the other were\# rected, and are standing there at present. The modern Christians of the island are very poor, and are not allowed to lire within the walls of the city; which pririlegeii granted to the Jewi. The principal manufactures are soap, tapestry, and camlets; but the city is a mart for all commodities made in the Levant. Yet Rhodei is kept merely in opposition to the Christians, as it does not remit any thing to the Grand Vazisr, the Turkish Bashaw being allowed the whole of its revenues to maintain the gallies and himielf. ITALIAN HORSE- RACING. During the stay of the Allied Sovereigns at Verona, they were treated with an Italian horse- race, of so ludicrous a description, that the most grave John Bull in all England could not behold it without laughing. The morning was ushered in as favourably as could be wished ; and at an early hour the Place de' Armes, which is close to the Bra, berame the general resort of all ranks. During the whole. of the preceding week, carpenters were employed in confining a place as a circus, and the road did not exceed half an English mile. What an extent of ground for a horse- race! At twelve o'clock precisely, twelve Italian steeds, of matchless shape and symmetry, started together; and— will it be believed ?— they started without either riders, bridles, or saddles! A strong paling of deal boards was intended to prevent them from bolting, but the precaution appeared unnecessary, for, with the exception of some snorting, snuffling, and kicking, they galloped round with as much docility as Astley's ponies. Close to the circus a royal stand was fitted up, and it displayed in gay bedizement appen- dages of pink, white, yellow, and blue satin. Farther on the public in general were accommodated on a large platform. The two emperors and the king of Naples were present. The sapient animals who had to exhibit before the mighty of the earth were decked in all the colours of the rainbow, and, to render the display still more farcical, each race- horse carried his number painted on his side, as well as the initials of the owner's name, in large conspicuous characters. About a hundred yards from what was called the winning- post, a large black curtain was drawn across, and a man, standing behind, pulled it to, to stop the horses, after they had gone round six times. Two heats terminated the whole fete— a jete that certainly would have done honour to Bartholo- mew fair! , FREDERICK THE GREAT. When in the year 1779 the war was determined, and all ministerial negotiations broken off, the imperial court made a last attempt to at- tain their purpose; it therefore sent M. von Thugot to the Prussian camp, personally to represent the affair to the king. Frederick re- ceived him coldly, said he had no men of business about him, and, moreover, the matter had already been exhausted through the count of Falkenstein. M. Thugot was not discouraged. He had brought with him a large roll of paper that was tied together with a piece of pack- thread. He untied the packthread, assiduously displayed bis papers, spoke a great deal, and with warmth. But as he observed the king only answered him coolly and with monosyllab es, he at last folded up his papers again, and took his leave without any consolation. When he had scarce reached the door with dilatory steps, he sud- denly heard the king approaching behind him, he turned quickly and courteously round, in the hope that Frederick had come to some other resolution. There stood the hero behind him with the piece of pack- thread in his hand which Thugot had forgotten, and said with a smile, " Tenez, Monsieur Thugot, Je n'aime pas le bien d'autrui.'" THE APOTHECARY'S BOY.— The fint thing to be observed about an " apothecary's boy" is his peculiar look. There is a gravity in hii manner far beyond hii yearj ; he ieems perpetually impressed with the consciorsness of his high destiny. Regard him well— you are looking at no ordinary being The character of an apothecary's boy is 10 legibly imprinted on his front, that all his efforts to conceal it are fruit- less. Salts are in all his steps, manna in his eye, In every gesture colocynth and rhubarb. Some of this tribe affect to be dandies and men of the town ; but it won't do. In spite of the gilt spurs and ominous bunches of seals, we can find out that " all ii not gold that glitters." You lee him in the streets with hii pockets stuffed out with packets redolent of nausea. His skin bids defiance to cosmetic powers, and all the pes fames of Ara- bia cannot sweeten him. In short, he is a " representative of all the natural shocks that flesh is heir to.'' HUM ® .— Hume's History of England brought the booksellers so much money, that they, as he had withdrawn himself to Scotland, pursued him with letters to allure him by the most advantageous offers to continue this work. At first Hume excused himself in general terms, but as he was perpetually harassed with pressing requests, he at last wrote short and honourably,—" I can neither now, nor ever will I, accept your proposals, and it is true, from four good reasons: I am too old, too fat, too id'e, and too rich." 314 E RA WINE AND WATER. BY THEODORE HOOK, ESQ. It has been generally remarked that the present age is not one of sentiment— that love, pure ami disinterested, has taken wing, and that modern marriages have become mere matters of calculation aad con- venience. Now, to all rules there are exceptions, and it becomes my duty to put upon record a case in which the devotion of a real lover is tested in a. most extraordinary degree, and the disinterested affection of a lady proved to demonstration. fn But as, according to the great master, the course of true love Lever does run smooth, so in this case, as it has happened a thousand timts before, and will happen no doub; a thousand times again, the lady who loved the gentleman was not the lady whom the gentleman loved: and, although she had never concealed the predilection she had formed for him, his eyes had been so dazzled by the more pointed attentions of her rival ( for such in point of fact she was) that he was blinded to the milder radiance of those loots which beamed oil him in all the softness and tenderness of affection founded on esteem. In Tain, therefore, did Mies Leslie endeavour to assure the amiable Francis Lmgley tkat her heart was his. Brought up together from children, Lang'ey never could regard her in any other light than a sis- ter, while the very nature and character of their long intimacy, seemed rather to confirm Ms belief that what she fancied to be love was nothing more than friendship, and Langley, being an enthus; ast, never satisfied but by extremes, turned with delight from the mild and modest Fanny Leslie to tha gay and sparkling Charlotte Featherstock, one of those fearful heroines who take hearts by storm, and lead strings of dying captives in their train. Luckily, as it will pehaps appear in the sequel, the sister of Miss Leslie was married to a rational, respectable, and universally- esteemed man— ore >'• i, Mottingham, who, having been a husband now some six or seven years, was in the habit of regarding the mad freaks of lovers in a somewhat more calm and philosophic manner than he did while tearing his hair and beating his bosom as the doubting yet devoted ad- mirer of his now amiable wife. The flight of so much time and the arrival of four children have their effect in calming down the enthu- siasm which characterises the yet uninitiated, and in substituting for the wild and imaginative flights of theoretical visionaries, the rational esteem, the affectionate regard, and the implicit confidence which form the charm and chain of domestic happiness. " Eliza," said Mr. Mottingham, to his dear wife, " my friend Lang- ley is making himself a very great fool, and your friend Miss Feather- stock is most effectually contributing her share to perfect the exhibition. My belie" is that she cares no more for Frank than she does for any other man who is content to be her slave, her creature, her vassal— while Frank, over head and ears in love with her, flies from a heart sincerely devoted to him.'" " That may be so," replied the lady ; " but, considering the heart he rejects to be that of my sister, it strikes me that it would be the height of indelicacy in either of us to interfere in checking his present pursuit." " And yet," said Mottingham, " if something is not done speedily, I am convinced he will propose to her, and then— what will become of our dear Fanny, who is devoted to him ?" " Poor girl!" said her sister ; " she is only in the position in which all other young women are placed by the laws of society— she must have no choice, or if she have, she must not admit it. She is taught from her childhood upwards, the necessity of concealing her real feel- ings ; and thus, as it seems to me, hypocrisy forms the main ingredient of female moral education." " Langley is too good a fellow to be thrown away upon Miss Fea- therstock," said Mottingham; " and I am sure, if he could only be con- vinced of the real state of Fanny's reelings, his own good sense would induce him to prefer simplicity, sincerity, and single- heartedness, to artificiality, assumption, and affectation." " But, my dear love,"' said Mrs. Mottingham, " you would not have Fanny make a declaration. Husband- hunting is not a very creditable sport for a young lady." •* Certainly not," replied Mr. Mottingham ; " but what I do wish for is the occurrence of some event which might call Fanny's affection- ate disporition into play, and convince him of the reality of her regard for him." " Rely upon it," said the lady, " our friend Langley is too far gone to be saved— if save is a prop- r word to use ; he will marry Miss Fea- therstook ; and therefore the wisest thing we can da with regard to my aster will be to remove her from the s^ ene of his future happiness, and make an extended tour on the continent, during which her mind will be amused, and her thoughts diverted from the one distressing subject." Mottingham said nothing, and appeared tacitly to acquiesce in the scheme of his f ur partner; but in his heart he still aihe- ed to the hope of breaking off the match, which she seemed to consider inevitable, and when they parted he resolved to make one more effort to open the eyes of Lang'. ey to the unwise course which he was about to pursue, by which he would destroy the happiness of a being who loved him, with- out, as Mottingham coniidered, the slightest chance of securing his own. It was odd enough, since Mottingham was a man of the world, and had formed a tolerably accurate estimate of Miss Featherstock's cha- racter, that it had never struck him to be possible that that amiable young lady was playing the same game with his friend Langley as she had played over and over again with other lovers, and that her ruling passion was no more like love, than she like Venus, If it were love, it was love of admiration, love of flattery, and love of dominion, which she unmercifully exercised over her victim of the hour. In the present ease she was more strongly excited to the exercise of those fascinations which contributed to give her this power, by perceiving the reality and sincerity of poor Fanny's affection for Langley; and, as it turned out, the very last thing she wished to induce was an offer from him, the re- jection of wrich must necessarily terminate their intimacy. This, how- ever, never occurred to his friend Mottingham. He esteemed Frank ' for his excellent qualities, could not but be aware of his personal ad- Tantages, was well acquainted with his financial prosperity, and, there- lore, even, as has already been observed, appreciating the young lady's character as he did, he nerer calculated upon such an event ax a rejec- tion. Mottinjham, however, was saved from the trouble of much farther speculation or the contrivance of any new schemes for the disentan- glement of his friend. One day in the ensuing week to tkat on which the dialogue betweei him and his wife, which has already been cited, occurred, Langley, after a " scene" in the evening at the house of Miss Featherstock's venerable sire, felt that the moment had arrived when he was secure of his prize, and after which his further visits without a declaration would be dishonourable and unjust, and, accord- ingly in the morning he waited upon the old gentleman, who, if truth were told, had crown somewhat accustomed to such calls, and, having obtained an audience, opened his heart, gave an outline of his circum- stances and expectations, and begged permission to address his daugh- ter in the character of an acknowledged lover. " Sir," sa'd Colonel Featherstock, " my daughter is her own mis- tress. She is independent in fortune, and I fancy in principle. She has only to make her selection to ensure my approval; such is my faith in her judgment. By your own statements, and from the know- ledge I have of your family and connexions, and from the pleasure of your personal acquaintance, I am perfectly ready to declare that no objection will be made by me to her decision. You have my full per- mission to state the nature of our present conversation to her, and receive her answer, which will be mine. I shall have great satisfaction in your success." Nobody can doubt what the next step was which Mr Langley took. He flew to his fond and confiding Charlotte, repeated all that had passed, offered up prayers to the liberality and excellence of her kind father, stole a sweet kiss from her flushing cheek, pressed her fair hand — popped— and was rejected. The young lady was highly flattered by a declaration of preference from a gentleman she so highly esteemed, but regretted that the cha- racter of that esteem had been misconstrued— her heart was pre- en- gaged, " but she should always think of Mr. Langley with due regard, and be glad of his society as a valued friend." liLI1TS MISCELLANY. * Thus in one moment did this dazzling beauty dissipate the bright virion which had delighted and deluded her victim so long. In vain he besought her to revoke the decree ; yet even when, having worked herself into something like an exhibition of strong feeling, and rushed from him without relaxing in her decision, she cast one last look upon him at parting, which, exactly as she intended it should, conveyed a hope " Where reason would despair." Langley left the house wholly unconscious of what he was doing, or whither he was going. To think, after her conduct the preceding even- ing, after having admitted, more than hypothfetically, that her happi- ness depended upon'her marriage with him— after having at all times, and upon all occasions, in parties and in public, pointedly selected him as her companion in the stroll, or partner in the dance, that she could thus destroy his hopes of happiness! There must be something more in the refusal than he could at first discover; and then, the last, long lingering look— still— there the fact was— the fiat had gone for. h, and the doors of Colonel Featherstock's house were closed against him for ever. Instinctively, rather than wittingly, he reached the hotel in which he was domiciled ; and, in the hurry of his contending feelings, resolved to quit the scene of his defeat and discomfiture on the instant, but not without communicating the cause of his departure to his friend Met- tingham, whose kindness he had often experienced, and in whose advice he had the greatest confidence: advice, however, now he needed not, for who can Minister to a mind diseased?" His impulse was to leave the hotel forthwith; and, accordingly, he wrote a few hurried lines to anounce his resolution, his note con- cluding with an implicit determination of proving at once the fervency of his love, and the aeuteness of his despair, by putting an end to his existence; for, as he expressed himself, " Why should I live in a world where nothing but misery awaits me ?" Before this exciting not? reached Mottingham, its unhappy writer had taking his departure. The note was unfortunately read by his friend incautiously, and certainly without anticipating its contents or conclusion, in the presence of his wife and poor Fanny Leslie, who at iti contlusion fell from her chair In a state of total insensibility. This circumstance rendered the sincerity and intensity of her affec- tion no longer questionable, and her sister and brother- in- law raised her from the floor, and led her to her room. The latter, more than ever, resolved that Langley should be made happy, nolens volens, and that a generous heart and noble spirit, like those of the affectionate Fanny, should be justly rewarded. Whither Langley had gone, nobody was able to tell Mottingham. All he could discover at the hotel was that he had ordered horses to his britscha, and that, attended by his servant, he had taken the road, at least as far a « the first stage went, to Southampton. Mottingham was not to be baffled in the outset, and, feeling as little inclination to remain in the neighbourhood of the Featherstocks after the denouement of the affair as Langley himself, and agreeing with his wife that change of scene and circumstances could not fail to be beneficial to her sister, he an- nounced his determination to the ladies to make a move, and added confidentially to his wife his intention, if possible, to discover the re- treat of the disconsolate Langley. Mrs. Mottingham just ventured again to insinuate something about husband- hunting, but she was cut short by her plain- spoken, straight- forward husband, who repudiated the idea as far a3 Fanny was con- cerned, and at once declared himself the originator of the expedition upon the much higher principle of preserving his friend from the effects of a morbid sensibility, left to work upon an active mind suddenly doomed to needless solitude and useless reflection. It may easily be imagined, however strongly Mrs. Mottingham felt in her anxiety to support the dignity of her sister Fanny's character, that she would not seriously object to any suggestion of her husband which might properly, conveniently, and judiciously contribute to bringing about an event likely to secure that sister's happiness, and restore Langley from a state of needless despair to one of comfort and serenity. Their good intentions that way tending were, however, des- tined for the present to be frustrated; all endeavours to as ertain Langley's destination were fruitless, and all that his devoted Fanny's eyes were doomed to see was the pony phaeton of Miss Featherstock trotting along, the next afternoon, as rapidly and as gaily as ever, while its fair occupant, lolling back in the carriage, was kissing her hand and making les yeux doux at every well- ringleted, white- gloved stripling who had the honour of her acquaintance. " This will not do," said Mottingham; " that man must not be lost: I know the violence of his passion and the strength ot his feelings — he is too good a fellow to be lost in so ridiculous a manner, especially while there is a girl" " Hush, my dear Mottingham,'' said the lady; " if Fanny were to hear you express an opinion upon her attachment to him, it would break her heart. Nothing on the face of the earth is so galling to a woman as a feeling of unrequited affection." " But if he could be made to feel that she is attached to him— de- voted to him," said the husband, " I know, I am sure, that he would be cured of the extravagant grief which he feels about this over- pro- fessing huney, with whom I have no patience." While all this was passing, poor Langley, whose heart was sorely wounded, felt, in addition to the deep stab which his amour propre had received by the refusal of his offer, a mortification, which even went beyond the wound, ari » ing from self- reproach, that he should have been so deceived as to fancy himself secure in the young lady's affec- tions, and thus have hurried the affair to a crisis, his o in precipitation being perhaps the true cause of her rejection of him. But then, as he argued with himself, why did she say this ?— why did she whisper that ? — why let me press her hand ?— why let me clasp her so tenderly when we waltzed ?— why look as she did ?— why sigh at one moment ?— why smiie at another ?— in all things sympathizing with me;— why talk of married happiness ?— why dwell upon the delights of retirement from the world with the man she could love ?— why talk of the expressive- ness of dark eyes ?— why allow me to But all these monologues were vain; there was fact against theory, and he was discarded: and so he went on and went on, until he went the length of loading his pistols for the purpose of ending the " Thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to." Luckily, his servant, anticipating something of the sort, removed the deadly weapons from his room, and Langley wat, by the fidelity of the kind domestic, for the present, at least, preserved from lelf- destmction. Pending all this, however, poor Fanny Leslie, whose tender heart was all his own, lived in a state of fear and apprehension, much on a par with that of the amiable Mrs. Cromwell, the mother of the worthy radical reformer who did England the honour to govern it in regal state, while her exemplary and unpretending son was in all his glory ; who never heard a pistol fired in the street without crying out, " D'ye hear that 1 My poor Noll's shot." Every sound that eould be miscon- strued into the finishing blow of her beloved Langley filled poor Fanny with terror. Mottingham having once suggested the possibility of his killing himself, the idea never left her mind; and, knowing that when romance once seizes the imagination it is generally carried to extremes, she felt assured that, although gone, he would, if disposed, as he said in his note to his brother- in- law, to quit this world, in which there was no- thing for him but misery, return to the spot where he had received his refusal, and start for the " undiscovered bourne" from the neighbour- hood of his scornful fair. And here let us pause for one moment to make a remark, which I do not recollect ts have heard often made, upon a very curious inconsis- tency of the immortal Shakspeare :— As to his historical plays, the powerful talent and erudite research displayed in the pages of this Magazine by one of its most able contributors, will sufficiently establish the nodding of our Homer where history is concerned— but the incon- sistency to which we now allude, is to be found in the purely beautiful imaginative part of one of his most admirable plays. Hamlet Prince of Denmark ( or, as the late respectable M/ s. Rams- bottom, who has been good enough to allow several of her letters to be published, called him, G mblet Prince of Dunkirk), in that most splen- did soliloquy upon the very subject which, at the present period of our little narrative, occupied the thoughts of Mr, Lang'ey and Mils Leslie, we: ghs with infinite skill and beauty of language the alternative of bearing " the ills we have" or of flying to " others that we know not of;" the check upon the desperation which would lead to the latter con- summation, being " The dread of something after death, Theundiscover'd country, from whose bourne No traveller returns." Now this is a very strange thing— not for Shakspeare to say, because it is beautiful, it is sublime, and it is true— but with what possible con- sistency can it be put into the mouth of Hamlet, who, but a very little time before, has had the advantage of a long dialogue with the ghost of his father, who did come back from that bourne, and not only came back, but told him that he was subject to sulphurous and tormenting ** flames, obliged all day to fast in fires, and " walk about for a certain term every night ?" Hamlet after that, heard his illustrious parent's voice under- ground, and in consequence thereof called his demised majesty " old mole," " boy," and " True- penny, the fellow in the cel- larage." As to the terms applied to deceased monarch! in these days, we do not venture to complain, nor do we mean to criticise the freedom with which Denmark's Pride apostrophizes his illustrious pa rent; the only thing remarkable is, that Hamlet, having had so recent a tUe- a- tite with a " revffnant," should stay his own hand with reference to doubts which the very disagreeable account his illustrious father had given him of the state of affairs below must have gone a good way to satisfy. Is it merely apropos des Bottes here to say that I once saw what no- body, excepting always the audience of that particular night could have seen, the ghost of Hamlet's father acted at Covent Garden Theatre in spectacles. Armour, of course, was the costume, and chalk the com- p'exion ; the performer was the late Mr, Chapman, who was remark- ably near- sighted. Having acted the ghost so frequently as to have entirely forgotten the part ( for who can expect people to remember things for ever ?) he had put on his spectacles on the outside of the casque which covered his " aunciente" head, and, beinc suddenly called to the stage, on he went, helmet, glasses, and all. When once on, to remove the glasses would have been impossible; a ghost without spe- culation in his eyes taking off a pair of spectacles would have been fatal, and accordingly the ghost performed his duty, even to the time of cock- crowing, framed and glazed as ghost was never seen before. A thousand pardons for the digression. Fanny grew dreadfully nervous, and, although Mottingham was re- soved to laugh off her apprehensions of anything serious as regarded Langley, he could not control his own ; for, knowing his friend's ardent disposition, the thought of his rashness was ever uppermost in his mind " My dear Mr. Mottingham," said Fanny, " my feelings are dread- fully excited about our poor Frank. This morning I heard a pistol fired" " Pistol!" said Mottingham ; " it was the keeper shooting rabbits." " And then," said poor Fanny, " I heard a plunge in the river which runs close by Colonel Featherstock's house." " So did I," said Mottingham; " it was Dido after the ducks. No, my dear girl, you must not agitate yourself in this manner about a man who cares nothing for you." " That makes no difference in my feelings towards Aim," said Fanny. " I know his excellent qualities and the goodness of his heart, and I also know the fervour of his disposition, and cannot but antici- pate serious results from the disappointment of his affections." " Well, but really," said Mottingham, " the very probability of his shooting himself for love of Miss Featherstock appears to me to offer the best possible reason for your indifference about it: if he likes to kill himself, why should you wish to deprive him of the only consola- tion that is left him ?'' " Indeed," said Fanny, sighing, " when all we love is lost, life i « scarcely worth keeping." " Bat do you think," said Mottingham, " that so pert a flirt as Charlotte deserves to be so deeply regretted ? If I thought so, and I were Langley, I declare I should be extremely well inclined to blow my brains out; but I dont, and that's the point upon which we d'ffer." " But," said Fanny, " under any circumstances, supposing her a perfect angel, you would not, in speaking on the subject to Mr. Langley, palliate the crime and madness of suicide ? No; what I would en- treat of you to do, implore you to do, would be to see him, argue with him, exert yourself to dissuade him from so dreadful a design. Bid him live and be happy." " And give him hopes," said Mottingham, " that he might perhaps, discover an amiable and accomplished young lady, whose feelings to- wards him are not so equivocal as those of Miss Featherstock ?" " Indeed, no," said Fanny, " my anxiety is most disinterested. I know your influence over him, I know his esteem for you, and I am quite certain he would attend seriously to advice seriously given by such a friend." " Well, Fanny," said Mottingham, " I will make a bargain with you— if you and your sister agree to go with me, I will ascertain whither he has betaken himself, and will follow him ; and all that I can do to cure him of his folly shall be done ; what other folly he may fall into in consequence is neither here nor there. I suspect his desti- nation to be Brighton ; a few hours will take us there, and your kind heart shall be set at rest. So, if yea is the word, go and tell Eliza. I will order horses, and off we start forthwith." " You are a kind good creature," said Fanny. " The idea that the excursion may save a life'' " Is most consolatory," said Mottingham; " not that, in my humble opinion, that particular life is in the slightest danger. However, go, make your arrangements, and I will send to the hotel, and, I thiRk, in all probability, find out where he actually is • and remember, dear Fan, expedition and punctuality are two of my favourite virtues. The horses will be here in one hour." Fanny, in whose apprehension for Langley's safety Mottingham most certainly did not sympathise, was made comparatively happy by his ready compliance with her wishes. Mrs. Mottingham, with all her dread of husband- hunting, could not but agree in the proposition ; and, it having been ascertained, by the return of Langley's servant to fetch sundry articles of luggage, &. S., from the hotel, that his master was, as Mottingham had suspected, actually at B - ighton, in little more than the prescribed time the family party were to be seen " trotting along the road" at the rate of ten miles an hour. Mrs. Mottingham, whose sensitive delicacy was still kept in alarm by the measure her husband had adopted, made one condition, to which he readily assented, which was, that Mr. Langley should not be ap- prized of her arrival or that of her jister, at all events, until after Mr. Mo'. tingham had ascertained the actual state of his mind aad feelings. " Leave all that to me," said Mottingham. " If I am not very much mistaken, I shall succeed in rescuing him from the misery into which it should seem he has fallen. One of the most delightful duties of friendship is to soften the afflictions of love. You ihall hear a faith- ful account of my proceedings, and I think the chances are that the disconsolate Langley will make the fourth at our dinner- table in the evening." " Your advice may come too late," said Fanny. " Why, no," replied Mottingham. *' If Langley had resolved upon killing himself, he would, in all probability, not have despatched his servant for more clothes." " That might be done," said poor Miss Leslie, " in order to get the man out of the way." " My dear love," said Mr. Mottingham, " you are conjuring up evils which, as I believe, do not exist." " But he said he was tired of life," said Fanny. " Fanny," said Mottingham, " there are on record two or thrse sage proverbs touching this case, which may serve to support you— such as ' Great talkers are the least doers;' and that' It is one thing to say and another to do;' with various similar axioms and apophthegms, in the wisdom of which I fully concur." " Well," said Fanny," I hope you may He right." This gentle kind- hearted girl was soon destined to be relieved from her anxiety, for upon the arrival of the party at the Albion Hotel, and inquiring for Mr. Langley, they were told that he was out walking: thii intelligence was welcome to her, who certainly was the most in FK A M M f c ' S M I S C E L L A N Y. 315 terested member of the party, and the absence of the object of Mott- inghaaa's search gave them the desired opportunity of establishing themselves in their apartment without being seen by Langley. Dinner • was ordered, and Mottingkam placed himself en the Steyne so as to command the entrance of the hotel, and intercept his disconsolate friend on his return. A move so judicious could scarcely be expected to fail in its object. Scarcely had Mottingham posted himself in his position before he saw LaBgley walking towards this house, looking pale and miserable, his eyes fixed on the gro md, and his air and manner strongly indicative of sorrow and abstraction, and a total carelessness of all surrounding ob- jects ; indeed, so lost was the unfortunate man in the consideration of his own misery, that it was not until Mottingham tapped him on the shoulder, and accosted him by name, that he saw his excellent and sympathising friend. " Mottingham," said he, starting with surprise, and looking for a moment gay, " my dear fellow— how kind!— how considerate this is! — how did you find out my retreat ?" " No matter," said Mottingham, " here I am come to condole with you— to soothe— to c om'oit you." " Ah, my dear Mottingham," said Langley," you are too good— but it is all over— nothing can soothe— nothing can comfort me! This syren has robbed me of happiness, and life is a burthen to me. Come — come in— I can think and talk only of the one subject— come to my rooms." Mottingham, delighted that Langley made no inquiries about the ladies, followed him to his sitting- room, where stood upon a table a bottle of sherry half full, a wine glass, a tumbler, and a bottle of water, together with some biscuits, the half of one of which had served to keep the life and soul of Mr. Langley together— the wine having been more than half consumed by him in order to raise his spirits sufficiently to enable him to make the exertion of walking out. On another table lay his pistol- case, which during his faithful servant's absence he had restored to their wonted resting- place. When they entered the room, Langley motioned to Mottingham to take a chair— they sat down. " Well," said Mottingham, " this won't do, Langley— you are look- ing wretchedly ill." " It will not do," replied Langley; " such a state of existence can- not last long— to think that she of whose affection I felt secure should kill the hopes she had cherished ! Really and truly, my dear friend, it is insupportable." " I entirely enter into your feelings," said Mottuyham, " and am perfectly convinced that in your position any attempt to reason upon them would be as useless as impertinent." " I have made up my mind, Mottingham," said Langley ; " life : 3 now a burthen to me— and one way only is left to escape my misery." " What do you mean ?" said Mottingham. " What I hinted in my letter to you," said Langley. " There lie the means of my emancipation from thraldom and wretchedness;" and he pointed to the pistols. " It is but the affair of a msment, and all will be over." " That's true," said Mottingham; " and as for pain" " I care for nothing," said Langley ; " I know that it is an act from which I ought to turn with horror." " I don't see that, my dear friend," said Mottingham, calmly; " if a man's life is a burthen, why" " Indeed !'' said Langley; " is it your opinion then that the sin is venial?" " Of that I give no opinion," said Mottingham ; " but, when the mind is tortured as yours must naturally be— I confess I should feel disposed to risk the perils which threaten." " And pat an end to yourself?" said Langley, evidently very much surprised at the accommodating acquiescence of his friend, from whom he expected to meet with nothing but distuasion or opposition to his dreadful design. " I should," said Mottingham, " unless Melt that 1 could love again, and some new object might interest me and restore me to the world and myself." " Beally!" said Langley. " Nay, more," said his friend ; " my object in following you was to afford you the means of pairing your intentions iato execution more surely and secretly than you might otherwise have been able to fulfil them." " Is it possible ?" said Langley. " True, my friend," continued Mr. Mottingham ; " I have always held peculiar opinions upon that point. I have always resolved— with all my natural gaiety of disposition— that, if certain things were to happen to me, and if I were suddenly stricken by misfortune, I shou. d cut the matter short." " I do not recollect," said Langley, " ever haring heard you speak in this strain before." " Assuredly not," said Mottingham; " such subjects are not matters of every- day conversation, and the broaching such doctrines must in- fallibly incur the censure of the world; but to prove my. sincerity, see here are the means of self- destruction without pain, without noise, without dilfigurement— never have I been without them for years." Saying which, the sympathising friend drew from a side- pocket a small paper packet, folded, and sealed with a small black seal. " What!" said Langley, " have you brought it?" " Here it is, my friend," said Mottingham; " its operation is merely soporific— it steals through the system without inflicting the slightest suffering, aHd in an hour you will sink into a delightful slumber from which you will never wake." " How dreadful! " muttered Langley. " Oh, Charlotte !— well" " Do not thank me for this," said Mottingham ; " it is an act of mercy and friendship, which, were I under similar circumstances to yourself, I am sure you would do for me. I will mix it for you— it is tasteless— and, once down, all is over.' Saying which, Mr. Mottingham proceeded to mix two equal portions of wine and water in the tumbler; and then having broken the black seal with a trembling hand, he shook the deadly powder into the glass:— it wa « dissolved in an instant, and the paper which had con- tained it refolded and cautiously replaced in the packet whence it had been drawn. " My dear friend," said Langley, trembling with agitation " Langley,' said Mott'ngham, considerably affected," it is the affair of a moment— give me your hand— I cannot stop to see you swallow the potion - farewell!— farewell!— a sweet sleep awaits you— die in peace, and may your sins be forgiven! Farewell for ever!" Saying which, he rushed from the room in a state of the greatest excitement, leaving his friend pale and motionless, with his eyes fixed upon the deadly goblet. For some minutes Langley stirred not; then raising his countenance from the object of his present solicitude he muttered to himself some few incoherent words, expressive of the wretchedness of his condition, the true nature of which he felt to be best declared by the readiness which his friend had evinced to get h'm out of his misery. " One draught of this," said the unhappy man, " and all will be over ; a happy release— come— come— yet, if after all she should relent — that last look— she might— she must have loved me— and if so, and if she hears that I have died for her sake, what tortures will she feel! tortures too of my inflicting. Have I not sworn a thousand times to live for her alone ? and now,— 110 - no— she will reproach me— curse my memory— I shall be called mad— made a public sight of— no— no — let me get rid ® f this dreadful temptation, it is too much to struggle with." Saying which, the hapless Langley caught up the goblet, and threw its contents out of the window. " I will go and find Mottingham,— I will conquer the desire for death— and implore him never to reveal the fact that I for a moment entertained the design of self- destruction." Having taken this step and fosmed this new resolution, he proceeded in search of his kind friend, who in the interim had informed Fanny that he feared they had arrived too late to save Frank's life, concealing however the active part he had taken in cutting it short. The intelligence produced effects which unequivocally betrayed the real state of heir feelings towards Langley ;— to a fainting fit succeeded a fit of desperation, which impelled her to rush to the apartment of the devoted suicide, aiTcoHipmied of course by her brother- in- law and her sister. There was the room, but its inmate was gone,— there stood the glass, but the poison had been swallowed. " Ob," exclaimed the unhappy Fanny, " he is lost— fce is dead— gone for ever!" " No, Fanny," said Mottingham, " of that there is no chance ; the effect of the poison he has taken is not rapid— certain, but slow,— an- tidotes may be effectually administered; and, Fanny, if by your hand" — " Oh, what on earth can I do ?" sobbed poor Miss Leslie. At which particular juncture in walked Mr. Langley. He started at perceiving his unexpected visitors; but Fanny, too truly and sincerely attached to him, was even more violentl j affected. The dear girl fell on her knees, and, clasping his hand, implored him to grant her one favour, and she would bless his name for ever. " Me, Fanny ?" said Langley. " Yes," sobbed Fanny. " You, Francis— you can confer a favour on me, which will bind me to you eternally. My brother- in- law has told me all;— do— do— for Heaven's sake, renounce your fatal resolu- tion" " Ah !" said Langley, hiding his face in his hands. " I know what you have done," said she, " but you may yet be saved ;— let me implore you, for the sake of those who esteem aud admire you. Let me entreat you to prevent the sacrifice of a valuable life, for the sake of a being wholly unworthy of you. Let rae send for medical advice, Mottingham will run— fly in the cause." " Yes," said Mottingham. " Antidotes, Langley. Hot water— the stomach- pump— let me'' " You take too deep an interest in me, Miss Leslie," said Langley. " I know you miy be saved," continued the ardent girl; " the extra- ordinary circumstances of the case embolden me to say— forgive me— that my life depends on tjie preservation of yours." " A thousand thanks !" said Langley; " To hear such kindness ex- pressed in such a voice, and with such earnestness, is most delightful— but I— declare— I assure you, that these appliances and antidotes are useless." Langley was at once charmed and surprised at the waimth and energy of Fanny, to whom, as we kaow, he had long been affectionately attached as a friend, but in whom he never suspected so much warmth and power of feeling to exist; and the effect this new discovery produced upon him was considerably heightened by the horror of mak- ing himself ridiculous by confessing that he had thrown the poison out of the window. " Langley!" said Fanny Leslie, " you must live— you must consent to subject yourself to the discipline necessary to your restoration. Con- ' sent— consent— you do— you do. I see— I know it— in tea minutes the best medical advice shall be here."' " For Heaven's sake!" cried Langiey. " It must be so," said Mottingham, " Send off for Doctor Chisel- hurst with the stomach- pump, he is the great doctor here— ring for some sweet oil and hot water— get everything ' " I will fly !' said Fanny," I will die to save him !" Whereupon she did fly, rather than run, along the lobby to Mr. Mottingham's rooms, and thence despatched all available messengers in search of every remedy to counteract the effects of the potion which the distracted Langley had not taken, having implored her brother- in- law not to leave him till the assistance and remedies arrived. " What an excellent creature that is! ' said Langley. " How have I underrated her esteem— her regard— her affection for " me !" " Yes," said Mottingham. " What a heart is a woman's, who, when the hour of trial comes, braves all difficulties and encounters all perils to do good! She is indeed an inestimable girl." " By Heavens!" said Langley, " I never could have fancied that I had excitod such an interest, or that I had any hold on her affections. I thought of her, and felt towards her, liks a sister— but" " Now," said Mottingham, " you see the real state of the case. You are over- diffident,— you want self- confidence. I could have told you long since how she loved you. I could have told you what an admir- able wife she would make ;— but no,— you fled from cur house— you devoted yourself to a woman of the world— a flirt, and a coquette,— if nothing worse; and see how she has treated you, and see the fatal con- qr. ences that have arisen." " But," said Langley, " you not only advised the course I was to take, but even administered the dreadful dose." " You may yet be saved," said Mottingham, " and" " Saved!" cried Langley, " there is nothing to save me from. When you left me I changed my mind, and resolved to die a lingering death of grief." " How d'ye mean ?" said Mottingham. " Don't betray me," said Langley; " do not make me contemptible in the eyes of that dear affectionate girl. Mottingham— don't despise me— I did not take the poison." " Upon your life ?" said Mottingham : " that is, indeed, moit fortu- nate." " Yes," answered the disconsolate; " but it is quite impossible, now that I see how much Fanny is interested in my fate, to admit that £ flinched from the trial— eh ?— she will laugh at me ?" " Not a bit of it," said Mottingham ; " she will be too happy to find you safe, and in the fair way of possessing such a prize as she is: how- ever, you must take your own course." At this period of the dialogue, poor Fanny returned accompanied by sundry ehamber- maids with hot water, an apothecary's ' prentice with a stomach- pump, mu: h sweet oil, and the promise of numerous antidotes whioh Dr. Chiselhurst would bring over in five minutes. The women, stimulated in their exertions by the energetic appeal of Fanny, pro- ceeded to sieze hold of Langley, and the apothecary's ' prentice pre- pared the pump. Dr. Chiselhurst was actually at the door, and every- thing was in extremities, when, driven to the very last point of the affair, Langley, struggling with the women, and baffling the napkins and towe's with which they were entangling him, screamed out in a voice of despair— " Leave me alone— for mercy's sake leave me alone I" " No, no, no," said Fanny, " do no such thing— force must be used if necessary." And fores was about to be used, when all on sudden appeared in the room Mr. Stephens, Langley's servant, who had been despatched for his clothes, and the et ceteras, to the hotel which he had quitted. " Oh, Sir !" said Stephens, staring in amazement, at the po ition and circumstance in which he found his master, " such news, Sir— such news." " What ?'' exclaimed Langley, having obtained a minute's respite from the operation of the pump"—" What is the news ?" " Miss Feathers'. © :*, Sir" " Oh !" exclaimed Langley, " it is " as I suspected— has killed her- self." " Ha ! ha! ha !" said Stephens, " not she." " Gone off with Colonel Longstraddle." " No, Sir," said Stephens ; " you'll never gueas." " Speak out, Sir!" said Langley. " Do, Sir," said Doctor Chiselhurst, with the squirt in Ilia hand; '' there's no time to be lost— your master's life depends upon the promptitude of the application of the pump." " Out, Sir!" cried Stephens ; " why, then, I'll tell you:— Miss Fea- therstock has run away with her father's gardener !" " Is that true ?" said Langley. " Is it possible ?" " True as gospel, Sir," said Stephens ; " I have it under her father's own hand, who heard how you took on about he*, and has written a re- gular cerrywig of the circumstance for yout satisfaction." " A what, Sir ?" said Mottingham. " A certificate he means," cried Langley,—" Stephens confounds the words ; and have you got the ceirywig, as you call it ?" " Hasn't I ?" said Stephens. And sure enough there it was, in the shape of a brief announcement of the fact to Langley, explaining the misery his daughter's conduct had entailed upon him, and handsomely expressing his hope that the circumstance would reliere his jrind from the effects of a grief which he deeply regretted. " What do you think of that V said Mottingham, " Why, that from the most miserable dog I am in an instant become the happiest man alive," said LaEgley. ^ f " Ah !'• cried Fanny, " you repent your rashness ; now then you will consent to be saved. Come, Dr. Chiselhurst, out with the pump." " Pump!" cued Langley, "' take physic, pump'— I'll have none on't. Mijs Leslie, heat the truth— hear the whole truth— I did not take the poison." The effect produced by this announcement upon Dr. Chiaelhurst, and white- faced Jemmy his apprentice, and upon the waiters and the cham- ber- maids, was startling. Fanny burst into tears of jay— the doctor looked disdainful, and, having cast a contemptuous glance over the pa- tient's countenance, cocked up his nose, asd merely said—" Boy Jem put up the pump, and come along"— the doctor being no more a doctor than the head- waiter, but an apothecary so dignified by courtesy, and away marched the whole body of attendants, all more or less" disap- pointed at there being no probability of a fatal result. " Fanny," said Langley, " this most important incident of my life has elicited a truih upon which my future happiness depends. Long at we have known each other, constant as has been our intercourse, and unreserved as has been our communication, I never believed that I had inspired you with a feeling beyond that of friendship and esteem; your cunduct in this trying crisis convinces me that you are the being on earth to secure my earthly felicity.'' Mottingham and his wife exchanged looks of mutual satisfaction, and Fasny, nothing loth, suffered her head, aching as it was froai excite- ment, tu fall upon Langley's shoulder— another word was needless. " Mottir gham," said Langiey, as he clasped the trembling girl to hig heart, " I am sure you meant for the best when you counselled me to rid myself of my cares by quitting a world of woe, whish no w promises to be a world of comfort. Now, indeed, do I truly rejoice that I did not swallow the fatal draught." " So do I," said Mottiagham ; " because, by a strange combination of events, things have all turned out as we could have wished; but as to the poison, my dear fellow, you might have taken it with the most perfect sa'ety ; for, excepting a little remarkably well- powdered sugar, which I brought in my pocket, the dreadful potion was no'hing but a little WINK and WATER. T E. H. DRAGOONING. The following was the method of dragooning the French Protestants, practised after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, under Louis XIV. The troopers, soldiers, and dragoons, went into the Protest- ants' houses, where they marred and defaced their household stuff, broke their looking- glasses, and other utensils and orna- ments, let their wine run about their cellars, and threw about their corn, and spoiled it. And as to those things which they could not destroy in this manner, such as furniture of beds, linen, wearing- apparel, plate, & c., they carried them to the market- place, and sold them to the Jesuits, and other Roman Catholics. By these means the Protestants in Montauban alone, were, in four or five days, stripped of above a million of money. But this was not the worst. They turned the dining- rooms of gentlemen into stables for their horses, and treated the owners of the houses where they were quartered, with the highest indignity and cruelty, lashing them about from one to another, day and night, without inter- mission, not suffering them to eat or drink; and when they began to sink under the fatigue and pains they had undergone, they laid them on a bed, and when they thought them somewhat recovered, made them rise, and repeated the same tortures. When they saw the blood and sweat run down their faces and other parts of their bodies, they sluiced them with water, and putting over their heads kettle- drums, turned upside down, they made a continual din upon them, till these unhappy creatures lost their senses. When one party of these tormentors were weary, they were relieved by another, who practised the same cruelties with fresh vigour. At Negreplisse, a town near Montauban, they hung up Isaac Favin, a Protestant citizen of that place, by his arm- pits, and tormented him a whole night by pinching and tearing off his flesh with pincers. They made a great fire round a boy of about twelve years old, who, with hands and eyes lifted up to heaven, cried out, " My God, help me!" And when they found the youth resolved to die, rather than renounce his re- ligion, they snatched him from the fire just as he was on the point of being burnt. In several places, the soldiers applied red. hot irons to the hands and feet of men, and breasts of women. At Nantes, they hung up several women and maids by their feet, and others by their arm- pits, and thus exposed them without clothing to public view. They bound mothers that gave suck to posts, and let their suckling infants lie languishing in their sight for several days and nights, crying, mourning, and gasping for life. Some they bound before a great fire, and being half roasted, let them go; a punishment worse than death. Amidst a thousand hideous cries, and a thousand blasphemies, they hung up mea and women by the hair, and some by their feet, on hooks in chimneys, and smoked them with wisps of wet hay till they were suffocated. They tied some under the arms with ropes, and plunged them again and again into wells ; they bound others like criminals, put them to the torture, and with a funnel filled them with wine, till the fumes of it took away their reason, when they made them » ay they consented to be Catholics. They stript them naked, and after a thousand indignities, stuck them with pins and needles from head to foot. They cut and slashed them with knives; and sometimes with red hot pincers took hold of them by the nose, and other parts of the body, and dragged them about the rooms till they made them promise to be Catholics, or till the cries of these miserable wretches, calling upon God for help, forced them to let them go. They beat them with staves, and thus bruised, and with broken bones, dragged them to church, where their forced presence was taken for an abjuration. In some places they tied fathers and hus- bands to their bed- posts, and violated their vrivesand daughters before their eyes. They blew up men arid woman with bellows till they burst them. If any, to escape these barbarities, endea- voured to save themselves by flight, they pursued them into the fields and woods, where they shot at them like wild beasts, and prohibited them from departing the kingdom ( a cruelty never practised by Nero or Dioclesian) upon pain of confiscation of effects, the galleys, the lash, and perpetual imprisonment; inso- much that the prisons of the sea- port towns were crammed with men, women, and children, who endeavoured to save themselves by flight from their dreadful persecution. With these scenes of desolation and horror, the Popish clergy feasted their eyes, and made only a matter of laughter and sport of them. And though my heart aches whilst I am relating these barbarities, yet for a perpetual memorial of the infernal cruelty practised by these monsters, 1 beg the reader's patience to lay before him two other instances, which, if he had a heart like mine, he will not be able to read without watering these sheets wiih his tears. The first is of a young woman, who, bein J brought before the council, upon refusing to abjure her religion, was ordered to prison. There they shaved her head, and having stripped her of her clothes, led her through the streets of the city where many a blow was given her, and stones flung at her : then they set her up to the neck in a tub full of water, where after she had been for a while, they took her out, and put on her shift dipt in 316 F R A N K L I N ' S M I S C E L L A N Y. wine, which, as it dried, and stuck to her sore and bruised body, they snatched off again, and then had another ready dipped in wine, to clap on her. This they repeated six times, hereby making her body exceedingly raw and sore. When all these cruelties could not shake her constancy, they fastened her by her feet to a kind of gibbet, and let her hang in that posture, with her head downward, till she expired. The other is of a man in whose house were quartered some of these missionary dragoons. One day, having drank plentifully of his wine, and broken their glasses at every health, they filled the floor with the fragments, and by often walking over them, reduced them to very small pieces. This done, in the insolence of their mirth, they resolved on a dance, and told their Pro- testant host that he must be one of their company; but as he would not be of their religion, he must dance quite barefoot; and thus barefoot they drove him about the room, treading on the sharp points of the broken glasses. When he was no longer able to stand, they laid him on a bed, and, in a short time stripped him naked, and rolled him from one of the room to the other, till every part of his body was full of the fragments of glass. After this they dragged him to his bed, and having sent for a surgeon, obliged him to cut out the pieces of glass with his instru- ments, thereby putting him to the most exquisite and horrible pains that can possibly be conceived. These, fellow Protestants, were the methods used by the most Christian king's apostolic dragoons, to convert his heretical sub • jects to the Roman Catholic faith! These, and many other of the like nature, were the torments to which Louis XIV., delivered them over to bring them to his own church! and as Popery is unchangeably the same, these are the tortures prepared for you if ever that religion should be permitted to become settled amongst you. The consideration of which made Luther say of it, what every man that knows anything of Christianity must agree with him in : " If you had no other reason to go out of the Roman church, this alone would suffice, that you see and hear how, contrary to the law of God, they shed innocent blood. This single circumstance shall, God willing, ever separate me from the Papacy. And if I was now subject to it, and could blame nothing in any of their doctrines ; yet for this crime of cruelty, I would fly from her communion, as from a den of thieves and murderers," TO CORRESPONDENTS. To OUR TEN THOUSAND AND FORTY POETICAL CONTRIBUTORS.— If these gentlemen continue to pour in their effusions at the rate at which they have done for the last six months, we shall be obliged to import one of the pyramids from Egypt to contain their letters. We are literally overwhelmed to satiety with verses upon every subject, ninety- nine out of every hundred of which are to be denounced under the one general term of TRASH. Why will not these bottle- washers to the Muses remember that merit is a Bine qua nOH in good poetry, and that with- out it a million stanzas would not serve us, except in assisting the housemaid to light her fires. Nothing is more difficult than to write a good poem; nothing more easy than to write a bad one. Let our readers bear this in mind, and forbear for the next twelve- months to tax our attention in the way they have done for so long a time. We have already accepted a waggon- load, which in due time will appear. FRANKLIN'S MISCELLANY. HOW TO CHOOSE A HUSBAND. CHAP. III.—( Continued.) WHEN a man, possessing the three essential points of character already named, offers his hand and heart, a lady has little occasion to travel further, provided she does not entertain an antipathy towards him. She may then with safety yield to all the encroachments of a tender passion, and reckon upon a life of tranquil happiness by his side. I grant, however, that there are other qualities • which might increase her felicity, as well as accomplish- ments, to which it might owe a refinement that would be looked for in vain with a man, whose only recommen- dations were Fortitude, Diligence, and Contentment; and these it is my present purpose to summarily discuss. Pride, for instance, is a lofty sentiment, tending not only to preserve those who foster it from the commission of a mean or dishonourable act, but to make them ennoble in the esteem of the world all with whom they have a close connection. It animates them, too, to acts of greatness, and causes them to be ambitious of rendering their homes equal in decency of appearance, and solidity of comfort, to the establishments of other families. Thus the wife of the proud man can seldom lose caste, even when adversity strives to freeze the currents of social life; for, whereasupe- rior taste presides, with the aid of her handmaiden's cleanli- ness and neatness, over the house, there must alwaysbe a sem- blance as well as reality of superior comfort, which must command both admiration and respect. Pride also pre- vents a man from interfering with the household affairs, which form the department of his wife, and likewise to leave her unquestioned concerning the exact amount • which a new saucepan, or an article of' attire may cost. And this, by the way, is of vital importance, as far as re- gards the permanent preservation of domestic peace, to which nothing is more inimical than inquiries of the nature alluded to : how often does it happen that a lady in making purchases will be tempted into some little piece of extravagance, which the judicious exercise of future economy, or a single act of self- denial, will not only prevent from being discovered, but hinder from prov- ing injurious in the smallest degree to the pecuniary interests of her husband; yet, if that husband demands an account of her expenditure, before she has had time to repair her freedom with his purse, she is either ren- dered by a confession liable to his reproaches, or reduced to the mortifying alternative of concealing the truth. Both courses are alike productive of unhappiness, and lead very frequently to fatal results; a man, therefore, cannot be too greatly prized who confides in the manage- ment of a careful wife; if he possesses an extravagant one, he has of course every right to interfere. Jealousy is another evil to which pride proves a bar- rier. No man who entertains a proper self- respect, will causelessly suspect a woman who has chosen him from amid the whole of mankind to be her wedded lord and master; and, if he should be cursed with a being capable of swerving from her plighted troth, instead of torturing both her and himself by a display of jealous feeling, he will at once put her from him, and thus, even in the worst case, avoid a life of dissension. Pride has like- wise an influence over the choice of either trade or pro- fession, so that a woman who marries a proud man will run little risk of being disgraced by his calling. In ad- tion to this, the man of pride will rarely be found to waste his substance upon unworthy objects. His wife, more- over, may always depend upon good clothing while he has the means, and his children upon a good education. Do not let it be supposed that by pride, I allude to the beggarly upstart feeling which occasions many to despise worth in rags, and genius in a lowly condition ; this is a degrading prejudice; a servile subservience to conceit, and a deference to the influence falsely exercised by the most unthinking and unworthy portion of man- kind. True pride knows itself beyond the reach of hu- miliation, either by circumstance or connection, and takes a pleasure in extending its patronizing hand to those flowers which would blush unseen in the deserts of the world without such assistance. It never judges of the heart by the exterior, but by claiming kindred with ex- cellence, in whatever casket the gem may be enclosed, it proves its own pretensions to being allowed an existence, and morally exalts the man whose actions it sways. COURAGE is another attribute to be sought for in a suitor, but its advantages are too manifest to need eulo- gium. COMMON SENSE is also a quality of which my fair reader only requires to be reminded and not apprized. A man may possess an encyclopaedia in his brains ; but if he have not common sense to direct the application of his wisdom, and prevent him from either giving way to erra- tic inclinations, or falling into the snares of designers, he had better be a complete fool at once, and submit solely to the dictation of others. Wit, talent and learning are by no means the unerring indication of good sense. BENEVOLENCE is another valuable ingredient in the composition of a man. It secures an indulgent eye to- wards the common weaknesses of our nature, and is pro- ductive of charity, which, saith the proverb, " hideth a multitude of sins." CHEERFULNESS.— This agreeable disposition can con- vert shade into sunshine ; can while away the languid hour, bid the mourner smile, lighten the burden of care, and shorten the most tedious journey of life. It assuages the pangs of illness itself, makes a palace of a cottage, and can convert a prison into the broadest scope over which freedom stretches her pinion. If a man be at all times cheerful, I can forgive him the possession of many a fault. RESOLUTION is another famous gift. It combines Fortitude, Determination, Perseverance, Patience, and Courage. So invincible is this spirit, so potent its efforts, that I would advise young maidens who do not discover the existence of those qualities, to which I have directed their attention, in a resolute man, to keep OHt of his way entirely, otherwise he is sure to win them, for nothing can resisthim. Persuasion is in his pleadings, conviction in his arguments, and rule in his demands. I would back one resolute man against an army. It was resolution that carried Hannibal across the Alps ; it was resolution that enabled Leonidas to defend the pass of Thermopylae It was thesame overwhelming power of the mind that spread Christianity over the earth, and it is by the exercise of its strength that man becomes enabled to free himself from the iron that eats into the soul, and to shake off the fetters of vice. Let woman therefore beware of its wi- zard might, lest she be overcome : the fortune hunter, the seducer, the destroyer of wedded felicity, all employ its tremendous energies for the accomplishment of their ends, and nothing short of a miracle can prevent them from succeeding. The mountain torrent is not more resistless. If, however, it is to be so dreaded in a bad cause, how welcome must it be in a good one, and how desirable it is that all should know and be sustained by it in every enterprize of importance. I cannot, consequently, too strongly advise my fair readers to arm themselves with it in their selection of a husband. Let them resolve to abide by my instructions, and they will assuredly, by act- ing upon such a resolution, secure for themselves part- ners, who will give them cause to think with gratitude upon their humble preceptor, BENJAMIN FRANKLIN THE YOUNGER. THE LYRE OF TIMOTHEUS. This curious piece of antiquity is preserved at full length in Boethius. The fact is mentioned in Athen « us; and Casaubon, in his notes upon that author, has inserted the whole original text from Boethius, with the corrections, to which I refer the learned reader. I shall here, however, give a faithful transla- tion of this extraordinary Spartan Act of Parliament: " Whereas Timotheus, the Milesian, coming to our city, has dishonoured our ancient music; and despising the lyre of seven strings, has, by the introduction of a greater variety of notes, corrupted the ears of our youth, and by the number of his strings, and the novelty of his melody, has given to our music an effeminate and artificial dress, instead of the plain and or- derly one in which it has hitherto appeared, rendering melody infamous, by composing in the chromatic, instead of the enhar- monic. The kings and the ephori, therefore, resolved to pass censure upon Timotheus, for these things; and, farther, to oblige him to cut all the superfluous strings of his eleven, leav- ing only the seven tones; and to banish him from our city, that men may be warned for the future, not to introduce into Sparta any unbecoming customs." The same story as related in Athenaeus, has this additional circumstance: that when the public executioner was on the point of fulfilling the sentence, by cutting off the new strings, Timo- theus, perceiving a little statue in the same place, with a lyre in his hand, of as many strings as that which had given the offence; and showing it to the Judges, was acquitted. DREADNOUGHT •( Continued from page 308.) CHAP. XXXI [. Ralph was in the act of replacing the manuscript upon the shelves, when the door opened, and the insane author of it en- tered the apartment. " So- so !" cried he, seating himself upon the couch at the feet of Ralph, " you have been perusing my lucubrations. What think you of them ? Come, tell me. Every line was written during the stillness of night, and the lamp that afforded me light was furnished with the fat of the dead, and its wick was the tendons of a corpse, beaten into threads upon a skull with a fibula.'* " Afib- you- liar indeed!" mentally punned Ralph. " Have you read the whole of it?'' inquired the Doctor, for so Ralph continued to call him. " I have not, sir," replied Ralph; " but the portion I have perused gave me much entertainment." " Entertainment is a bad word here," cried the Doctor, peevishly—" say instruction, and I am satisfied." " I can in truth," said Ralph. " Thank you, my boy— thank you. To give entertainment is an easy task, but to afford instruction requireth a head, sir." The Doctor started from the seat into the centre of the apart- ment, and, turning round, he fixed his eyes upon Ralph, and in an impressive manner, exclaimed, " Wooden legs are useless things to men with perfect limbs." This last act was the maddest Ralph had seen the Doctor commit, and knowing not to what length he might go, he felt by no means comfortable in his presence. " These arms," he exclaimed, almost frantically, " are at times bound as with a spell—' tis the work of the great Roger Bacon. Roger Bacon !— ah, ah ! But Roger Bacon and his necromantic arts I defy. I am the wizard of the world. That great magician may at times cripple these fleshy instruments, but I have my revenge. Oh, how sweet a revenge! Roger, Roger ! thou couldst not have done a rasher thing— a rasher— a rasher of Bacon ! Yes, by such means do I take ample ven- geance on the head of Roger. I'll tell thee." The Doctor, walking quietly to the sofa, reseating himself at the feet of Ralph, resumed, " Have you not heard, my boy, of one of the resources of witchcraft to be the forming a wax effigy of a creature, and after thrusting it full of pins, roasting it at a fire ? Well, as the wax melts, so does the man or woman, dog or butterfly represented, melt— die— die— every pin adding fresh tortures to the wretch's lingering agony. But such is a child's revenge compared to that I have devised for Roger Bacon, the so much vaunted na- tural philosopher. Hear! Roger died in twelve hundred and ninety- two; he died in the flesh; the brute still lives in the spirit, to manacle my arms ; I saw him but an hour since— that is, as much as is left of him, for to tell you the truth I have eaten almost half of him— yes, nearly the whole of one side, and in a few months I commence upon the other. But I anticipate. Having, as I have told you, a grudge against Roger, I started off one morning into Somersetshire, and finding out the house in which he finished his wind, I purchased, of an old woman that resided there, a pig. This pig, singularly enough, had been christened Roger— yes, christened!— there are many so called Christians, who are pigs, and why should not pigs be christened ? To my story— So taking my pig under my arm, I repaired to a wood about a league off, and when the day put on its night- cap, I bled the pig in the jugular, and whilst its life's blood was ebbing, I repeated some mystic words, which had the effect of gradually turning its grunting and discordant cries into the hu- man voice divine. Yes, the pig at length spoke in the accents of man, and cried piteously upon me to spare its life. All its supplications were unavailing— I heeded his intreaties for mercy as little as I would the groans ef a bug. With the most plea- surable anticipations of the sweet revenge I should enjoy, I felt its pulse, and its slow beatings gave me delight. And now let me tell what must indeed astonish you— with its last breath did that pig confess that it was Roger Bacon. Such confession, of course, I did not want— I already knew it: I knew the great magician had transferred his spirit into that pig, and I knew that by securing that pig I secured my arch enemy;— Roger Ba- con. You will inquire why Roger did not again transfer his spirit into some other animal. I'll tell you— he could not. My superior arts, assisted by the parings of the toe- nails of a Jewish Rabbi, which I placed in the mouth of the pig, permitted not of the escape of the spirit. Now, you see, the spirit of Bacon hav- ing turned into the pig, I turned the pig into bacon. That bacon I eat piece by piece. Not a morning passes without my breaking my fast upon a small portion of it." " And do you really believe, Doctor, that in the thus feeding off the flesh of your pig, you mortify the spirit of your enemy ? inquired Ralph, a good deal amused at the drollery of the Doc- tor's story. " Believe it! A man must be a fool who could remain scep- tical upon the subject, after receiving the proofs of its truth which I am willing to afford." " And may I ask what proofs those are to which you allude ?" said Ralph. " Yes, you may ask !" replied the Doctor, drily. " I have a great curiosity to hear them," said Ralph. " And when you have heard them, your curiosity will disap- pear, I suppose," said the Doctor. " That follows, as a matter of course," remarked Ralph. " Then, my boy, I shall withhold the proofs, as I have no wish to deprive you of a great curiosity. Keep it— keep it, and place it amongst the other great curiosities you may meet with in your passage through this life." Ralph laughed outright. There was something so ridiculous in the cunning manner in which the Doctor excused himself from proving his singular statements, that his merriment was not to be suppressed, and the Doctor divining the cause of the outburst of laughter, good humouredly joined in, and grinned away until the tears rolled down his cheeks. " You're a wag," exclaimed the Doctor. " You're another," retorted Ralph, and to laugh they recom- menced as though for a wager. " A good and hearty laugh is a delicious treat," remarked the Doctor, evidently desirous of turning the conversation. " It is, indeed," replied Ralph; " perhaps you can tell me who invented it?'' " By my soul," exclaimed the Doctor, greatly pleased at the question, " I have forgotten the name of the inventor, but I can tell you that I have very much improved upon him.— Laughter has been generally confined to the muscles of the face, and it may occasionally reach the sides. ' And laughter holding both her sides.' But I can laugh with my foot, and right merrily too. In- deed, I once laughed to such an extent with my legs that I strained the tendon Achilles, and my calves were sore for a month with the convulsion." 317 F R A N K L I N ' S M I S C E L L A N Y. " You are, indeed, a most extraordinary person," remarked Ralph. " Sir," cried the Doctor, " I was once the devil's bell- ringer." " I was not aware that his sable Majesty had such an appoint- ment in his gift," observed Ralph. " Then, my boy, you have a great deal to learn. When last I visited the infernal regions, which I did for my health, consi- dering a hot climate would do me good, I cheated Charon of his fare by swimming across the rivers Phlegethon, Cocytus, Styx, and Acheron. The first, as the name denotes, is a phleg- matic, dull, and almost stagnant stream, with its water so thick, that its finny inhabitants are compelled to tunnel their way through it. I walked over it, and had but one tumble in spite of its slippery character. The river Cocytus, or Coaky- tus, is composed of burning cinders, over which I drove, having saddled a couple of rats to a fire- shovel. Styx is a pitchy stream, and sticks ex- stream- lv. The waters of Acheron are as light as ether, and are confined to the bed of the river by nets,— through them I dived, and I preferred it to either of the others. Charon, detecting the cheat, in the greatest rage pulled after me; but I swam faster than he could row, and I left him far behind, biting a hole in the bottom of his boat in very des- peration. This venerable waterman of the infernal regions is a squalid fat old chap, with a grey beard, which hangs from his jowl and chin like a hearth- rug; his eyes are so filled with rheum, that there is no room for more, and his dirty and tattered rags scarcely cover his nakedness. Mr. Charon and I are now on tolerably good terms, and he often takes a cup of tea with me,— a beverage of which he is very fond, especially when he gets it for nothing, as, poor devil, he is on board wages below, and compelled to find his own tea and sugar. Should he visit me while you are here, I shall have much pleasure in giving you an opportunity of making his ac- quaintance." " I have heard much of your friend, Mr. Charon," observed Ralph; " but it all has tended to prove that he is a fellow of great moroseness, treating all his passengers with the same im- partial rudeness, without the slightest regard to rank, age, or sex." " You are quite right," said the Doctor; " but such disposi- tion he only shows when on duty,— here he is as quiet as a sucking bullfinch. Last time he called here he had got a black eye, which one of the obstreperous souls had given him in ex- change for his impudence. But he has a great deal to put up with,— sometimes the souls he has to ferry over come down half drunk, and create a riot in his boat— at others they will hide his oars, or attempt to pass bad money upon him. A series of practical jokes like these have soured nis temper." " I think I understood you to say that you were bell- ringer to Satan— did I not?" said Ralph. " Did I ?" cried the Doctor, " then, if I did, I must have bten." " For what purpose was such a calling exercised ?'' asked Ralph. " To ring the souls to prayers," quickly replied the Doctor. " To prayers !" exclaimed Ralph; " and do they say pray- ers in the infernal regions?" The Doctor looked puzzled, turned round, and affected to be looking for a book upon the shelves, and then suddenly con- fronting Ralph, said in a low and mysterious voice, " Say prayers ? Yes— backwards." " Are you fond of music, my boy ?" inquired the Doctor. " It is a science to which I am ardently attached," replied Ralph. " Then," exclaimed the Doctor, " I will give you some better than that which you have heard." Saying this, he took from a corner of the room a long horn, apparently from the head of a cow, and applying it to his mouth, he created one of the most inharmonious and discord- ant sounds as ever made an attack upon the tympanum of the human ear. Ralph involuntarily placed his fingers in his ears, yet so loud was this libel upon music, that Ralph could not pre- vent its reaching his senses, and jarring every nerve. " There's music for you," cried the Doctor, when he was tired of blowing the rude instrument. " So harmonious— so sweet. Can you sing?" The Doctor now essayed a song, and, if anything, the vocal attempt was more barbarous than the instrumental. " Hark !" cried the Doctor, suddenly stepping, " can't you hear the singing in my ears ? You'll sup with me to- night, we are going to hash the kitchen poker. By the by, talking about kitchen pokers, how is your knee ?" " It is going on very well, I thank you," said Ralph, who was very anxious to dispense with the attendance of such a me- dical adviser. " Do you know," said the Doctor, taking Ralph's hand in his, " do you know that I am mad ?" " Is it your pleasure to be so ?" inquired Ralph. " It is," said the Doctor. " Madness is the source of great pleasure. All I regret is, that I am not mad enough. Did you see that lady who called Hpon me last evening ? Well, that's the Sultana of Hindostan; she saved me from a most horrible death, and I in gratitude married her." The lady alluded to now entered. " Well, crack- brain, I think you've had enough gossip to last y ® u till to- morrow, so off to your roost, my old boy. The bed is waiting for you." " 1 humbly beg the bed's pardon," said the Doctor, and bowing with much dignity to Ralph, he marched from the room. " I wonder how you can listen to that chap's nonsense," re- marked the woman. " I assure you I think his conversation very agreeable," said Ralph; " there is so much fun in it." " Fun enough, but you can have too much of that. He got a fangled notion into his head once, that he could cure a broken spine, and what does he do but puts a cord across the stairs, and screams out ' fire' in the middle of the night. I rushed down stairs, and it was really a mercy as I was not killed. The cord tripped me up, and 1 rolled to the bottom. When there, up comes the Doctor. ' Don't be alarmed,' said he, ' it's all right if your back is broken.' Oh, didn't it make me savage when I found the house was not on fire; and not being able to gratify him with a broken back to experimentalize upon, I gave him a broken head, which employed his time and attention for a week." The woman then, with the natural curiosity of her sex, made many inquiries respecting Ralph, and seeing much of a kindly disposition in her, he replied by telling her much of his history. She apologized for the want of accommodation in the place, and promised to do her best to render him comfortable while he stayed, bidding him suit his own convenience as to the length of nis sojourn. He found her an admirable nurse, and though dirty in her own person, she was very attentive to his wants. That night she made a temporary bed for him upon the sofa, and after pressing a purse containing several guineas upon him, she bade him good night, and left him to his slumbers. ( To be continued.) ctenttffc Setter^ BY MERCURY.— No. V. To go deep into the principles of general science is by no means necessary for the cultivation of intelligence in its moral sense. There are many highly accomplished minds which know nothing at all about the sciences and their principles. Poetry and morality seem almost indepen- dent of scientific skill. It is well that it is so— otherwise there could be no rational hope of improving the moral condition of mankind, either by example, by precept, or by the gentle and silent inspiration of any of the fine arts, which all address themselves to the ignorant as well as to the learned. Nay, learning or science, when too eagerly pursued, often blunts the poetical sensitiveness of the soul, and renders it less susceptible of moral impres- sions than that of the simple and untutored, whom no arti- ficial lore prevents from yielding to the virtuous move- ments of natural sympathy and poetic emotions. I have heard of mothers whose maternal feelings were impaired by scientific pursuits ; who disliked nursing, and suf- fered their children to go in rags or wallow in mire, whilst they, the mothers, were busily employed in mas- tering the subtilties of metaphysical sophistry, and study- ing the complex problems of mathematical calculus. 1 have heard of philosophers whom intense application to solitary cogitation, had rendered unsocial and unfit for the common civilities of life; and I have always observed that the most polite and accomplished of both sexes, are those who have a very moderate acquaintance with almost every subject, but that of good manners. But there always is a disrespectability attached to total ignorance of scientific principles. Every man and woman of good address and station in society, ought to know something of the basis upon which every science rests. A very little trouble is necessary to acquire this knowledge. For waut of it many delirious notions are frequently propagated, and listened to, by otherwise sensi- ble men, who might be employing their time to much more profitable purpose. How many sensible, morally sensi- ble, men there are, for instance, who question the truth of the Copernican system, or regard it as merely a plau- sible conjecture; and the great mass of the people who receive it, receive it merely as they receive their faith, or as a child receives its pap, because it is given them. A plausible impostor could easily make them doubt, and the man of science could not remove their doubts, merely because they could not comprehend his reasoning. Astronomy is none of the tangible and experimental sciences, neither are its demonstrations of the order of ocular demonstrations. Ocular demonstration is rather adverse to astronomical truth. The sun, moon, and stars, are all deceivers. The chemist can prove his truths by an appeal to the eyesight, so can the botanist, anatomist, and physiologist of every grade. But when the astro- nomer appeals to the testimony of the eyes, they give an unfavourable verdict, and neither of the other senses af- ford the slightest evidence. The demonstrations of as- tronomy are sometimes merely theoretical, and what is very singular, the most conclusive and certain are theore- tical ; at other times they are mathematical, which can scarcely be called sensuous. I question much if one out of one hundred of the people knows why he believes that the sun is more than a hundred miles from the earth, or can give a satisfactory reason for believing it to be even so far off. If you want to scale a wall thirty feet high, with a ladder only thirty feet long, you will find the experiment somewhat dangerous; you must place the foot of the ladder pretty close to the wall. If your ladder be forty feet, you place the foot farther off; and if 100 feet, far- ther off still, and in so doing you bring the ladder nearer and nearer to a level with the earth. This inclination of the ladder is measured mathematically by angles. When the ladder is standing upright to the wall, it is at an angle of 90 to the earth; we all walk at an angle of 90 when we walk straight, and half way down is forty- five. Now the ladder is half way down when its foot is ex- actly the same distance as its top is from the bottom of the wall. If, then, I want to know the height of a wall, I have merely to place myself in a position to see the top of the wall at the elevation of 45 degrees, or half way up to the zenith, and then step towards the wall, and measure my distance from it; that distance added to the height of my eye ( as it is only above the eye that is measured), gives the height of the wall. This very simple process is the principle upon which the distance of the sun and planets is calculated, as the angle of the ladder diminishes, its length must be in- creased, slowly at first, but soon even a single degree of depression would require an addition of miles to the length of the ladder, and the ladder never by any possi- bility could be level with the earth, and rest one end on the ground and another on the top of the wall. Supposing the earth a perfect plain, without end, and the ladder per- fectly straight, when the ladder was several millions of miles in length, the angle of inclination would be very small, but still there would bea sensible inclination, for one end is on the top of the wall, and the other on the plain. Mathematics enable us to discover the proportion between the angle of inclination and the length of the ladder, and the height of the wall, and by this means we can measure heights and distances by merely taking angles with a quad- rant. One height or distance being given to begin, with, we can go from one to another ad infinitum, provided, only, we can measure the angles. To measure the distance of the sun or moon, we suppose the centre of the earth the bot- tom of the wall, and the circumference the top ; thi3 is 4,000 miles. Having found the angle of inclination of a ladder reaching from the moon to the top of this imagi- nary wall, we easily find the length of the ladder, that is, the moon's distance. This angle is called the parallax, but the stars are so very remote, that their parallax is too minute for measurement, their distances are therefore im- measureable also. A person who fully comprehends this illustration of the ladder has a good idea of celestial measurement, and will never be guilty of such an expression as the follow- ing, which I once heard from the mouth of a mechanic, speaking of such subjects—" D impostors them phi- losophers, to pretend to such a thing, as if they could go up with a string and measure it! !" The mechanic had no other idea of measuring than by a string. In fine, he was a savage, as even the Gods of Olympus were before Mer- cury shamed them into a smattering of philosophy. MERCURY. THE KLEFT OF AGRAFA. A THESSALIAN TALE.— FROM A MS. JOURNAL. It was about sunset, on a stormy evening in autumn, that, after crossing the narrow channel of the Argolic bay, I landed from a caique on the quay of Napoli di Romania, the modern capital of the Morea. The ruinous and miserable city could afford no com- forts, and but few conveniences, for a traveller, and after a fruitless search for more commodious quarters, I was forced to take up my abode at the wretched xenodocheion at the beach. This singular establishment, which bore the name of the Locanda di Colocotroni, is built upon pillars projecting into the sea, and as we sat in its comfortless coffee- room, we could hear the ( surging waves, from which we were only separated by a single plank, rolling and dying away beneath us. The apartment was crowded with Greeks, and a few strangers like ourselves, attracted by chance to the seat of war, who lay stretched along the benches, sipping their little cups of coffee, swallowing cool draughts of orgeat and sherbet, or puffing long eddies of curling smoke from their amber- mouthed chibouques. At the moment of my landing the city was more than ordinarily thronged with soldiery, owing to the arrival of a large body of Thessalian troops, on their route from Navarino to the north. These were lounging in scattered groups through the streets of Napoli, whilst their leaders, with their immediate attendants, were enjoying an hour's repose in the caffenes,* after a day of toilsome marching through the mountains. The capitani, five in number, were all fine martial- looking fellows, in splendid attire, with gilded vests and glittering arms, each with that fiercely reckless air of gaiety which characterises the unsubdued descendants of Pyrrhus and Alexander. One in particular seemed to attract universal attention as he reclined in one corner of a cushioned recess, which looked out upon the sea; his left foot bent in beneath him, and his arm reposing on his right knee. His dress was of crimson velvet, richly plaited with embroidery, and his fermeli, jeleki. f and greaves, were literally stiff with gold. His long glossy hair flowed curling down his back from beneath a simple crimson cap, and his jetty moustachios rose curling proudly from his haughty lip. His features and countenance were glowing with intelligence, though their expression evinced more silent thought than violent emotion, and his dark luxurious eye seemed rather fixed in musing than quick in observation. He was evi- dently an object of peculiar respect amongst his companions, and during their animated and energetic conversation, his opinion jvas often and decisively appealed to, whilst on such occasions a nod, a faint smile, or a monosyllable, were his only but adequate replies. The scene was perfectly new to me. I had never before found myself in the midst of the revels of a band of untamed warriors, and allured by the novelty of my situation, it was late ere I thought of withdrawing to my cheerless quarters. As I rose to depart, however, a voice from the circle of the chiefs commenced to chaunt, in a rude and nasal tone, a song of Albania, and attracted by the sound, I resumed my seat. It was received by the auditors with loud and prolonged applause, the party ordered fresh cups of sherbet and coffee, and I saw, by their satisfied air, that some- thing ef more than ordinary interest was yet to come. Another and another song succeeded that of the mountain bard, and for the first time I listened to the verses of the patriot Righa, sung by his enthusiastic countrymen. Some of these airs were to me totally unintelligible, and others were somewhat gross, both in their allu- sions and style, but all were interesting from their reference to the ancient klefts of Pindus, or the modem warriors of Suli. During the entire scene, though all were in a state of the highest excite- ment, there was no luxurious excess, or degrading debauchery; their spirits alone seemed inflamed with the enthusiasm of valour, and their eyes and voices were joyous with emulation of the glory they were recounting. The silent chieftain in the recess, however, appeared but little moved with the mirth around him; his thoughts seemed far dis- tant from the scene of revelry; from time to time he handed his cup to the caffedjee to be replenished, or his pipe to its bearer, to be filled with latakia, whilst a nod or a look alone expressed his sympathy with what was passing around him. At length, a young palikari by his side, began to sing in a pleasing and plaintive voice an air which I do not remember to have heard before. I remarked immediately, that as he commenced, his song was not received with noisy plaudits as before, but each capitano turned his eyes silently and alarmed upon the singer. He pro- ceeded, however, without noticing the emotion he had produced, till at length a hand, apparently in remonstrance, was phced upon his arm. He ceased for an instant, till the romantic chieftain by his side, whose presence was evidently the motive of the interrup- tion, drew himself up with an expression, half a sneer and half a smile, and turning round, " Go on," said he, proudly, " young man— go on; it was a deed whose repetition or remembrance I shall never quail from." The soldier smiled, and recommenced his ballad, which, as far as I could learn of it, ran thus — " Nay, weep not, bride of Constantine, No crime, my gentle dove, was thine ; The guilt, the sinning, treacherous word Was hers, the mother of thy Lord. Twas she who bade thee rise to spread, With guileless haste, thy nuptial bed. ' My child,' she whispered in thine ear, ' Thy love— thy Conatantine is here. Already down the mountain's brow, Hi « stately step is hastening now, And long ere morning's dawn appear, Thy chieftain's voice shall glad thine ear. Haste then, my daughter, haste, with care His couch, his silken couch, prepare. Go, strew it in the lofty hall, Or rather in the gay kioik, And ere the muezzin's voice shall call The hour of sunrise from the mosque, Thine eyes with kisses shall be prest, Thou'lt lean upon thy lover's breast.' " * * * * * A coffee- house. f Jacket and vest. $ Flaurill. Chants, Pop. & c. torn, ii, No, xxi. p. 65, 318 F R A N K L I N ' S MISCELLANY. Lang, long ere dawning light had broke, In tears the frantic Ivali woke: A stranger's lips to heis were prest, A stranger's voice was in her ear ; And by his silver plaited vest, She knew the traitorous bey Zavier. # * * The remainder of this song, which related the return of the in- jured husband, and his subsequent vengeance on the seducer, was rendered inaudible by the cheers, the chorusing, and enthusiasm of the crowd ; and it was only when the tumult had in some degree died away, that I inquired of a stranger who sat beside me, the meaning of the singular emotion I had witnessed. " That chief- tain," said he, pointing to him whom I had been so long and so intently gazing at, " is Constantine Stornaris, the hero of the ballad you have been listening to." My curiosity was strongly aroused, and whilst the party of the capitani continued their songs and noisy mirth, I gleaned from my communicative companion the following particulars of the singular being before me :— Stornaris, he said, was son to a distinguished kleft, whose com- panions and himself had long continued, despite the Armatolis and Dervenaga, to frequent the defiles of Agrafe, a district of Mount Pindus. His mother was a Suliot, and daughter of that Tziavella, who in 1792 fell whilst defending his rocky fastnesses against the arms of Ali Pacha. Almost from an iufant the young Constantine had been trained to arms, and inured to privation; and ere his little hands had yet sufficient nerve to pull a trigger, he wore a gilded pistol in his belt, and swung a soldier's capote from his boy- ish shoulder. Alike unmoved beneath the burning suns of summer, or amidst the cold snows of an Albanian winter, his couch was by his father's side, on the bleak rocks of Pindus; his drink the clear fountain of the hills, and his food the wild fruit of the savage glen, and occasionally the spoils of the chase, or a foray amidst the sheep folds of Agrafa. At the period when I saw him, his finely formed features were bronzed with the biting blasts and burning suns of fire and thirty years; and his bosom, where it was unpiotected by his glittering vest, was brown, and burnished as a plate of sculptured copper. From childhood he had been affianced to the daughter of a neighbouring kleft, and as each advanced in years, the fondest and , most devoted affection served to mutually confirm the choice of their parents. He was, however, only fourteen years of age, and his beloved Kali scarcely ten, when the Armatoles, or armed mi litia of Albania, made a descent upon the kleftochori* of Stornaris and his friends. Constantine was at the moment far away with his father amidst the hills, whilst his defenceless mother was stabbed in endeavouring to protect her infant daughter, who was carried off by the assailants. The life of Kali was protected by her being con- cealed beneath the flooring of the divan ; but her entire family were, without exception, either butchered on the spot, or borne away into slavery. The return of the klefts was expedited by the news of the disas- trous loss, but agonizing as it was, it could add nothing to the then rancorous detestation of their tyrants. The father of Kali shortly after expired of a wound received in an encounter with the soldiers of Ali, and his daughter, as the affianced bride of Coastantine, was taken home to his own house by the elder Stornaris, who had married in the interim a second wife, from the island of Ithaca. This marriage, however, was an inauspicious one, and possessed of that duplicity said to be inherent to her race, the Ithacan mother served only to embitter the remaining days of her adopted children. As Constantine grew to manhood, he inherited all the noble vir- tues of his parent, and the unbounded confidence of his followers; an- 1 it was with no trifling jealousy that his step- mother saw him about to wed the dovverless, friendless Kali, when one of the daughters of her own family would be a fitter mate for the manly chieftain, and would at the same time be splendidly provided for by the wealth and influence of Constantine. This feeling was not slow in betraying itself to the unhappy girl, who perceived with dismay that she was no longer a favourite with those who were shortly to become her parents. But, alas! she had no other refugs to fly to, nor did she seek any greater con- solation than her confidence in the fondness and constancy of her betrothed lover. It was in vain, however, that her insidious step- mother breathed in the ear of the generous youth insinuations against the poverty, the disposition, and humility of Kali. Constantine saw in every attri- bute but higher enhancements of her beauty : to him her disposi- tion was sweetness itself; her poverty, the strongest claim upon his promised protection; and her humility all gentleness, reliance, and reposing affection. As a last resource, the wretched woman attempted to undermine the confidence of the young chieftain in the real attachment of his bride. Constantine, in his heart, laughed to scorn the base suggestion, whilst his mother vainly hugged her- self upon the conviction that she had not failed to make the desired impression on his mind. At length preparations were made for the celebration of their nuptials, as Constantine approached his twentieth year. Delay after delay was effected by the wily Ithacan, but in spite of all her efforts, the marriage was finally solemnised according to the ancient and romantic rites of the Greek church. Scarcely had the ceremony been completed ere Constantine was forced to abandon his home, and fly with a baud of his trusty palikars to the assistance of a neighbouring chieftain, who had been assailed by the troops of the vizier of Joannina. Nearly two months were consumed at this perilous expedition, whilst the gentle and affectionate Kali cast many a wistful look from her lattice towards the paths of Pindus to watch for the re- turn of her lover. Nor was the interval unemployed by the step- mother of Constantine, who had not even yet abandoned her schemes of ambition and of crime. Among the other arguments which she had made use of to weaken the reliance of the kleft in the affections of his bride, was one which insinuated that the love of Kali was devoted to a young Albanian Turk, who, despite of her creed and his command under the vizier af Epirus, had often associated, by stealth, with the chiefs of Pindus. Here his society had been tolerated rather than courted, though his intercourse was at the same time encouraged, from his occasionally disclosing to them the secret movements of his master. Nor was the assertion totally without foundation, as far as it regarded Zavier, who, the wife of Stornaris knew, was ac- tuated by no desire stronger than the possession of Kali. On this knowledge her measures were taken for the destruction of the inno- cent and unsuspecting girl. She had notice of the approaching re- turn of Constantine, and by a treacherous neaociation with Zavier, she had so arranged that Kali should, as she hoped, be discovered by her husband in the arms of her apparent paramour. How far the first stage of her plot succeeded, the ballad which I have at- tempted to translate has detailed more gracefully than I could, but the event proved far other than had been anticipated by its nefa- rious perpetrator. Morning was slowly breaking as Constantine and his compa- nions were descending the cliffs of Agrafa towards their dwellings, when Zavier dashed furiously past them on his foaming charger, as he flew to regain his post, ere dawning light should betray his absence to his companions. A hasty salutation was all that past, the klefts and their palikars discharged their pistols in the air as a * A village or encampment of klefts, token of greeting, and then, as the echoes died away among the cliffs, they wound downwards towards the valley. As CoHstantine passed the threshold of his home he was met upon the step by his impatient mother, who scarce delayed a breath till she had disclosed to him his dishonour. The circum- stances she related were too powerful to be gainsaid or even doubted— her former suspicions, the fact of Kali's sleeping in the kiosk in the ^ arden, rather than in her wonted chamber on high, the disclosures of what his mother had herself seen, and the im- petuous and hurried glance of Zavier as he passed him on the mountain, all— all confirmed the damning tale of his disgrace. With a fiery step he passed to the apartment of his bride, whom the treacherous Ithacan hoped to see advancing to meet him with forced and joyous smiles, but she started when she saw her lie cold, pale, and expiring on the edge of the divan. Kali faintly raised her eyes as they entered, and again closed them in disgust as she encountered the glance of the Ithacan ; then motioning Con- stantiue to sit beside her, he complied, though half unwillingly. In a low and dying tone she discovered the full story of her wrongs, and brought home the charge of treachery to his abandoned mother, who, convicted and confounded by every ingenuous word she spoke, shrunk trembling from the chamber. She con- cluded by informing her lover that she had that morning swal- lowed some berries of the night- shade from the glen, that in doing so, she had only prayed to live till his return to divulge to him her unwilling error, and die forgiven; this prayer was granted, her lale was told, her pardon sealed, and ere noon the unfortunate Kali was no more. The first act of Constantine's revenge was to disclose to his father the infamy of his wife, and demand her punishment; but his anxiety on her account was unavailing, she was seen no more amidst the people; whether she fled to her native Ithaca, or perished amidst the passes of the hills, could not be ascertained, but she never again appeared upon the mountains of Agrafa. More dark and deadly, howevar, was his vengeance on the family of Zavier. During a stormy night of winter, accompanied by a band of trusty friends, he surrounded the mansion of the traitor. His wife, his daughter, and his mother were abandoned to the insults and butchery of the soldiers, whilst the indignant warrior sought himself the lair of his enemy. With his yataghan he dis- severed the head from his gashed and gory carcase, and tearing out with his own hand the heart of his foe, he turned it. in the still glowing embers on the hearth, and flung it to the hound who followed him. Setting fire to the timbers of the devasted dwelling he consumed in one funeral blaze the mutilated and ghastly rem- nants of his victims, and returning by the light of the sacrifice to the gorges of Agrafa, lie vowed upon the cross of his cymetar, that from that hour his sword should be unsheathed and his ven- geance unslaked, whilst there remained one vestige of the hated race to haunt the defiles of Pindus. How firmly he had kept his vew the annals of his country can but too fearfully attest, and there are ftw glorious events in their present indignant struggle which have not been aided by the arms or associated with the name of Stornaris. As my informant concluded his tale the party in the locanda began to disperse. Stornaris rose with a spring from his reclining position, handed his pipe to his palikar, arranged his sabre by his side, and bowing to his companions with his hand placed grace- fully on his heart, strode haughtily from the apartment. Every eye followed him as he retreated, and when his manly figure had disappeared from the hall, each soldier sat silent f jr an instant, and then turned to his companion, with a breathless glance of approval, and a heavy sigh of hopeless emulation. TO A LADY, UPON SEEING HER BLUSH. BY THE KALIPH RADHI BILLAH. Leila, whene'er I gaze on thee, My alter'd cheek turns pale, While upon thine, sweet maid, I see A deep'ning blush prevail. Leila, shall I the cause impart Why such a change takes place ? The crimson stream deserts my heart, To mantle in thy face. PROGRESS OF EDUCATION IN FRANCE.— The Journal General des I'Instruction et des Cours Publics contains the following statements:—" The Law Schools, which in 1833, had only 4,467 students, had 4,897 in 1835, and 5,137 in 1836. In the Medical Schools there were in 1833 only 2,013 sudents, in 1834, 2,446 ; and in 1835, 2,672. The Colleges which in 1834 had but 67,175 pupils, had 78,298 in 1835. The progress of primary instruction is still more striking. In 1829 the number of scholars was only 969,340; in 1832 they had increased to 1,200,715 ; and at the end of 1834 amounted to 1,627,111. Thus the sacrifices im- posed upon the Communes, the Departments, and the State, by the law of the 28th June, 1833, have, in the course of a very few years, had the effect of increasing by one- third the number of children who receive the benefits of primary instruction." BLEEDING.— One who had an inflammation in his eyes, sent for a surgeon to bleed him, and solicited the operation in these words of Gray:— " Dear is the light, that visits these sad eyes; Dear as the ruddy drops, that warm my heart." THE POET SPENSER.— Edmund Spenser, a descendant cf his name, was found in Ireland so late as 1724, when he had a suit at law tried before Baron Hall, and knew so little of the English language, that he was forced to have an interpreter. INDIAN BEARS.— In India, bears will often continue on the road in front of the palanquin for a mile or two, tumbling aad playing ail sorts of antics, as if they were taught to do so ; it seems their natural dis- position, for they certainly are the most amusing creatures imaginable in their wild state. It is no wonder that with monkeys they are led about to amuse mankind. It is astonishing, as well as ludicrous, to see them climb rocks, and tumble or roll down precipices. If they are attacked by any person on horseback, they stand ereet on their hir. d legs, showing a &> e « et of white teeth, and making a crackling kind of noiie. If the horse comes near them, they try to catch him by the legs, and if they miss him they tumble over and over several timef. They are easily speared by a person mounted on a horse that is bold enough to go near them. A SAILOR'S PRAYER.— A sailor who was Tather too fond of grog, never omitted the following prayer every night as he went to his ham- mock :—" I never murdered any man, and no man ever murdered me, then God bless all mankind. Amen." GERMAN HONESTY AND SIMPLICITY.—" An inhabitant of Leipsic," • ays Madame de Stael, " having planted an apple- tree on the borders of a public walk, affixed a notice to it, requesting that people would not gather the fruit." How the wise- acres and " knowing ones" laugh at the trusting simpleton ! But hark ! " not an apple was stolen during ten years." So much foi a people, all of whom read and think. In England there are not a few who have resisted the instruction of the poor, lest it should corrupt them ; but, with the protection of ignorance, what would have been the fate of the apple tree in the neighbourhotd of London ? What a contrast between this respected tree with its harir leis defence, and the steel- traps and spring- gur. s of our British Pomona 1 — London Magazine, LETTER FROM A FRENCH GOVERNESS TO AN , ENGLISH LADY. ( From the Comic Offering.) Thousand thanks, my very dear Miss, for all your good- nesses ; I you assure that I myself feel quite knocked down by your amiability so touching and attendering. How you were good for me procure the situation of instructice to the minds tenders of the youth: the childs of Miladi Bull, who are con- fideds to my cares, are of a beauty dazzling, and of a nature extraordinarily drawing- towards. How I am rejoiced that the cares of the tenderest of the mothers have rendered me capable of to instruct the little strangers in every branch of an educa- tion exalted; because I feel in myself that I speak and write your tongue well like an Englishe. Helas! my best friend, sometimes I am not capable to re- press the movements of anger at cause of the stupidity of the childs; yesterday I could not arrive to make the little Bull feel any difference for say " dessus" and " dessous,' which are as unlike that possible: I cry—" Ah, how you are beastforget- ting you tell me that " Comme vous ete bete,"' mean " how are you stupid." Miladi Bull hear me, and fling herself into an anger frightening ! These littles Bulls are engagings to marvel! but as to Miladi, it must that I open the heart for you on this paper friendly. Miladi Bull is quite impolished, ill- honest, starch, and not drawing- towards. She me stops from to sing when that she is present: she me defends from to wear some slippers, or some paper curls to the hair: and she me forces of be dressed in great toilette at eight hours of the morning. As says our proverb, I myself feel obliged for be " diawn at the four pins" all the long of the day, and for her please I not know " on which foot for dance." She me say that word " cabbage" is in very bad taste, it must say " greens' at cause of the colour: we had, the week last, to dinner some cabbage, some peas Prussian, and some cabbage flower. She ask at me, " Will you some greens;" I look to the colour of the peas Prussian, and I say—" I shall prefer some these blues." Then she laugh of a manner horribly im- polished, but without me tell that which I say bad. Then I thought she had want of some cabbage- flower; and as I could not say " green- blossoms," I say " Will you some yellow, Miladi ?" She laughed again to the clatters! I pray you, my dear Miss, to me tell that which I have ill said. Green detestable !— 1 it hate; it goes bad with my skin brown; and I shall understand never of it the meaning f The other day Miladi Bull say—" Run very fast to the green. house, and tell Sir John for come to me:" so I put my bonnet, and run almost a half league to the alone house I ever see here painted in green:— nothing of Sir John:— I come back and find Miladi mean the " serre a fleurs" when she say greenhouse, and not " maison verte." Before yesterday I was read the roman of Redgauntlet of Walter, ( that man of the genius,) when Miladi Bull enter, and making the greats eyes, she say—" You not read, you mind childs always: bring me two quills and the Canary: you forgot to water the plants." I regard the flowers, see their blossoms tenders quite past from the ardour of the sun, and their heads elegance leaning with the indisposition: 1 melted all into tears at my negligence; that Walter is witch ! I pour some water on the souls thirstys and faintings of the flowers, then I look in dictionary for " quill:" 1 find " plume," so I run to the library where was Sir John,—" Have the complaisance, sir, for give me two quills, and say me where is Canary ?" ( Sir John ig more honest in his manners than Miladi, and always say to me " my dear.") He answer, " My dear, Canary is a large island in the Sea Atlantique, near to the coast of the Afrique." Eh, la! what for Miladi make me a ridicule, for me send to carry large island ! iVliladi goes to a large Evening yesterday, and while she her- self dress, she me sends for ribbon for her waist: she not like that which I bring, and say at me —" The ribbon shall be watered; and quill this lace on my dress." I take the dress, and think she have want fir it to be garnished with feathers, as I find " quill" mean " plume.'' I sew the lace and add feathers very geniitle, and Miladi want ribbon watered, I make it wet with sponge, I think for make it fit close the waist of Miladi. Oh, la! she herself throw into an anger frightening again, and say at me that " quill" mean " tuyeau" and " ribbon watered" mean " ruban moire." You have more of idioms in your tongue than I no thought. When I arrive here, the girls dears make me to see a cat and her littles. I cry—" Oh the cat superbe, with her littles also! Oh the gentetl smalls beasts!" They ask as me—" What will you say by her littles?" " I wish to say ' ses Petits,' the littles childs of the cat, my dears loves." The littles Bulls laughs to the tears even, and then say that littles cats not named " childs'' nor " genteels." Sir John say at me—" My dear, you say ' gentille' in French, that is ' nice' in English; and my naughty girls laugh because you say ' genteel small beasts,' instead of ' nice little animals'" To- day we expect some world to dinner, and I myself ar- ranged to marvel, in a gown rose, and capped in a cap of a blue tender, garnished with buttons of roses, and teeth of wolf, and ears of hare in satin thought- coloured. I pass near to Miladi Bull, and she say at me in anger—" What a dash you cut! why you are more like a Merry Andrew or a Jack Pudding than a respectable governess." I you pray, my dear Miss, for tell who are these gentlemen, Mr. John Pudding and Mr. Andrew, whom she named Gay? and also what she mean by cutting a dash, which I find in the dictionary " coupant un trait." Mon Dieu! elle est drole, cette femme! At dinner she cut a large rosbif, and I say Miladi—" How you are good dissector !" She laugh ( always laugh, that woman there) and say—" Not dissector, but carver.'' I do not like her contradict, but I know well that " carver" will be in French " sculpteur;" so 1 say only, " Thank you, Miladi, I ignoranted that;" and she laugh again. It was there some of ladies at dinner who ask at me if I love the music ? I cry, " Oh yes! I love that dear music to the folly: we had a music charming in the bosom of our family : my sister oldest can touch delightfully; my sister young pinches of a manner extraordinary; and I have a brother who gives of a style astonishing." The lady fixed me, and then clattered with laugh. ( Mon Dieu! the Englishes are very unpolished!) Then they say " What you mean by say one touches, another pinches, and another gives, in speaking of music?" I answer to her—" We others French says always, ' touch the piano,' ' pinch the harp,' or ' the guitar;* and ' give of the horn:' my family are alls very strongs.' " Very strong;" she repeat, " what for very strong " Oh!" I say, " very strong musicians we Frenchs say always, when one play very well." " You French are funny people!" say the lady, and laugh again. 319 F R A N K L I N ' S MISCELLANY. I forget to tell you again one mistake I have made, Sir John say, " Miss Dela Roche, I must have my rubber, go and get all ready." I thought he want clean some pencil mark with gomme- elas- tique, so I bring bim large piece of Indian rubber ! They long time before to tell me that " rubber" will say two or three games to the whist, as much as rubber to clean paper. Oh Miss, I pray you me procure an emplacement, otherwise; Miladi Bull has me put to the door; she has me chased ef her house, and for such little of thing, also! You know, dear Miss, that I am of a good family, and that our house at Paris, like the houses of all the nobles, was called after our name, " Hotel De la Roche:" when the woman of chambers attached my robe before the dinner, I say at her— " Oh, Mary, what number infinite of domestics I have seen at the Hotel of my papa!" She laugh, ( every body laugh of me, I think,) and she say —" Your papa keep an hotel! Miladi papa keep an hotel also, very large." Eh, well! At dinner I say, " Miladi, where is the hotel that Mr. your father keep, and how you call it?" She answer not, and makes mien to not me hear; but her neck redded, and I suppose she some person low, and her family have no hotel! After the dinner, come the servant at my chamber and say —" Here is your money, Miss ; go directly, as you got into a scrape with Miladi about the hotel: good night, Miss French." When that she go, I look in dictionary for " get into a scrape," and all that I find is, " monter dans un gratter." So if you find one other emplacement for me, say me at the same times what is " get into a scrape;" and believe always in the devotion entire, and the gratitude eternal of, dear Miss, Your passionately attached, Celestine Pulcherie Zaire Anastasie De la Roche. BESSIE BELL AND MARY GRAY. The banks of this river ( the Almond) about two miles higher than Bertha, afforded an untimely grave to the fair friends, Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, two neighbouring beauties, cele- brated in an elegant Scotch ballad, composed by a lover deeply stricken with the charms of both. One was the daughter of the laird of Kinnard, the other of the laird of Lednoch. A pes- tilence that raged in 1666 determined them to retire from the danger. They selected a romantic and sequestered spot, on the side of Bracchies Burn, where " They big^ ed a bower on yon burn brae, And thick'd it o'er with rashes." Here they lived for some time, and, as it should seem, with- out jealousy, for they received the visits of their lover, till catch « ing the infection, they both died, and were both interred in the lands of Lednoch, at Dronach Haugh. MATELOTE OP EELS.— Eude, who was French cook to Louis XVI., in a cookery book he has published, gives the following inhuman process for cooking a dish of eels; and yet the man would make us believe he is not cruel. Let our readers judge for themselves. " Take ( says he) one or two live eels, throw them into the fire; as they are twisting about on all sides, lay hold of them with a towel in your hand, and skin them from head to tail. This method is decidedly the best, as it is the means of drawing out all the oil, which is unpalatable. Note.— Several gentlemen have accused me of' cruelty' [ astonishing !], for recommending in my work that eels should be burnt alive. As my knowledge in cookery is entirely devoted to the gratifica- tion of their taste, and preservation of their health, I consider it my duty to attend to what is essential to both. The blue skin and the oil which remain when they are skinned, are highly in- digestible. If any lady or gentleman should make the trial of both, they will find that the burnt ones are much healthier; but it is after all left to their choice whether to burn or skin." An English gentleman talking with his Irish servant, said, " it is a long time since you heard from your mother, mayhap she is dead.'' " Oh, no, your honour," answered he, " she is not dead, or she would have let poor Pat know of it." GENUINE HONOUR AND BENEVOLENCE.— When the splendid folio edition of " Caesar's Commentaries," by Clarke, published on purpose to be presented to the great Duke of Marlborough, was sold at the sale of Mr. Topham Beauclerk's library for forty- four pounds, it was accompanied with an anecdote respecting that gentleman's mode of acquiring that c jpy, which deserves to be made public. Upon the death of an officer, who had the book in his possession, his mother being informed that it was of some value, wished to dispose of it; and being told that Mr. Topham Beauclerk was a proper person to offer it to, she waited upon him for that purpose. He asked what she required for it ? and being answered four guineas, took it, without hesitation, though unacquainted with the real value of the book. Being desirous, however, of some information, with respect to the na- ture of the purchase he had made, he went to an eminent book- seller, and inquired of him what he would give for such a book. The bookseller replied, seventeen guineas. Mr. Beauclerk, ac- tuated by principles of strict justice and benevolence, went im- mediately to the person who sold him the book, and telling her she had been mistaken in the value of the book, n ® t only gave her the additional thirteen guineas, but also generously bestowed a further gratuity upon her. MENTAL WEAKNESS IN A GREAT GENIUS.— That prodigy of genius, the unfortunate Chatterton, was amusing himself one day, in company with a friend, reading the epitaphs in Pancras church- yard. He was so deep sunk in thought as he walked on, that not perceiving a grave that was just dug, he tumbled into it. His friend observing his situation, ran to his assistance, and as he helped him out, told him in a jocular manner, he was happy in assisting at the resurrection of Genius. Poor Chatter- ton smiled, and taking his companion by the arm, replied, " My dear friend, I feel the sting of a speedy dissolution; I have been at war with the grave for some time, and find it is not so easy to vanquish it as I imagined— we can find an asylum to hide from every creditor but that!'' His friend endeavoured to divert his thoughts from the gloomy reflection. but what will not melancholy and adversity combined, subjugate? In three days after the neglected and disconsolate youth— was no more. CONJUGAL PERSEVERANCE.— An Italian was accused of marrying five wives; when, being carried before the judge, he was asked, why he had married so many ? He answered, " in order to meet with a good one, if possible." The Countess of Sutherland was a very beautiful woman, and celebrated by Waller under the name of Sacharissa: when she was advanced in years, she asked him in raillery when he lvould write such fine verses on her again. " When your lady- ship and I are young again," said he. The conversation of a company was interrupted by a man, who asked impertinently whether there had ever been a stronger man in the world than Hercules. " You yourself," said one, " for you have brought in Hercules by the head and shoulders." MANNERS OF THE TARTARS. The Pekin Gazette contains an appeal from the ninth daughter of one of the Tartar kings. About eight years ago, the empe- ror, who arranges these matters for the whole imperial clan, or- dered that she should become the wife of Leen- che, the son of an officer of the yellow banner body- guard. In about eleven months, before the marriage had taken place, her intended hus- band died. When Kih- kih, for that was the lady's name, heard of this event, she resolved to cut off her hair, join her husband's family, and remain a virgin for life. This chaste resolution reached the ears of the emperor, and he conferred on her a honorary tablet for the door of her apartment, and gave her a title descriptive of her virtue. " His majesty, a few days ago, when worshipping and offer- ing sacrifice on the altar of Hwang Te, the yellow emperor, and divine originator of agriculture, drank ' the cup of bliss,' and performed the grand ceremony of thrice kneeling and nine times putting his forehead to the ground. It seems he did not much like it, for he has censured the master of the ceremo- nies for giving the words ' kneel, knock, kneel, knock, kneel, knock,' too slowly. He complains, also, that the man who read the prayer had but a poor voice, and commands that another be chosen who has a strong clear voice, and is per- fectly acquainted with the detail of rites and ceremonies. " In consequence of the singular appearance of the setting sun a short time since, the enemies of the dynasty thought his majesty ought to have died; and they sent abroad a re- port that he had died. Of such an event, however, there is no information from Pekin, and the acting governor has sent out spies to endeavour to find out the brotherhood banditti who originated the report. " His majesty, this year has declined, by an official notifi- cation, the sacrificial ceremonies of an altar, candles, & c., pre- sented to a Chinese monarch on attaining the semi- century age. All grand dinners, imperial banquets, & c., are also disallowed. The cause assigned by conjecture is, the death this year, of the heir- apparent, which event leaves the Emperor Taoukwang without issue that can legally succeed to the throne. He has a son by a Chinese concubine, but the law of the Tartar founders of the reigning dynasty does not allow him to fill the throne. No Chinese lady can enter the imperial harem. Chinese con- cubines have separate establishments. " SUPERSTITION.— In this weakness of our nature we believe few people can surpass the Chinese. A considerable sensation has been excited by some atmospherical phenomena lately observed here. On the 4th instant two parhelia appeared, which was regarded as prophetic of the downfal of the present dynasty in the person of the reigning emperor. About a week previously, the sun, for several days, at rising and setting, appeared of a pale green colour; and from this it is assumed that much war or sickness is to take place in the course of the year. " From Sze- chuen we hear that thirty- three vagabond law- yers who stir up litigations have been taken into custody, and are forthwith to be punished. " Certain titular kings— Paou- pa- tour- tse, Chang- tsoo- poo- tour- tse, & c.— have been convicted of joining in the recital of magical incantations to affect somebody's life. They had, it appears, a ' black- book,' in which the curses were written. One of the kings is punished by being rendered for ever unfit to serve the emperor; another eminent personage is to be pil- loried for two months, and then receive a hundred lashes with the Tartar whip." ARABIAN POETRY. ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND, BY SHEBAI ADDAULET. Thy virtues, fam'd through every land, Thy spotless life in age and youth, Prove thee a pearl, by Nature's hand Form'd out of purity and truth. Too long its beams of orient light Upon a thankless world were shed; Heaven has now reveng'd the slight, And call'd it to its native bed. TRANSLATION OF ARABIAN VERSES, Addressed to some young men who had pretended a passion for Waladata, daughter of Almostakfi Billah, Kaliph of Spain. When you told me my glances, soft, timid, and mild, Could occasion such wounds in the heart, Can ye wonder that yours, so ungovern'd and wild, Some wounds to my cheeks should impart ? The wounds on my cheeks are but transient, I own, With a blush they appear, and decay; But those on your heart, fickle youths, ye have shown, To ba even more transient than they. A PUN ON DONCASTER.— A Spaniard, who lived there some time, had a lawsuit with an old lady of the same town, about some land he purchased: his counsel pleaded so well, that he nonsuited her. As two people were walking, one of them asked what town that was. yonder. " Oh," says his friend, " that is the town where the Spaniard lived who had the famous lawsuit wit's the old lady, and you know the Don- cast- her." ABSENCE OF MIND.— A merchant in signing the baptismal register of one of his children, wrote " Peter Coule and Company,'''' without perceiving his error till aroused to it by the laughter of his friends. VAIN MEN.— Dr. Parr and Lord Erjkine are said to have been the vainest men of their times. At a dinner some yeirs aince, D r. Parr, in ecstasies with the conversational powers of Lord Erskine, called out to him, though his junior, " My lord. I mean to write your epitaph." " Dr. Parr," replied the noble lawyer, " it is a temptation to commit suicide." A FABLE.— Jupiter made a lottery in heaven, in which mortals, as well as gods, were allowed to have tickets. The prize was wisdom; and Minerva got it. The mortals murmured, and accused the gods of foul play. Jupiter, to wipe off this arpcrsion, declared another lottery, for mortals singly and exclusively of the gods. The prize was folly. They got it, and shared it among themselves. All were satisfied. The loss of wisdom was neither regretted nor remembsred ; folly supplied its place, and those who had the largert share of it, thought themselves the wisest. A Yankee, on his return to his native country, was questioned by an American as to the thickness and dangers of the Lmdon fogs; to • which he replied, " Tnick, I've some hour a notion t. hay were thick ; L-; r'! you couldn't get thro' ' em unless you first cut ' em thro' with a knife, and then, I've an idea, that if you didn't make nation good use o' your legs, you couldn't much reckon on bodily safety. Wily,, bless you, X lost my be; t friend in a fog ! he was hacking away at it, but I calculate he was rather toil slow in hit movement, for afore he'd time to squeeze thro' it closed to aga'n, and crushed hit two sides as flat as a pancake !" THE ABBOT AND THE BLACK PENITENT. ( From Bentley's Miscellany.') On the Auray road, a few miles from Vannes, the poorest and moit miserable prefecture in France, the traveller may observe a chapel built, no one can exactly say when, upon the site and from the frag- ments of the ruins of an ancient church, which was no doubt destroyed during some of the civil wars to which Britanny has been so frequently the p: ey. This chapel is dedicated to the Magdalen, and nerved for a long time as the hermitage of a converted Jew, who here closed his life in the odour of sanctity. Its last tenant was an aged hermit, who held before the Great Revolution a high rank in the French army, and who here sought an asylum from the cares and annoyances of the busy- world, and here hoped to find consolation for the treachery of an early loved one on whom he had doted; and here in silence and prayer he passed the few remaining days still left him. These, however, are only the more recent associations connected with the place : those of a remoter period are much more romantic and poetical. On this spot was accomplished the unhappy fate of Trifine, the only daughter of CJpunt Guerech of Vannes, about the commence- ment of the sixth century. Her father, in spite of the advice of Saint Gildai, gave be. in marriage to Comorra, a sort of BretoH Blue- Beard, who killed hi) wives the instant they showed signs of probable mater- nity, prompted by hit superstition* dread of the accomplishment of a prophecy, for a witch had once foretold, that one of his children would be the cause of his death. Trifine, aware of this prediction, and of the dangers it would entail OH her, concealed her preg lancy from th. eye of her suspicious husband until the time of her delivery, when she instantly fled with her new- born infant to the castle of her father, whose protection she claimed against her tyrant husband. But Comorra, speedily apprized of his intended victim's flight, pursued her a pointe d'etrier ( in the words of one of the chroniclers), and overtook her in the suburbs of Vannes in a thicket by the road side, where she had vainly endeavoured to fuiit s elter until his first rage had expended itself. The fierce husband struck off her head with his sword, and turned his steed towards hi* castle. Scarcely had he advanced a step when the animal suddenly i eined himself up, and obstinately refused to advance a step home- wards. Comorra endeavoured to dismount, but an invisible grasp re- tained him in his saddle. It was in fact Saint Gildas, who, passing at the moment, performed the miracle. At s; ght of the bleeding corpse, and the assassin idetained by some mysterious power prisoner near his victim, Saint Gildas, full o: admira- tion at the decrees of Providence, knelt, and, after a long and fervent prayer to God and the Virgin, rose an i made the sign of the cross over the murdered body. TriSne instantly rose up full of life and health ; while C jmorra was struck with leprosy, and afflicted with the most un- supportable torments. He bowed in humility to the hand which had thus punished him, confessed his sinfulness, and made a vow that he would build a church and convent for lepers on the site of these mira- culous occurrences. Saint Gildas, touched with compas ion at these proofs of repentance, again prayed to HCMven, and the penitent wag restored to health. After he had been thus made whole again, he did not, as many perhaps would have done, forget the vow that he had made in his affliction: on tho contrary, he bestowed all his we 1th upon the Church, and retired to a neighbo iring monastery, where he spent the remainder of his days in fasting and prayer. A Latin ballad is still sung at Auray, which preserves this tradition: it begins with an invoca- tion to Saint Gildas, as follows: " Sancte Gildas, te Qui Trifmam suieitaiti, Quam tyrannus occiderat Inter sylvarum pascua," & c. Although the Devil had thus lost one whom he considered a sa'e cus- tomer, still in no way did it discourage him; but, on the contrary, it rendered him only the more determined to seek his revenge for his IOM of his prey of which Saint Gildas had, in his opinion, unwarrantably defrauded him. One of his attempts in that way is recordt d in the fol- lowing story, which the writer himself heard told one evening last year within the ruins of the Magdalen. Unluckily for the reader, he cannot bestow upon the narration all the accompanying charms which hearing it upon the spot conferred— the time, the place, the poetical language of the narrator ( a young girl of Brittany), and the deep conviction she seemed to have of the truth of the story which she told, picturesquely supporting her hand on the fragments of a broken cross, her voice full of deep emotion, increased by a feeling of superstitious terror, in which many of the hearers could not avoid participating— all contributed to render the story one of those which, once heard, are never forgotten. The wind ( thus ran her story) was howling in awful concert with the roarings of the thunder, and the rain dashed in torrents against the an- cient windowj of the church of the blessed Magdalen; but so wholly engrossed was an aged priest, who walked slowly through the nave and aisles, that it seemed as if he heard not the storm outsSfle. Tnis was Father Kernoeck, the rector, who, as soon as night was fallen, had quit- ted the monastery, and was silently perambulating hi* new church, then just finished, and awaiting consecration on the morrow at the hands of the Bishop of Vannes, the sainted Gildas. He frequently stopped to admire each part of the edifice. " Here," thought he, " will the mys- teries of the holy mass be celebrated;— here from the pulpit will my voice be heard by delighted congregations, preaching the sacred word for the salvation of sinners ;— in this stall, leated upon a throne orna- mented with the most costly embroidery, shall I be seated on high during the holy olfice ;— I, I alone am the possessor, the king of this rich and splendid building ! Mine are the spandrils, the arches, the windows, the altar— the chiselled columns supporting the massive roof are mine, and mine only 1 To me belong the thousand fantastic figures which grin fiom the corbeils and festoon the drapery of the high altar ; which show their grotesque features in every nook, and appear to start out from the pedestal of each pillar— the gilded statues of the saints— the banners which are agitated by the violence of the tempest — the silver candlesticks, the tapestry, the pictures— all, all are mine 1" Such were the thoughts that held possession of hi* mind as he flung the light of the horn- lantern which he bore in hi* hand, upon each object which for the time engrossed his whole attention. He approached each, drew back, and returned for a more minute examination, until the least details were deeply impressed on his memory. Nor did he feel during all this time the slightest symptoms of fatigue, although the perspiration stood upon his forehead, and his breath nearly failed him as he stood in froat of a splendid confessional,— a chef- d'ceuvre of sculpture, over the portal of which he read in letters of gold, " THIS IS THE CONFESSIONAL OF THE RECTOR.'' The artist had carved in the dark wall which composed the confes- aional the woman's triumph over the serpent; at the upper part he had depicted the Madonna, full of that serenity which painters so love to give her, her eyes raised to heaven, her hands joined in the attitude of prayer, and her foot firmly fixed upon the forehead of a gigantic devil, already prostrate, and whose limbs trembled with terror. The priest gazed for some time in complacency on his confessional, and then felt a natural desire to ascertain if its interior corresponded in beauty and ta'te with the outside. Impatient to prove the elasticity of the cushions of that seat which he was in future to occupy, he placed the lattera amidst one of the groups of sculpture which ornamented the pilasters, and flung himself on the sacerdotal seat, into the soft cushion of which hif sunk no' without voluptuousness. He rested his head carelessly on the rich velvet hangings, stretched out his feet upon the stool studded with golden nails, and found himself altogether so comfortable, thai he speedily forgot his fatigue, and surrendered himsslf to " thick-;> ming fancies." He first thought of the crorrds who were sure to come to each side of the confessional to humb'e themselves before him; the priests of the church, the wealthy citizens, the haughtiest seignevtn even— all with humble voice and repentant lips supp icatiiig his advice, and regula'ing their conduct by his directions. While thus indulging his imagination, he suddenly heard a voice on one side, which announced that the speaker soight his ghostly a: s st- ance. He mechanically withdrew the bolt which fastened the side- window ; at the same instant a most violent clap of thunder was heard; the lightning illumined the whole church, while a strong smell of sul 320 F R A N K L I N ' S M I S C E L L A N Y. phur nearly took away his breath. When he re- opened his eyes, which i terror had closed for a moment, he beheld a stranger kneeling beside him in the confenional. The priest hesitated for a moment to hear the confession of one thus mysteriously presented to him, particularly ia a church hitherto uncon- secrated. But the half- formed word of dismissal died away upon his lips; an uncontrollable panic retained him in his seat, and he made the customary sign of the cross preparatory to hearing the confession. At this preliminary the penitent uttered a deep groan, while his whole body trembled; he speedily, however, recovered from this unusual emotion, and began to repeat the prayers, but in a mysterious accent, and, itranger still, backwards, commencing with " Amen," and concluding with " Confiteor." The priest then questioned him upon the Seven Capital Sins. " Hate you been guilty of pride, covetouaness, envy, anger, gluttony, lust, or sloth ?" " Whence should I feel the prompting of any of these vices ? _ I who am so powerful that possess the power of gratifying my every wish and fancy ?" " You!" responded the priest, in utter astonishment. " Yes, I! Behold the immortal crown which irradiates my fore head ! My youth shall endure for ever and ever. At my finger- touch, the stone becometh gold, and the dust is changed into dia- monds." He extended his hand, and the column which supported the lamp was instantly converted into the purest gold, and the flags of the tower were sprinkled with diamonds. " Thou seemest astonished!" said the stranger. " What wilt thou say when thou hearest that upwards of twenty eentuiies have elapsed since the day on which I was born ? And, behold, has time in any way diminished my youth, or the beauty of this brow ?" While he spoke a vaporous light, like the softened effulgence of the full moon, played over the brow of the unknown. The aged priest, spell- bound, and full of alarm, gazed with surprise on the noble and commanding features they indicated. The priest raised his hands in amazement, and in doing so the blessed cross, which he was holding, fall to the ground, and rolled along the nave. Wherever it touched as it rolled along, the diamonds created by the magic power of the itranger disappeared, and resumed their first and true appearance of dust. " Wilt thou," said the penitent, " become young again, and continue so for ever ? Wishest thou for boundless wealth ? Desirest thou to share my power— my glory— my happiness ?" There was something in the tone with which the last word was ut- tered so full of bitter irony, that the good priest muttered, " Begone! leave me, deceiver!" " Deceiver! I deceive thee! Listen : for the present let things remain as they are between m. I give thee an hour to make trial of my promises— one hour; not a second more, not a second less." While he spoke he stretched forth his hand towards the priest, who at the moment felt an inexplicable change take place within him. He rushed forth from his confessional. Wonder of wonders! the figure which cast its shadow on the stalls was no longer that of an aged man, but of an elegant and youthful cavalier! He felt the warmth and strength of youth flowing through his veins; the few scattered locks which had whitened his brow were changed into black and perfumed curls; his small white hand showed a delicate formation, such as a young maiden would be but too proud to possess. He walked a few steps, and at each movement, at his least wish, the most extravagant desires of his imagination were instantly realized. He wished for power, riches, pleasure; pages, valets, and knights knelt at his feet to receive his commands ! Beautiful virgins, in luxurious attire, smiled upon him in languishing beauty; palaces sprung up in the midst ef ex- tensive gardens; and he wandered amidst these glorious objects, young, smiling, and eager, his heart beating with new emotions and desires. Suddenly the unknown of the confessional appeared. " Well ?" said he; " dost thou wish to enjoy all these pleasures ? Hasten, then ; for a few moments more and they will vanish from thee! T ® ^" Ha » t but a few minutes left for their enjoyment!" " A few minutes ! A quarter of an hour has not elapsed since I beheld thee last!" " In thy sluggish life, priest, time walked thus languidly; but in our life of happiness it flies like an arrow— ay, swift as thought! But, what matters, since it revives unceasingly, and its duration is without end ? But, hasten; for when the sand shall have ceased to run in this hour- glass it will be no longer time." " What must I do ?" " Curse this church, which you were to have blessed to- morrow, and do me homage as thy sole master and only God !" The priest shuddeiingly turned away his head. " Go, then, weak and cowardly mortal; become again what thou wart ; poor, old, and in the jaws of death !" cried the tempter. The priest now felt the blood which ran a moment before impetu- ously in his veins curdle, and slowly circulate ; he beheld his hands grow stiff, and all the brilliant objects which surrounded him become more and more diatant— fait disappearing. The j> iiest made a movement towards the demon ; but his foot struck against the cross which had fallen from his hands; he raised and kissed - It. Instantly all around him disappeared, with a hideous and almost insupportable noise; and he heard the heavenly voice of a woman, which thus addressed Mm " Frail creature! Behold to what dangers thine imprudence and pride have exposed thee! But for my intercession and watchfulness over thee thou wouldest have become for ever a prey to the devil. Imprudent priest! who gavest thyself up to the sinful delight of admir- ing thy fine church, and splendid confessional, instead of passing the night in prayer and peaceful slumber! Farewell! watch and pray until the morning. I am Magdalen, the patron of this church." You may Imagine the terror and joy of the old priest at his escape, as w « ll as his gratitude to the divine protection to which he owed hit ialvation. He prostrated himself in the confessional, and did not cease pouring forth oremuses until day broke in upon it, and shewed him on the spot where the demon had knelt, two marks burnt into the stone by the knees of the evil one. Tradition adds, that the rector had the soft and voluptuous cushions, on which he had reposed the night of his temptation, replaced by a plain seat, studded with sharp- pointed nails, on which he sat to hear the con- fession of his penitents; and that he died, in the fulness of grace, three years after the consecration of his church. Towards the close of the fifteenth century there wai still exhibited in this chapel the penitential seat uied by St. Kernoeck; but the precious relic unluckily disap- peared amidst the civil wars which about that time raged in Britanny. It is not supposed that the sacrilegious thisf who stole it, whoever he was, ever sat upon it himself. BUMPER,— When the English were good Catholics they usually drank the Pope's health in a full glass every day after dinner— au bon pere; whence the word bumper. A gentleman in a stage- coach passing through the city of Bath, and observing a handsome edifice, inquired of the driver what building it was ? the driver replied, " It is the Unitarian Church." " Unitarian!" said the gentleman, " and what is that?" " I don't know," said Jehu, '' but I believe it is in the opposition line." How TO SHIP A PIG.— Manoeuvre with the animal till you have got his snout in the proper direction facing the plank which communicates with the vessel, then take hold of his tail and pull it hard, as though you wished him to come from the place, when, from a spirit of opposition natural in pigs, he goes up the plank without further trouble. DICKEY SUETT.— Suett, meeting Bannister, said, " I intend dining with you soon, on eggs and bacon— what day shall I come, Jack?" To which the other replied, " Why, if you will have that dish, you must come on a fry- day." Important to Ladies, Milliners, and Dj- ess- Makers On Saturday, September 29, will be Published, price One Shilling, No. I of the LADIES' GAZETTE OF FASHION.— Containing Fiftv Splendidly Engraved and Superbly Coloured Figures of FRENCH AND ENGLISH COSTUME: consisting of Morning, Evening, Walking, and Ball Dresses, Bonnets, Hats, Turbans, Fancy Caps, & e. & c., all of the Newest Fashions ; with such accurate and elaborate Descriptions as will enable any lady to make up the Dresses from the Patterns in the Engravings ; together with observations on the various changes in the London and Parisian Fashions. *** This will be the cheapest Work of Fashions ever published, and will only require to be seen to be approved of. With the first Number will be Presented, GRATIS, a splendid Steel Portrait of Queen Victoria. London:— Published by G. Berger, Holywell- street, Strand ; and may be ordered of all Booksellers and Newsmen, and of all the Agents of this Paper, as Mr. Cousins will forward it in his parcels. II. This Day is Published, price Gd., containing nearly 60 pages of closely printed letter- press, the ACT for the Abolition of Imprisonment for Debt.— With Notes, Critical and Explanatory, by E. Thompson, Esq. London: G. Berger, Holywell- street, Strand. Published by 0. Berger, Holywell- street, Strand, London, And may be had, on order, of all Booksellers in the United Kingdom, COBBIN'S EVANGELICAL SYNOPSIS. Now publishing, in Monthly Parts, price One Shilling each, the HOLY BIBLE, containing the Text according to the Authorized Translation, the Marginal Readings and Parallel Passages, and Explanatory and Practical Notes, chiefly selected from the most es- teemed Divines and Biblical Critics, of various denominations. In- terspersed with Original Remarks. By INGRAM COBBIN, A. M. Em- bellished by several highly- finished Maps of some of the principal places referred to in the Inspired Volume, and numerous Wood En- gravings, illustrative of Jewish, Asiatic, Greek, and Roman Customs. All the early Parts are now in print. %* Part XXXVI. contains a lucid Exposition of the 15 th Chapter of the first Epistle to the Corinthians, and a satisfactory reply to the important inquiry, " How are the Dead raised up, and with what bodies do they come ?" Part XXXVII. is this day published. II. RELIGION without GLOOM; exemplified in a series of Sacred Lessons, with occasional Sermons and Hymns ; in which the various Duties of Life are enforced by Pious and Holy Examples. Also, Morning and Evening Prayers for every Day in the Week. By several eminent Divines. In 1 vol. cloth lettered, price 3s. fid. III. The BIBLE its own EXPOSITOR ; especially adapted to Sunday Schools, and all who are desirous of promoting a knowledge of the Scriptures. Complete, price 2d. sewed, and in a neat wrapper. IV. VENTRIS'S WRITER'S GUIDE; or, Rules and Examples for the attainment of superior Penmanship. With Lessons, in regular gradation, in Round and Running Hands, German and Church Texts, Old English, Engrossing, and Italian Hands, and upwards of One hun- dred and Fifty varieties of Ornamental Letters, with Directions for Pupils, Outlines for School- pieces, & c. & c., especially adapted for Schools and Private Tuition. Price Is. ( id., sewed. V. VENTRIS'S STENOGRAPHIC STANDARDS; being Four improved Systems of Short- Hand, combining Simplicity, Perspicuity, and Brevity; together with a simple and undecipherable mode of keeping Private Memoranda. Price Is., sewed. Each of the above Four Improved Systems of Short- Hand— namely, Gurney's, Taylor's^ Major's and Byrom's, may be had separate, stitched in a neat wrapper, price 4d. VI. The HOLY BIBLE in VERSE ; or, a Metrical Index to the Old and New Testaments, alphabetically arranged; by which the principal Occurrences in the Scriptures may be committed to memory in less than a month. Cloth, lettered, price Is. VII. A PRACTICAL INTRODUCTION to the FRENCH LAN- GUAGE ; in which the Pronunciation is correctly marked; contain- ing a concise Grammar, and the most useful Phrases and Idioms of the French Language, with copious extracts for Reciprocal Translation. By EDWARD PEITHMAN, LL. D., F. R. S., author of " The Practical Greek and Latin Grammar," " Elements of Latin Composition," " Practical French Grammar," " Greek Anthology," & c. & c. In 1 vol. cloth, lettered, price 3s, VIII. STAPLETON'S TALES of the WARS ; or, Naval and Mili- tary Chronicle. Be particular to ask for Berger's. Vol. I, handsomely bound in cloth, containing 53 Wood Engravings, and a splendid Steel Portrait of William IV., price 5s. fid.; and Vol. II., handsomely bound, and embellished with a beautiful Steel Portrait of the Duke of Wellington, and 53 Wood Engravings, are now ready, price 5s. 6d. each. IX. The PILGRIM'S PROGRESS; embellished with 11 spirited Engravings from Original Designs. Complete in 1 yol.,_ cloth lettered, price 4s. fid. X. The PENNY MECHANIC and CHEMIST; intended to assist in the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge among the People, and to im- prove their social and moral condition, by showing the application of Scientific Knowledge to their various Occupations, and by noticing all Inventions and Discoveries likely to prove useful to them ; together with Reports of Mechanics' Institutes and other Educational Associa- tions for their improvement. In Nos. at One Penny, and Parts at Fourpence, with Engravings. Vols. 1 and 2, handsomely bound, price 4s. 6d. each, are now ready. XI. BUFFON'S NATURAL HISTORY; beautifully printed in crown octavo, and embellished with One Hundred Superb Copper- plate En- gravings of the most rare and curious Animals that throng the Air, the Earth, and the Ocean. The Drawings of the different Subjects, which amount to several hundreds, have been taken from living specimens, and are executed in a faithful and animated manner. At 3d. each Number, containing lb' pages of letter- press, and embellished with two Copper- plate Engravings, complete in 50 Numbers, or in two hand- some volumes, cloth, lettered, price 6s. fid. each. XII. The ENGRAVERS' and LITHOGRAPHERS' MANUAL; being a ready Guide to Superior Workmanship; containing Alphabets in Round, Running, and Italiau Hands, German and Church Texts, and Old English ; and upwards of One Hundred and Fifty Varieties of Chaste and Elegant Ornamental Letters, Original and Selected. Price Is. sewed In the progress of the Arts and Sciences, we not only apply our im- proved knowledge to procuring the comforts and luxuries of life, but to render ourselves more capable of partaking in and enjoying such an im- proved state of things by enquiring into the nature of all diseases which impede those enjoyments and prevent our happiness ; hence the Gout was formerly considered as solely the effect of free living. Science now demonstrates that other causes exist, requiriug a more abstruse in- vestigation, and this has been demonstrated in a multitude of instances, by the introduction of Blair's Gout and Rheumatic Pills, as by the unpre- cedented sale and applause which this medicine has acquired, abundant opportunities have been afforded to render it no longer doubtful that those whose circumstances have ever prevented their having the luxuries of life, are afflicted as frequently and with an equal degree of suffering as the more opulent in society. In Numbers, at 3d., and Parts, at Is. each, THE BRITISH DRAWING BOOK, or the Art of Drawing in Pen and Ink; comprising a Series of Progressive Lessons in drawing Landscape Scenery, Marine Views, Architecture, Animals, the Human Figure, & c., and a complete System of practical Perspective. Price 6s. fid., boards. The Minor Part is published with the Magazines, containing interest- ing papers under the following heads:— Popular Antiqaities— Public Im- provements— Topography— the Naturalist— Select Biography— Arts and Sciences— Poetry— Notes of a Reader— Manners and Customs— with choice and piquant Extracts from new Books and the Public Journals. J. Limbird, 143, Strand. THE POSTHUMOUS SKETCHES OF SEYMOUR. To be Published on the 1st of October, 1838, by Messrs. SHERWOOD, GILBERT, and PIPER, Paternoster- row, and to be continued in Twenty Monthly Numbers, uniform with the Pickwick Papers, Price One Shilling per Number, a new Work, illustrated by the unpublished Drawings of the above Artist, and to be entitled, Seymour's Pictorial Legacy; Being a Compendous History of the Sayings, Doings, Mis- doings, Rise, Progress, Troubles, and Achievements of HIPPINS HIPHIPPINS, ESQ., Alias HIP HIPPINS. Edited by " LARKSPUR," and Illustrated by the Posthumous Sketches of Seymour, executed on Stone by " FLINT." The Work will be elegantly printed, and got up in a most superior manner. Two Drawings will embellish each Number, in addition to which, the FIRST WILL CONTAIN A HIGHLY- FINISHED LIKE- NESS OF THE ARTIST, whose last sketches the publication is de- " to perpetuate. Now Publishing by B. D. COUSINS, 18, Duke- street, Lincoln's- inn- fields, London, price One Shilling, The ETERNITY of the UNIVERSE, BY G. H. TOULMIN, M. D. Proving that the WORLD and all NATURE has ever existed. WORDS of a BELIEVER; or, PAROLES d' UN CROY- ANT, by 1' ABBE de la MENNAIS.— For having written which, he was Excommunicated by the Pope. Price Is., stitched, or Is. 6d. cloth boards. LEGENDS and MIRACLE^, by the Rev. J. E. SMITH. M. A. Price Is. 8d., cloth boards. THE S H E P H E R D, by the Rev. J. E. SMITH, M. A. Vol. I., price 5s. 6d.;— Vol. II., price 3s.;— Vol. III., price 6s. 6d., cloth boards. ZA D I G, a Philosophical Romance, by VOLTAIRE, Price fid. stitched, or Is. cloth boards. HISTORY OF THE S UN. Price One Penny. HISTORY OF THE MOON, Price One Penny. HISTORY OF ENGLAND IN MINIATURE. Price One Penny. FLOOR CLOTHS, various Patterns, from half yard to fire yards wide, well seasoned, at 2s. 4d. the square yard ; Oil Cloth for table covers ; Omnibus and Cab Linings, & c., 2s. 4d. the square yard ; a large lot of Damask Moreens, Is. 2^ d. per yard ; Cheap Carpets, Broad Cloths, and Buckskins. An immense stock just purchased, a de- cided bargain, at BURNETT'S, 2, Piazza, Covent- garden. BLAIR'S GOUT AND RHEUMATIC PILLS. Another extraordinary cure of Rheumatism, from Lincolnshire, communicated by Mr. Hall, Bookseller, Gainsborough. ( To Mr. front, 229, Strand, London.) Gainsborough, April 7, 1S3S. SIR,— f am requested fay Thomas Thornhif], of this town, to communicate to you the almost miraculous benefit he has rece'ved from the use of BLAIR'S PILLS : he purchased a box of them at my shop T. AST NIGHT, statiog that he had been suffering from Rheumatic Fever for the last fifteen weeks, which had ren- dered him unable even so much as to lift his hand to his head, without great pain. I was astonished to see him again this afternoon, laughing and throwing his arms about like a madman. He came to state, that he is already atl but cured. I really could not have imagined that a single day could have made such a difference in the appearance of a man. Yesterday he was despairing of re: ief, and looked the picture of misery, to day he is full of spirit, and seems as happy as a prince. The fame of the Medicine is now spreading rapidly; I see my stock is ex- hausted, you will therefore oblige by sending six dozen boxes immediately, to Your obedient servant, B. S. HALL. These Pills are taken without the least care or attention, by either sex, young or ; o! d. and have the peculiar property of entirely removing the disease without debilitating the frame, which is universally left in a stronger and better state than before the malady commenced. And there is another most important effect belonging to this Medicine— that it prevents the disease flyi » g to the brain, stomach, or other vital part. Sold by Thomas Prout, 229. Strand, London; and by his appointment by all respectable Medicine Venders throughout the United Kingdom, price 2s. 9i. per box. TO THE SUFFERERS FROM BILIOUS AND LITER COMPLAINTS. THE unexampled success of FRAMPTON'S PILL OF HEALTH calls for particular attention. These Pills give immediate relief in all Spasmodic and windy complaints, with the whole train of well- known symptoms arising from a weak stomach or vitiated bilious secretion. Indigestion, pain at the pit of the Stomach, Bilious or Sick Head- ache, Heartburn, Loss of Appetite, Sense of Fulness after meals, Giddiness, Dizziness, Pain over the eyes, Ac., & c. Persons of a Full Habit, who are subject to Head- ache, Giddiness, Drowsiness, and Singing in the Ears, arising from too great a flow of blood to the head, should never be with- out them, as many dangerous symptoms will bo entirely carried off by their immediate use. They are highly grateful to the Stomach, create Appetite, relieve Langour and Depression of Spirits, gently relaxing the Bowels without griping or annoyance, removing noxious accumulations, rendering the System truly comfortable and the head clear. The very high enco- miums passed upon them by a large portion of the public, is the best cri- terion of their merit, and the continual statements of their good effects from all parts of the Kingdom, is a source of the highest gratification. SoldbyT. Prout, 229, Strand, London; and by most Medicine Tenders in the Kingdom. Price Is. l£ d. per box. SIGHT RESTORED, AND NERVOUS HEADACHE CURED TO THE AFFLICTED.— HIS LATE MAJESTY, her Royal Highness the Duchess of KENT, the LORDS of the TREASURY, and many of the most distinguished members of the ROYAL FAMILY, have patronised this odoriferous compound of Herbs. " Penryn Arms Hotel, Bangor, ' 25th May, 1838. " Sir,— From the great signal benefit I have experienced from your in- valuable Snuff, I conceive I should be doing an act of ingratitude to your- self as well as injustice to those suffering as I have, if I did not thus openly state for the satisfaction of the Public, that I have been for a long time past- labouring under an almost total deprivation of Sight, so great as, except by the ieel, bu: apable of knmving a shilling from a guinea. A gentleman who stopped at my house fora short time, pitying my ( I imagined incurable) mis- fortune, kindly recommended me to try. s. small quantity of your discovery, which he procured from an Agent of yours in Dublin. I felt so mudi benefitted from the contents of a 2s. 4d. Canister, that I sent for two more, which having nearly used, I am now almost COMPLETELY RESTOREB. I have no doubt in the course of another week of being Cured. Sir, if you would appoint an Agent in this town it would be doing the Inhabitants an incalculable benefit. Should you be so disposed I can with confidence name Mr. Heywood, a most respeetable tradesman here, from whom I am convinced you would experience every satisfaction. Pardon this liberty, but as I have myself felt such good effects from using your Eye Snuff, I am doubly anxious our Town should be supplied by a local Agent. Sir, you are at perfect liberty to publish this Tbstimony of acknowledgement from your " Grateful and obedient Servant, " To W. Grimstone, Esq. " W. BICKNELL." " Inventor of Eye Snuff, 39, Broad- street. Mr. W. Grimstone's signature with the above Royal Patronage, is attached to each canister. Sold in canisters, Is. 3d., 2s. 4d., 4s. 4d., 8s., and 15s. fid. each. It may be obtained in all the principal towns and cities. A liberal allowance to Shippers, Owners, Captains, and all Ven- ders of Grimstone's Eye Snuff. Foreign and British Snuffs and Cigars of the finest quality, 39, Broad- street, Bloomsbury, London. Printed and Published for Benjamin Frantctin, of No. 31, Great- Wild- street, by B. D. Cousins, 18, Duke- street, Lincoln'' s- inn- fislds, London.