OR, THE T PENNY POLICE GAZETTE. Vol, 2. LONDON:—- SUNDAY, APRIL 18, 1841. MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR! SUPPOSED MURDER OF A FEMALE, NEAR WATFORD We have received information from a correspondent of a recent mysterious occurrence between Watford and Rickmansworth, of which the above engraving forms a correct representation, and which has excited an extraordinary sensation in that neighbour- hood. It appears that a fire taking place a few miles from the latter place, one of the London fire- engines, on its way to it, between Watford and Rickmansworth, were compelled to pass through a pond which had formed itself in the road, owing to the recent heavy rains, when they felt something come in contact with the wheels of the engine, and surprised at the obstruction, the driver, William Elmore, and another man, named Hartnell, alighted, when they were astonished and horrified at discovering the body of young woman, elegantly dressed, and of great personal attractions. They^ immediately placed the corpse on the engine, and con- veyed it to the nearest tavern, when it was discovered that she had been wounded in several places about the head, as if from blows inflicted by some heavy, blunt instrument; and her body was P" rally covered with violent bruises. On her person, nothing what- ever was found which might give a clue as to who the unfortunate deceased was, but, from all the circumstances, there cannot be a doubt but that she has been cruelly murdered, and her body afterwards thrown into the place where it was found. \ witt. BOW STREET. AN ESSAY ON CLEANLINESS, AND so FORTH.— Sally Allingham was found in bed with a bottle of rum by her side. Sally came iuto court with a face sharp as ai two- edged sword, aud dirtier than a political news- paper just before election. Her hands were blacker frhan the record of tbe sinner's guilt. Now a natural liorn black person is not to blame for an ebony hue. "" The Ethiopian cannot change his skin." There is not « coloured man or woman in America but would • wash himself or herself white, if such a thing were ipessible. We once heard a venerable old negro affirm that he would willingly consent to be skinned provided lie might by that means become white. Tbe sable hue ofthe African is not liis fault, but his misfortune- if indeed ( which we very much doubt) there be any virtue in one colour more than in another. If,. then, those who are considered an inferior, and unjustly held a de- graded race, would do so much to change that com- plexion, how doubly despicable is that white person, and particularly that white woman who voluntarily fnits on tbe sable hue— who suffers the filth to accumu- ateupon her bands and face until her identity is nearly Jost io the visible darkness of her grimy countenance 1 • Such was the case with Mistress Sally AUinahatn. She • was not a *' whitened sepulchre," but a blackened se- pulchre, in which was garnered up all the brutalized *. nd depraved passions of human nature. A woman who prostitutes herself to the infernal lust ofthe bottle, and shadows over the image of ber Maker with the linea- ments of drunkenness and beastiality, deserves more of scorn than of pity, Alas, rum and gin are the Scvlla and Charybdis of the moral world. Mistress Allingfiam was sentenced to lour months imprisonment in tbe House of Correction. She ought to be thrown into a snow- bank and whitened, to render her fit even for that paijderao*. iium of miscellaneous depravity. MARLBOROUGH STREET. A woman was on the prisoners' seat as we entered the court on Wednesday morning, sittiug " like Niobe • all tears," " and by her band one lisping boy she held." MAGISTRATE.— What is the woman's name ? OFFICER.— Matilda. MAGISTRATE— What is ber husband's name ? OFFICER.— She has none. MATILDA.- No, I have 110 husband, if I had, that murdering villain there, ( pointing to the prosecutor) wouldn't be here to complain against me— me name's Matilda Dismore. CLERK.— Listen to an indictment, & c , & c.— that you for the last six mouths past, have beeu and are a common drunkard. DEF.— For the last six months 1 What have they got. agin me now— commou drunkard— I feel very thankful. Some witnesses were then sworn, and among them, one Patrick Bryant, tbe complainant. '* Ah, stop there," cried the defendant, " he's a Catholic, he must kiss the book— the robber, the thief the villain, he must kiss the book. Judge, make hini kiss the book, or he'd swear me life away." MAGISTRATE.— He's under oath to speak the truth just the same— proceed with the testimony. COMPLAINANT.— Plaze yer warship, this woman came yesterday and broke in my windows, and when I told ber of it, she blackguarded me, and called me tliafe, aud villain, and all the mane names she could lay lief tongue to. " Och, you murdering villain, yoU d d liar," in- terrupted the gentle Matilda, " now Judce, dear, and officers and gintlemeu here in the court, will ye be plazed to hear me ?" MAGISTRATE.— Aye, presently. An officer was then examined, whb, \ Vith bis iisital acuteness of memory, recoghisetl the defendant as a person he bad arrested for stealing a bundle from tbe Birmingham railway carriages. " It's a lie," interrupted Matilda. " I didn't steal— now, Judge, suppose two or three giutlemen were to lave their handkerchiefs on that sate, and I was to come and sit 011 thim, by mistake, should I be accountable? but that villain, thafe, robber, there, that says I broke his window— he knows I licked bim once— knocked him down— d— n him, be came and accused me yester- day of breaking his window, and he sazed me by the nape of the neck, and pushed me out, and there was a barrel of turnips outside, and I grabbled bold of a big ' un, and by J s if it hadn't bin for the coorse of the law, I'd a smashed him, and I wouldn't grudge a month in prison, to lick him now as I did before— 1 can't keep patience - so, Judge, you can do just as yon plaze — the thafe, the robber, the villain, the liar, the dirty spalpeen." By this time the Oratress had lashed herself into an extasy of indignation, ber mouth was all a foam, aud her whole frame quivered with intensity of passion. MAGISTRATE ( to complainant) — Do you think If I were to discharge her, she'd go to Bitntingham ? ( which sbe said she was going to- day.) " No, your worship— she'd come back and blow up hell," said the polite complainant, " she's all the time getting drunk.'' " And how often do you git drunk, and how often do you bate your poor wife, and call her d d b h, because she's a protestunt, and you are a catholic ?" and then again, with fuiious gestures, and outstretched arms, she launched at tbe devoted complainant another thundering broadside of very unequivocal abuse, in the midst of which she was cut short, by the magistrate ordering her to be sent for three months to the House of Correction. At that dread maudate she dropt the furioso, and put ou a touch of tbe sentimental. Sbe clanped her hands meekly together, and casting 011 the magistrate a melancholy and imploring look, she ex- claimed in gentle tones, altogether at variance with her for mer boisterous eloquence, " Och, Judge, have you the heart to send me for three months— you may as well hang me at once- och, yer reverence, what will be- come of me poor li'ile boy ?" MAGISTRATE.— Oh, he will be taken good care of, much better than you could give bim. " Thank yer majesty, but three months, och, musha, musha." Exit, bewailing bitterly ber evil destiny. RUM- PUNCH. An Irish gentleman at cards, having, 011 inspection, found the pool deficient, exclaimed, " Here's a shilling short! who put it in ?" mother of Dugald, and that they were now coming to celebrate the marriage. According to the Scotch law, this marriage would have made Dugald legitimate, and capable of inheriting the ample territories of Lome. This event would have utterly disappointed the matri- monial schemes ofthe two nephews, and they instantly formed a dreadful resolution to prevent it. They re- turned, and asked admittance itito the castle j but, the door- keeper remarking a very fierce expression in their countenance, first consulted his master, who was djs- plea- ed at his hesitating to admit his nephews. The door- keeper reluctantly received tbem; they forced their way into Lord Ldrce s apartment, and instantly put him to death, to prevent thfc intended marriage. The brothers were, however, disappointed in their expecta- tions— the heiress ecaped from Dunstaffnage by night, and carried away the charters of the estate. They took refuge with the Earl of Argyle, who soon married the eldest daughter ; tbe second was married to Campbell, of Glenurcy, ancestor of tbe Earl of B. eadalbane ; aud the third to Campbell, of Ottar. This murder was committed towards the end of the 15th century. The rock where Jhe two Maedou^ alls stood when they discovered the approach of DUB aid and his mother, and where they resolved to return and assassinate their uncle, is still well known. It is called in Gaelic by a name, which translated, means The Ruck of the JVicked Resolution.— Literary Gazette. A striking situation this, When wives both ears and noses pull; But some might think it not amiss Of punch to have a belly full. But save us from such gentle creatures, Wi like sucb foir ones at a distance ; One like this, whose very features Proclaim her the mildest in existence. DREADFUL MURDER. John Stewart, Lord of Lome, when far advanced in life, was a widower, and had three daughters, but no lawful son. Ry a woman, above thtj- common rank, named Maelaurin, he had an illegitlmWe son, whose name was Dugald. He was a young man, of great pro- mise, aud had particularly distinguished himself on a recent occasion. The sons of the chief of Macdougall, by tbe sister of Lome, were very desirous of marrying their cousins, the co- heiresses of Lome, and were assiduous in their attention to their uncle, who resided in the castle of Dunstaffnage, once inhabited by the kings of Caledonia, and still one of the royal palaces of Scotland. They had passed the night at Dunstaffnage, and departed early next morning. But, they had not gone far on their way, when they observed a number of boats approach- ing from the east, crowded with people, with pipes play- ing, and bearing flags. They found that these boats contained Dugald and his mother ; and they soon dis- covered that old Lord Lome had resolved to tnatry the MASSACRE OF THE MAMELUKES. It has been related, that one of the tihief means em- ployed by Mahomet Ali in civilizing Egypt, of in improv- ing the state of the country, was the destruction of tbe Mamelukes— a class of hired foreign soldiers, who, as usual iu such cases, were opposed to all changes in the government. It was only by resorting to a barbarous stratagem in one of his campaigns, that the sanguinary blow was struck. Tbe following is the account given of this dreadful affair, by Giovanni Finati, in the narrative of his life and adventures :— " Tbe chief? of the Mamelukes, with their Adherents, being assembled* by invitation from tbe Pasha of Egypt, within the citadel of Cairo, after a time, according to East- ern custom, coffee was brought, and, last of all, pipes; but, at the moment when these were presented, as if from etiquette, or to leave his guests more at their ease, Ma- homet Alt toss and withdrew, and, sending privately for the captain of his guard, and gave orders that the gates of the citadel should be closed ; adding, that as soon as Saim Bey and his two associates should come out f « r the purpose ol mounting, they should be fired upon till they dropped, and that, at the same signal, tbe troops posted throughout the fortress, should take aim at every Mame- luke within their reach, while a corresponding order was sent down at the same time to those in the town, and to such even as were encamped without, round the foot of tiie fortress, to pursue the work of extermination on all su~< rglers that they should find, so that not one ol the proscribe' 1 body might escape. Saim Bey, and his two brothers In col^ and, finding that the pasha did not return to them, and being informed by the attendants tha he was gone into his harem, ( an answer that precluded all further inquiry), judged it time to take their departure But, no seonrt? did they make tbeir appearance without, and were mounting their horses, than they were suddenly fired upon from every quarter, and all became at once a scene of confusion, and dismay, and horror, similar volleys being directed at all the rest, who were collected round, and Ereparing to return with them, so that the victims dropped y hundreds. Sai « himself had time to gain his saddle, and even to penetrate to one of the gates of the citadel ; but, all to no purpose, tuT he found it closed, like the rest, and fell there, pierced with ianumerable bullets. An- other chief, Amitn Bey, who W. as the brother ot Elfi, urged the noble animal which he rode to an act of greater de. operation, for he spurred him till heaWdehim clamber on the rampart; find, preferring rather to bs dashed to pieces, than to be slaughtered in cold blood, drove him to leap down the precipice, & height that has been estimated at from thirty to forty feet, or even more ; yet fortune so favoured him, tfiat," though the horse was killed m the fall, the rider esoaped. An Albanian camp was telow, and an officer's tent very near the spot on which be alighted. Instead of shunning it, he went in, and, throw- ing himself on the rites of hospitality, implored that no ad- vantage might be taken of him ; which was not only granted, bat the officer offered him protection, even at his own peril, and kept him concealed so long as the popular fury, and the excesses of the soldiery continued. Of the rest of that devoted number, thus shut up and surrounded, I not one went out alive ; and even of those who had quietly remained in the town, but very few found means to elude the aotive and greedy search that was made after them, a high price being set upon every Mameluke's hsad that should be brought. All Cairo was filled with wailing and lamentations; and, in truth, the confusion and horrors of that day are indescribable; for, not the Mamelukes alone, but others also, in many instances, wholly un- eonnected with tbem, either from mistake, or from malice, or for plunder, were indiscriminately seized on and put to death; so that, great as the number was that perished of this ill- fated body, it yet did not comprehend total of the victims. For myself, I have reason thankful, Hurt, though I was one of the 1 in the citadel that morning, I shed of those unhappy men, be posted at an avenue w pass, or came near were never fired, cape of Amim tent, reached . to demand him that it woutfl screen his f bim to ' saw him, Acre, a THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE S POLICE GAZETTE.^ THE DEATH GRASP; OR, A FATHER'S CURSE! ( AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE or STARTLING INTEREST.) Written expressly for " The Penny Sunday Times," BR THE AUTHOR OF " BLA, THK OUTCAST," " ANGELINA," " KRNNESTING I1 K LACY," ETC. ( Continued from our last J CHAPTER III. THE MURDER, .< ;;^ el1' LSaid c » , e. b » M F:.. gene thus abruptly retired " if that Momiseer de P^ u- Jg, is not mad I'm a fool. Now, I Should,! t wo;.,(! ei. if h„ has lost a„ his monev at the gambling tion-„ e d thathe. s gohlg t0 Wow his bralns out, or cut_ hi^ throat." at the H38 '' nlen'upted in bis soliloquy by a loud knocking » t h" •" oor' and hastening to it, in no very pleasant mood dln. « ili# Rept up so la. te, he give admittance to Adolphe. " Now, boy," demanded Adolphe, in harsh and im patient accents, " bas Monsieur de Buoisson returned ?" " Itideed, he has, MounSeer," answered Caleb," and in such a temper.'" "• Psha'." c. ned Adolphe, haughtily, " cease your im- pertinent loquaciousness, sirrah, and retire; I need not you to sbf- w ine my way to my chamber, when 1 am so disposed." " \ iuti, hadn't you better, Mounseer " "" Begone, 1 say !" " Well," muttered Caleb, as he quitted tbe room. " they are a very pretty pair of black- birds, sure enough." Adolphe took bis seat at the table ;— his manner was restless, and there was an expression in his countenance, which shewed the desperate workings of his soul. He leant his head on bis hand for a few minutes and then arising from his chair, paced the room with hasty and un- even . steps. At length he returned lo tile table, and alter ano ther second or two spent in rumination, be said,— " Yes, it shall be so ;— mine own safety, my union •< vith Laurette ;— my fame,— credit— honour— all depend upon it! Eugene must die!— Die ?— It is an awful word ; but there is no alternative?— While he existed it is not probable_ that he wonld see me live in luxury on the fruits of his ruin 5— nay, more, that he would patiently see me Head to the altar ber whom he so ardently loves; and who, I firmly believe would have returned his passion, had it « mt been for my guilty, machinations.— He would betray me; he would denounce me— he— but my dagger's point shall this night, this hour, seal his lips for ever. — The kev < if my chambir will open the lock of his apartment. All is now hushed in sleep— 1 can easily effect my purpose, and suspicion will not dare to point a finger at me. All the world will think that, driven to despair by his losses, he iiath himself struck the fatal blow." Adolphe paused;— he: almost trembled to look round m ; an indefinite feeling darted through his veins ;— he walked with noiseless steps to the door of the chamber, and, opening it, listened ;— but he could not hear the least noise;— the silence which prevailed, seemed like that of death,— anil fhVheart of Adolphe shrunk back with horror at the deed he cooteiuplated.— He quietly closed the door of his room, and once more resumed his seat. " Psha!"— at. length he ejaculated, " this is childish ! — I have become. a week foul!— All is still!— No ODe can licar his dying groans, and-— my heart recoils from the sanguinary tleed.- Mjuilty. as I am, my hands were never yet stained with any other blood than that of the enemies of my country;— and shall thev now?— Bah! what an effeminate idiothaveT become'.- Ah ! here is wine! With eagerness he seized the bottle, aud filling a glass, quaffed the contents with frenzied haste! — " It has revived my wavering courage," he said ; " my heart is firm again !— I feci competent to the most daring Vieed.— Let me away and do my hellish work, lest my heart again faulter,— Now for, the deed of blood." As Adolpbe de Floriville thus spoke, he drew forth bis dagger, with an air of desperation ; took up the lamp in his other hand, and after once more listening, to make sure that no one was moving about," he quitted the room, and striding stealthily along the conidore, ever ami anon looking hack, as his fears brought to his imagination the of his friend, covered his face with his hands, and with a groan of the most indescribable horror, rushed back to his own chamber. CHAPTER IV. THE PORTRAIT.— THE INJUNCTION. PERPLEXING were the thoughts that harrassed the bosom of Laurette after the interview with Adolphe, and the promise he had exacted from her. One moment she re- pented having so readily yielded to his persuasions, and reproached herself with having been easily prejudiced against Eugene de Buoisson, and ( tie next she could have cursed herself, for having ticted in a manner that her sense of the dutv she owed her father, forbade. But, bad not Eugene rendered himself unworthy of her love. ?— Had not Adolphe, his best friend, the companion of his child- hood, his constant, faithful friend since, assured her of his vice,— his dissipation,—. his duplicity ? Had he not in- formed her, that while he pretended to be solely devoted to her, he was basking iu the favours of a lascivious wanton ?— And could she doubt what Adolphe stated ?— Oh, no !— 7ie, at any rate, could not, would not deceive her! But, then, her father'.— had he not forbidden her to think of Adolphe, to mention even his name ill his pre- sence ? and yet. she had promised clandestinely lo become that man's bride! It was the first act of disobedience she ever remembered to have been guiltyof towaidsher father, and she shrunk from it wilh horror ! But, yet, so ardent, so powerful was the passion she entertained for Adolphe, that she could not bear to think of deceiving him, although the greatest misery should be the consequence, Besides, was not her father acting in an arbitary manner by seeking to compel her to bestswher hand upon the man she could not love ; while he, to whom her whole soul was dev. oted, — to whom she was so powerfully attached, that sbe Would freely have sacrificed her lite for him, she was not only forbidden to think upon him, but he had been insultingly ordered never to come near the house, and without any reason being assigned for such harsh and ambiguous con- duct ? What reason could the Marquess have ? What charge could he make against one whom he had never he- foreseen, until the accident which had occurred to him and Eugene de Buoisson brought him to the house ?— To her, indeed, Adolphe de Floriville appeared to be all that was good, generous, and noble. She had never known her lather to be capricious before; yet, in this instance, she must consider be was so. She " awaited with the utmost anxiety to bear the result of her father's visit lo the Chateau of the Count BellevoSrs, for should the contents of the letter turn out to be correct, the Marquess had ex- pressed his determination to abandon all thoughts of Eu- gene, and to discard him from his friendship for ever. But. then, again should he do so, what difference would it make in her situation, no more than that he would not en- deavour to force herto become his wife ? He would never sanction the address of l) e Floriville, and therefore, what had she to hope from him?— Nothing! No! No',— he allowed her no alternative ! He would fetter her affec- tions ! And, though she felt great repugnance in doing so, she must tie guilty of an act of disobedience, or else sacri- fice not only her own happiness, but that ol Adolphe lor ever. As hour after hour waned away, and her father did not return, she felt more and more uneasy, and she sought in vain to banish from her mind those dismal forebodings that would arise to it, in spile of all her efforts. Ten,— eleven,— twelve o'clock passed, and yet the Marquess did not come hack. Something surely must have happened to him she thought She was too uneasy to retire to bed, for she could tint sleep while she remained in this sta'te of fear, donht, and uncertainty. She summoned an atten- dant, and desired ber to dispatch two OR three of the male servants in different directions, to see if they could hear anything of him ; and then, again, seated herself by the casement, and became once more buried in a profound reverie, similar to that we have been describing. A short time longer elapsed, and the laen returned, having met with no success in their researches; and now the agouv of Laurette was wound up to a pitch bordering Upon frenzy. At that moment she fancied she heard his tread upon the stairs, and the next her imagination filled her mind with thejmost'dreadful apprehensions. Surely Eu- gene or any of his wild and reckless associates, had not , ,„, . , . . committed any violence upon him ? And. vet what could sound of footsteps pursuing him, he gained the door ofJ she thhlk at | lis proion(, ed absence? She raced the chatn- '. oeevif's room. Hoi. he Mfram osnceH 1M. 1 tv„ ml, l.., l A.,. ... ; ... . / . . L Loam TO CORRESPONDENTS. NOTICE.— The Title- page, and copious Index to Vol. 1, of " THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PKOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE," are now ready, and may be had of all booksellers and newsvenders in town and country. Many valuable communications are accepted, but owing to . ' -— and the the length ofthe conclusion of " ANGELINA other Tales, we cannot answer them this week. In our next number they shall receive every attention. Declined : " MOBN," " DUNTHRAL," and It. P., ( Mai. d- stona.) We are much obliged to A. LESLIE. " THE BROKEN VOW," will not suit our columns. The other Tales by the same author are declined. Would MR. J. U. REA, allow us to alter the title of his excellent Tale ?— Something more romantic, we think, would suit the prevailing taste. " A CORRESPONDENT. ( Manchester.) No. Jccifed i I. K., G. It. GRIFFITHS, ( Ipswich,) D. S., It. M., K. L. M., T. W. CLARKE, H. BENNETT, '.'. MARY ANNE,'" ( Brighton,) and W. S. We think MR. J. LAMBE'S suggestion a very excellent one, and shall be glad if he can assist us in carrying it out. " CHEVALIER DRAWETS," as some ignorant booby thinks proper to style himself, had better save the ti » o or three halfpence out of his pocket- money, or do the charitable find give it to his nurse, than attempt to impose on us. Such literary pilferers deserve to be put in the pillory. T. LYNCH is oneofthe long- eared tribe. *** Allc. emtmuicar. ions to bs addressed ( post paid) to " the Editor of THE PENNY SUN » AY TIMES, 231, High- street, Shereditch. THE PENNY hitherto given to the attainment of a fine style, and not to disdain the humble, but very important task of cor- recting and copying their manuscrip's. They may thus overcome the inconvenience which it is the object of this essay to describe and provide against, and entertain the cheering hope that their names will be associated with those of the illustrious classic authors, and their works handed down to the remotest posterity, to in- struct aod. delight the innumerable nations of our race, to whom our language is destined to convey the first lessons of religion, virtue, and freedom. ERNNESTINE DE LACY t OR, THE BOBtER'S FOUNDL1N8. AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR " THE PENNY SDN » AY T1MIS," BY THE POPULAR AUTHOR 0 « " ELA, THE •• TCAST," " ANGELINA," " GALLANT TOM," " TAI. BS AND LEGHNDS OF ETHER DAYS," & C. & C. ( Continued from our last.) PEOPLE'S AND POLICE GAZETTE. Eugene's HeM again paused, and trembled. He placed his ear to the key hole, and the thicR breathing, of his intended victim, convinced him that he was asleep Again a dreadful sensation ot terror came over him, an he was half inclined to return immediately to his own chamber, and to abandon his blood- thirsty desigu. He had moved several paces back, with that purpose, when- the idea ' of his treachery, and deliberate villany being discovered, Eugene being reinstated in the goo'd opinion ofthc Marquess de Chamont, and recti vine tbe band.- o'fniij) „„ t, ber in a state of the utmost uneasiness, and in the rll- alv sorbinginfluence of the tacking thoughts that now dis- tracted her brain, Adolphe was for awhile forgotten. " To add to her terrors, the moon suddenly became ob- scured, and the heavens denoted an approaching storm. In a few minutes the rain descended iu torrents;' the thunder rolled, and the lightning flashed vividly. At, that moment, the hour of one pealed from the bell of a neigh- bouring monastery ; hut, still the Marquess de Chamont the lovely Laurette; recurred to his inetnorv, and once more nerved him for the hellish deed. He cautiously un- locked the door,— and shading bis lamp with his mantle, entered the room.— Here he was obliged to lav hold of the back of a chair to support himself, and a deadly sick- ness came over him, which he found it almost inpossihle to conquer. But nothing occurring to alarm him, bv de- grees he regained his couraue, and even ventured to ap- proach the couch. Here he hesitated, and. concealed the light; hiit hearing nothing to excite his suspicions he went by the sideof the couch, and passed the light several time's across Eugene's eyes, to be certain that he reallr was not dissimulating. " Yes, he sleeps," lie whispered to himself, " my victim sleeps to wake no more;— and yet ' tis bard for one so young,— so noble thus to perish;— Fool!— what coward feeling is it that thus unnerves me?— Does he not stand betwixt me and happiness ?— wealth '.— honour,— all ?— Ah ! ihat thought mans me, and my hand is firm again." For tbe second time Adoiphe approached the couch, and raised the dagger iu ths air, when, at that moment, En gene moved, and he started tCeniblinglv back, concealing himself behind the bed curtaius, in a breathless state of agitation. Eugene began to talk in his sleep, and, as the intended murderer listened to the following word- i, his mind un- derwent a variety of the most painful emotions. " Oil !- frown not upon me, sweetest Laurette," said the sleepPr;^—" forgive me,— 1 admit that I am a wretch, un- worthy of thy love, still I can endure anything but thy scorn." Adolphe trembled, and again his heart misgwe him. " He only dreams," murmured he; " what a fool I am, thus to linger'.— t will conquer this childish feeling ! — By hell; he shall not escape me '." In a moment: of desperatedetermination, Adolphe rushed up to the. coach, and once more raising his arm in the air, he cried in hoarse hut determined accents,— '" Eugene! thy tiipe is come '.— Die !" With these words, the murderer twice buried the fatal vieapon in his defenceless rival's bosom, who started up litli convulsive emotion, and staggered from the couch, xclainiing in broken accents,— " Ah! I am murdered ! wretch !— who art thou that hast done this fiendish deed ?" Adolphe, horrorstruck at the crime he had committed, stood transfixed to the spot, and Eugene, staggering up to hitn, grasped his arm with the strength of death, and gasped forth,— " Ah ! villain '. Monster '. I have thee ! thou shalt not escape me how'. I— 1 " The lamp had fallen to the floor and the light become extinguished ; but Eugene retained his hold of his mur- derer, who struggled violently, bnt in vain, to release him- self! Ill this manner they reached the casement, ill at which tbe moon was shining brilliantly, and its rays dart- ing full uppti the countenance of Adolphe, Eugene recog- nized him. s a moment of the most, intense horror. Eu- his dying glance with ghastly expression upon : of he whom he had once thought to be i a hollow impressive voice, gave hand I receive my . capable of this '. But; words of thine ( in- deed do I invoke henceforth be scene— in thy it shall bleeding ects; ftt Tlie uneasiness of Laurette increased with every mo- ment I hat elapsed, for what can be more painful than suspense, especially under such circumstances ? Everv murmur of the blast, which at intervals whistled through the different, long avenues of the chateau, and shook the casements, conveyed with it a feeling of dread pre- sentiment of some approaching horror to her heart, and more than once she started and looked fearfully around her, as she felt almost certain that she heard a low moaning sound. But then again she conquered her emotion in a slight measure, and blamed herself for her weakness. Yet. was it not strange that her father, who was a man of the most regular habits, should continue absent at this very unseasonable hour; and when she re collected the place to which be had gone, and upon what errand, she could not, in spite of her efforts to the con- trary, help again encouraging those terrors. and appre- hensions she had befere suffered to take possession of her breast. These increased to such an insupportable degree that unable longer to remain in the place, she she hastily threw her mantle over her shoulders, and was about to leave the room, to go she scarcely knew " hither, whan she heard a loud knock at the door! — Her heart palpitated violently against* her side, and her limbs trembled so, that she could with difficulty sustain herself. She endeavoured to go down stairs, but had not the power, and in tbe meantime she beard the door opened, and the next instant the voice of her father speaking to the servant who bad let him in. " Thank God! he is safe," she gisped forth, and sunk into a chair without power or motion. She heard the marquess hasten to his own apartment with heavy steps, and he closed the door with a violent bang after him. " Something has occurred to disturb him greatly," she reflected, " doubtless he has discovered that the anonymous writer has spoken tbe truth." Unable to think of retiring to her couch until she had satisfied her doubt and suspense, having somewhat con- quered the agitation which the excitement ofthe mo- ment had occasioned her, she resolved to seek au inter- view with her father, before be sought his pillow ; and taking the lamp in her hand, she arose, and descended the stairs with a light step. When she reached the door of his apartment, she paused, for she heard him pacing Ihe room with hasty and uneven steps and fre- quently uttered loud and passionate expressions. " The villain ! the shameless hypocrite, thus to at- tempt to deceive me," she heard him exclaim ; " lie, too, on whom I had fixed my hopes; whom I thought so good and virtuous, and upon whom 1 looked with as much affection as if be had been my sou. This will bring upon me the scorn and ridicule of all who know ine. Fool that I was to be so easily cajoled. What could I expect from one who had chosen the bated Adolpbe de Floriville for his friend and companion ?" The heart of Laurette suiik with powerful emotion whan, she heard her f' tircr thus speak of that man to whom she had resigned her heart, to whom she had even given h « r assent to become clandestinely his wife. " Powers of mystery !" she reflected ; " what can be the cause of this remarkable antipathy to Adolphe? Why should my father be SO prejudiced against one whom, until the accident occurred which brought both him and Eugene de Buoisson to the chateau, 1 ima- gined he had never before seen ?"' ( To be continued.) A father was once troing to preach upon the text of the Samaritan Woman ; an I, after reading it, he said :—" Do tint wonder, mv beloved, that the text is so long, for it is a woman that speaks." A woman having fallen In a river, her husband went to look for tier; proceeding up the stream from ihe place ffliere slut, fell in, the by- s'aoders asked hint if he was mad: " She oonld not have gone against the stream?" the- man answered; " she was obstinate and contrary in tier life, and supposed, for certain, she was the same at her death." A man was observed the oilier day, constant!" to the toe of a new made shoe; on enquiri'' lie replied, " Hike to smell of the he-' , i smelling - g his meaning, THE DISADVANTAGES OF PRINTING. The benefits afforded by the art of printing to science, literature, morals, and freedom, have long been a favourite and fruitful theme of panegyric. To point out one of the disadvantages attending " ihat celebrated in- vention, is the purpose of the present essay, When books could only be multiplied by means of manuscript copies, it was indispensable to their reputa- tion, that tiiey- should be written with the greatest care. The labour of reading such volumes was to be overcome by the interest of the subject, or the charm of the style ; and the expense or transcribing them was so » ' reat, that none but excellent works could obtain an extensive circulation. On this account, the writers of antiquity were frequently obliged to recite their own compositions in public. ' I'hose who were opulent could collect admiring audiences, while the others, especially the unfortunate bards, were sometimes unable to obtain either purchasers or auditors for their productions. But, the publicity which many works required in this manner, would enable their authors to Improve them before they were published in. Volumes. Tbe young authors, too, who have seldom been rich in aiiy a^ e or country, were probably obliged for some time, to copy their own works; and they would na'urally endeavour, in order to diminish the labour of so disagreeable a task, to cultivate terseness and brevity of style. But, whether a writer copied his manuscript, or " employed an amanuensis for that purpose, each new copy beeame, as it were, a new edition of the work, susceptible of whatever amendment the author's own judgment, or the criticism of others, might suggest. To these circumstances, we may, in a great degree, attrbute the remarkable correctness of the classical writers. Their periods are finished to faithlessness. Their phrases are pregnant ivith meaning. They seem to have been studious of crowding the greatest possible quantity of thought, into the smallest po- ssible number of words 5 and bjnfe\ th<* r writings have acquired a monumental solidity that pftmises a dui'atioii beyorti all the other works of man. It is chiefl. v in jtUs pre^ Qu, terseness, and energy of style, that our modern authors are excelled by tho& ej of antiquity. How V. anv historians have we, who, in- vigour and subtlety c^ f intellect, in moral and political philosophy, in general knowledge, and, perhaps, in genius, are equal, or superior to Herodotus, ' Saillist, Livy, or even to Tacitus himself; but, how few of the former can we compare with them in the immaculate style of their numbers. The ancient authors could employ their whole lives in perfecting their writings, whereas, those wl^ o e works are circulated by tbe pre- s, can only correct them after the first publication, when new editions are demanded. But, the improvements we now find in a book which has gone through four or five editions, are not more than what might be expected, were printing unknown, after a hundred manuscript copies of it had been made. Our writers, may indeed, correct their works while in the press, though this cannot be done without much annoyance. The bookseller complains of the increased expense ; the printer is vexed at what be considers an unnecessary delay ; the compositor grumbles at his ad- ditional labour, although he is paid for it; and even the printer's devil growls at being obliged to run back- ward anil forward with the proof sheets. To avoid this £ persecutioii, the author is often induced to let his pages go to press in au imperfect state. As a remedy for the evil in question, we beg leave to propose a rule, much less severe than the well known precept of Horace. Instead of bringing an author to the bara forbearance of keeping his piece from the pub- lie, and witholdiug his own name from celebrity for the long term of nine years, we recommend him to copy his piece three times at least; and, if his taste be not vicious, or his vanity incorrigible, we venture to predict, that the tast copy would not contain many unnecessary ex- pressions. The labour of copying is wonderfully effica- cious in diminishing the length of one's period. The modern writers, most distinguished for their style, have all been laborious correctors of their works. Hume ^ pent years in improving and polishing his es- says, '.- vhicb, nevertheless, would seem, fro m tbe per- spicuous simplicity of their style, to have been written with very little effort. Robertson is said to have com- posed his histories on small slips of paper, a d to have perfected each sentence before he proceeded to a new one Rousseau tells us, in bis Confessions, that he al- ways transcribed several times, whatever he intended for the press ; and that the Nouvelle Heloise, the most eloquent and beautiiul of all bis works, was frequently copied by hirofor the perusal of his friends and patrons before it was published. Burke, too, tbe Cicero of our age, was cai'{' T'l'; Mllho- S lo fastidiousness, in the cor- rection of his writings. His letter to the Duke of Bed- ford. consisting of only a few sheets, was three months in tbe press, and was so often altered by him during that time, thai the expense of printing it, amounted to .. ten times more than it would have cost, if it had been printed without alteration. Let us suppose th » t printing; were for ever abolished ; how small a pru4H> itiou of our literature would survive that noble art; n w few, comparatively, would be ihe books we should l> e at the. expense of. purchasing, aud the pain- of perusing in manuscript volumes. After the lapse of a, few centuries from the destruction of the press, there probably would not remain in general circulation, more than one out of a hundred of those works, which are now found in every extensive library; but this remnant of our literature, would, like the prortactions of Greek and Roman genius now extaut, be the admira- tion of all after ages. It is not easy to account for the great difference be- twteu the impression made by the same thought when very well, and very poorly expressed. We are, how- ever, made sensible of that difference by the publica- tions we daily peruse, and even m our familiar conver- sations with ea- tj other. Style, indeed, seems as : portant to a wnileivas elocution aud action to <• i( n. A badly written book, and a coldly deliv" orator. will equally fail ol success, ho • eve- _ ced discourse, ter, which the one or the o h' valuable the mat- other hand, how manv - ^ ma contain. On tbe poetical kind, ha- productions, especially of the other beauty __ obtained celebrity, without any , : ' . nan that of the language to recommend and! 1 how many speeches are listened to with leasure, when delivered with a fiue elocution and ani- mated gestures, which, when they appear, in print, are Lotd Randolph de Mowbray, ( the chief Justiciary), had formerly, as we have before slated, been held 111 the highest esteem, and for the remarkable metSmorphosis that his characier had so suddenly undergone, no other reason could be assigned than that his wife had proved faithless to him, at least, so it was suspected, for the truth coidd never be fully ascertained, his lordship think- ing proper to keep his private sorrows confined to his own bosom. It was well known, that, she had very sud- denly disappeared, and it was currently rumoured at riie time, that she had eloped with one ot his lordship's menials. Lord Randolph bad been summoned to the field of battle, and; during his absence, had left his lady under the protection of his cousin; Sir Wilfred Martin- gale ; after enduring all the dangers and horrors of the strife;— after encountering every difficulty, Lord Ran- dolph de Mowbray returned to England, fnlly expecting to clasp again to his throbbing bosom, a wife whofll he worshipped. Sir Wilfred hurried to meet him ; deep melancholy darkened his brow;— he asked for his wife. A tale of maddening horror was his answer ;— she had blasted her fair name for ever, and yielded to the lasci vious desires of one of his vassals ; at least, such was the account given by Sir Wilfred. Yes, that woman lie had loved ; nay, adored ; whose mildly beaming eye glowing upon him with innocence and affection, had chased every care from his mind ;— Ihat woman was an adiilfress! • Such was the tale related to Lord Randolph, and which had not only embittered his future days, but bad been the cause of effecting such a marvellous- change in his dis- position ; bat, yet Ihe severity aiid injustice with which he treated most of the cases that came befor£ him, was perfectly unpardonable, only as the act of a madman • and many persons firmly believed, that the severe blow we have been describing, had been the meaus of over- turning his reason. Fully satisfied of the power possessed by Osmond-, and of the many futile attempts that had been made to ap- prehend him, the Justiciary felt convinced that nothing whatever could be hoped to be effected', unless It was by stratagem, and, with that view, he bethought him, that, if he could prevail upon one of the two prisoners under sentence of death, by the promise of a free pardon, to assist them in taking the robbers by surprise., ( for he was well aware that there Were many secfet entrances to the castle), they might secure the daring chief and tils gang, wi'h" Ut bloodshed. Filled with this resolution, his lordship sought, an in- terview; with tbe two men; but, in spite of the offers that were made them, such was the regaid in which they held the oath which had been administered to them when they joined the robbers, that they refused to divulge a syllable which might be the means of endangering the safety of Osmond and his comrades, who was held ill such respi ct, a respect, almost amounting to awe, by all those under his command. Stephen, in particular, evinced ( finch emotion when his lordship made the proposal; and it had been noticed on the trial, that he Was- very much agi- tated whenever Lord Randolph atldressed him, and fre- quently turned very pale. Several times beseemed as if he wished to address something to the Justiciary, hut had not tbe courage to do so j hilt, on the present occasion, after his lordship had made use of all the persuasions and arguments he could think o( t to induce one of them to accede to his wishes, aud was about to quit the duugeiJh in which the robbers were tjooifined together, Stephen, in a voice lit much emotion, caljM hitn Dack, tmd requested him to listen to him for a minute or two only. His lord- ship most readily complied with his request, thinking, j that, in all probability, he had relented, and was ready to give him all the information in his power. "•• Now, prisoner," said the latter, " what wouldst thou of nie ?" " Pardon me, my lord," replied the penitent robber ;— " but, ( although hy so doing, 1 shall, doubtless, harrow up thy feelings), I would ask thee, whether thou hadstnot once, one whom thou didst consider to be thy friend t" " 1 had, 1 had," hastily answered tlie Ji^ ticiaf- y ; his manner being very much agitated, " but whv ask me such a question ?" " The name of this friend!" hastily demanded Ste- phen. " Sir Wilfred Martingale." " Thou hadst a wife ?" " Prisoner, thou seemest resolved to madden me !— Oh ! I had indeed, a wife." '' Thou didst believe her false to thee ?— Thou thoughtest she fled with one of thy menials ?" " Thought shu fled'.'— Alas! had I not too terrible confirmation of the truth V" " Thy supposed friend told thee so?" " He did." " Aud, twq years after the circumstance of which thou hast just spoken, that friend disappeared, and has never been heard of since ?." " He did ;— hut tell me,— what knowest thou of him ?" " I am that villain !— I am that trcaolierons friend, to whom thou didst, entrust the honour of thine injured wife;— ill me tliou beholdestSit Wilfred Martingale !" " Thou Sir Wilfred Martingale !" exclaimed the Justi- ciary, with astonishment;— impossible !" " A'las ! my lord," returned the robber, " it is loo true; years may have changed my features; di- » ipatiou may have altered and attenuated my form ; hut— oTi, the damning voice of a guilty conscience, defies me to forget myself. . My Lord Randolph, look at me more narrowly; t thou not recollect me now ?" " Gracious Heaven !" exclaimed the Just counteuance becoming ghastly pale, and tiernhling with convulsive emotion; " to what a tale have 1 been listening; but it cannot be Wretched man, thou art mad, or wouldst me!" " Would to God thy words were true, my plied the prisoner, " but, alas ! what interest can 1 b in attempting to deceive thee, when I am already con- demned by the laws of my country to die?— 1 repeat, aud my blood freezes with norror when I recal the same to my mind, that thy . unfortunate wife was violated by me. In order to drown ihe voice of suspicion, I had con- trived to, persuade, by the offer ofa rich reward, Orlando, her favourite page, to leave the castle in a secret manner, and raised a report that she had eloped with him. My diabolical scheme succeeded too wi ll. The world, I be- lieve, generally thought her guilty, and for awhile, I triumphed in my iniquity. I kept the Lady Constance confined; but, it was soon evident ihat she was rapidly sinking under the horrors ot the situation in which she was placed; and that the indignities f had offered her, and the shame and dishonour I had been the means of heaping upon ber, were fast preying upon her constitu- tion, and that she was gradually sinking of a broken heart. In the meantime, however, thou didst return home, and thou knowest the story which I told thee, aud which thou, unfortunately, were too ready to believe. For months after thou hadst come back, Lady Constance con- tinued to he the victim of my guilt and treachery, and imagined thou wert no more, for 1 hid told her that thou hadst perished on the battle- field. At length, however, she sunk beneath ihe weight of her sorrows ; she breathed her last, and in what other character could ' " ew myselt than as the murderer of the unfortunate lady ?" " Oh, villain ! villain !" cried the Justiciary, in tones of the most acute agony; " to what a recital of horror have I been listening ;— and this from thee; from oue in whom 1 confided, as if thou hadst betn mine own brother?" " Ah ! wetl do 1 merit thy reproaches, thy curses," said the prisoner, " I am, indeed a guilty wretch, with- out hope of tnercy from offend'd Heaven ; but, deeply hare I suffered for the crimes I hav » committed. In about two years after thy return to England, unable to bear the reproaches of my conscience, m; d yet, coward like, afraid to confess my guilt, and to make all the atonement In my power,— I suddenly quitted the country, and it was sup- posed by you, and mativ others, no doubt, that I was dead. On the continent, I entered into those scenes of folly, dissipation, and vice, that were soon the means of squandering away my phee ample fortune. 1 became a beggar ; and had not a friend ill the world. I returned to my native laud, so altered in my personal appearance, that it would have been scarcely possible for any of my former acquaintances to recognize ine. 1 accidentally en- countered ( Hsiohd, the Avenger, anil some of his com- fades, itithe ivvoi/ d. ' I had no " money, and, knew not in what wav to f- xist;— Osmond senihg me a desperate man, made me at: offeV to become one of tbeir'gatrg. . Reckless entirely to the course 1 might! in future pilrsue, I readily yielded my compliance with his request, and have ever since continued to be one of his associates, and never, but in the instance of that awful crime, for which I and Gil- bert are justly doomed to suffer, did I break through the lilies prescribed by us. This is the simple statement of the facts^ my Ibid, and thou helioldest in me a terrible ex- ample of the retribution, which, sosner or later, is sure to overtake the guilty." " Wretched man, murderer of my unfortunate Con- stant?;" ejaculated ihe distracted nonletnan, " what un- speakable agony has thy dreadful tale inflicted upon my mind. Heaven pw! 011 tl5ee> f01' i fe<-' l l cannot." Having thus given expression to his sentiments, the eied his taCS with liis hands; and rushed Justiciary covet out of the, cell. ( To be continued.) ANIMAL HEAT. The Justiciary did look more closely than before into the countenance of Stephen for a fuw minutes, and then observed : — " Thy words astonish me;- the Sir Wilfred Martin- gale 1 called my friend, had a scar on his right wrist." " Behold, ' lis here !" ejaculated the prisoner, turning up the sleeve of bis doublet, aud exhibiting the scar men- tioned. When the Justiciary beheld it, he started back in ihe most indescribable state of agitation, and his coun- tenance became very pale, then clasping his bauds to his forehead, he exclaimed :— " Almighty Father ! thy ways are, indeed, wonderful ; but say, unhappy man, how canst thou prove the inno- cence of my wife ?" " In a few words, I doubt not that I shall be able to convince thee, my lord," replied the other, and then thou wilt see how infinitely wise are the decrees of Omni- potence ; and, however slow it mav be, that a just and terrible retribuih u is sure to overtake the guilly. Long before ti e circumstances took place, which called your lordship to the field of battle, I had beheld her ladyship with the eyes of sinful desir e, and when thou didst conf . t lo carry civilization and commercial enterprise ir to me her honour, and left me to protect her durio equatorial regions. The sublime idea, loo, ihat the insipid, or even nauseous. These considerations, we trust, will induce the writers of our own country to pay more attention than they have absence from her arms, I was so'elated, thaf -/ thine derful I did not betray myself. Not - " " , s w0"' thou hadst quitted thy native land, I -" any dilys W! advances to the Ladv Constance - made the most bold she not only indignantly - and I need not say thai severely reproached in- repulsed me, but that she scornfully laughed - for my treacherous conduct. I ihat I would . at her observations, and determined mately ac not. abandon my designs until 1 had uili what . vomplished my wishes, let ihe consequences be . chey might. But tbe virtue of Lady Constance was proof against all mv deep laid schemes, and I found that I I had no chance whatever, unless it was hy using vio- lence. In that 1 also failed, and Lady Constance con t ived to escape from my power. 1 had my spies about in all directions, and soon succeeded in discovering the place of her retreat.; and, one night, when - she was not at all aware ilia!" the place of her concealment was found out,- he was seized, by my orders, and conveyed lo a place of security, in a remote part, of the country, where I was re- solved that nothing should again prevent me from grati- fying the wishes that had entered my bosom. In vain the unfortunate lady endeavoured, by every means in her power, tp render my base schemes abortive ;— I at last, succeeded in accomplishing my wishes ; Ladv Constance, thy wife, became the victim of mv uulawful dssires." Artfong the numberless instances tff the wonderful adap- tation of man and animals, to the various circumstance in which they may be placed, there is nothing more remark- able than Ihe power wiltf which they are endued of pre- serving a particular temperatifre 6r heat. By this power, we ere enabled to bear the extremes both of heat and cold without, injury, at * east for a lime. For example— The heat of the human frame, as every one knows, is consider- ably higher than that of the bodies which commonly sur- round us ; i, t. is estimated al about 98 degrees of the ther- mometer, and this temperature it will p.- eserve under a heat whic'i would roast it, or aicold that would more than suffice to freeze it, if it were a dead and not a living sub- stance, This wonderful power, then, is the result of IIK'I and not of chemical composition. Even in vegetables, \ v « obsorve tbe same power, from liiw fact, that the juices in their stems and branches are frrzeti with njucii more difficulty than lifeless fluids. Ice has been foundTo ifcw where roots shoot into it, and it ls a common observation, that, after a fall of snow, tho thawing is first observed oil the leaves, or around the stems of trees. It is also found that egga ar<= cooleKl and frozen with much more difficulty than equal masses n( lifeless matter. Yet, after they are once fjozen, and their life destroyed, they freeze with readiness, a clear proof that the power of resisting cold is owing to the orinciplo of life within thetn. The most striking examples of the power of ihe living body to resist beat, are recorded by Sir Joseph Banks, and Sir Charles Biagden. They remained for some time in rooms heated to the temperature of boiling water, yet the heat of their bodies was not increased, and the latter gentleman continued for ei^' ht minutes in an apartment heated to 200 degrees, or 48 degrees above the heat of boiling water, with scarcely any variation of the heat of the body. In these rooms, beet- steaks laid on a tin plate were dressed in about half an hour, and if the hot air was impelled on them in a stream, the cooking > y » s com- pleted in thirteen mtoatis ; and eggs were toasted lii.' d in iwentv minutes. But, even a higher temperature tl-. a.' 1 this has been borne by two French philosophers, who re- mained wiihout much inconvenience for five minutes, in a room heated to 78 degrees above the heat of boiling water. Some ofthe lower animals a'sn, are capable of bearing a high degree of heat; and, Indeed, are intended for it— as the beetles which are found ' he boiling springs of Al- bano indtaly, and which diev hen thrown into cold water. If we examine the eggs of i. ssot., we find that they are endued with a power of resis log great olianges ot tem- perature. Lice have appeared ou clothes which had been placed in boiling water, and, it is stated, on the highest authority, that boiling the honey- oooib will not deslrov the eggs of the bees, while, on the other hand, it is found that an exposure to a cold of 24 degrees bel . w Zero, will not de- stroy ihe eggs ol silk- worms and butterflies. This wonderful property of living beings should excite our deepest admiration of ihat Omniscience which has planned tbe universe By this, millions of beings are an, nually preserved t0 fill their place in creation, wbioli, otherwise, would be lost, and 41 — leave a gap That nature's self might rue." By this, the icy deserts of the Arctic circle, and the naked plains of tbe Torrid Zone, retain the germs of a luxuriant vegetation, which, when its appointed time conies, springs I rapidly into at, unanticipated existence; arid, by this, ls man enabled to subdue the earth over all its surface ; to • \ lve tfith impunity, where the polar bear is no longer- ' and the quicksilver frozen in the thermometer, or equatorial regions. The sublime idea, too, that the starry host are filled with beings made to feel and to enjoy, no matter whether we consider the burning Mercory, or the remote and frigid Georgium Sidus, net r 2.000 millions of miles from the Sun, derives no mean portion of ils pro- bability l'rom tills law of the animal economy. " How old are you ?" said Major Kilipins, ( o a dwarffch young lad. " Twenty." ' k I wonder youarn't downiight ashamed of being- no bigger ; you look like a boy of ten." 44 AU corner of being a dutiful thi- ld." < 4 How so?" 4< When I was ten father put his hand on my head, and said, 4 stop there;' and lie then ran away. I've never seen him since, and didn't think it right to go on growing without his leave." A company of scholars goiri'g to catch rabbits, had one with them who had not much wit, and gave in charge that if he saw any he should be silent, for fear of scaring them; bnt he no sooner espied a company of rabbits, but he cried out, Ec. ce multi cuniculi, which he had no sooner said, but the rabbits run to then I bur- rows; he, being chid by the other boys foi so d ing, said, ' Who would, have thought that rabbits undeistood Latin THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES AND PEOPLE'S POLICE GAZETTE. ANGELINA I OR, THE MYSTERY OF ST. MARK'S ABBEY. AN ORIGINAL ROMANCE, BY THE AUTHOR OF ELA, TBI OUTCAST J ® R> THE OII'SY GIRL OF R0SEMARY DELL, & C. ( Concluded from our last.) CHAPTER XXXIH. " Eustace," commenced Lady Emmeline, 14 I am certain you will pity ine, I know you must heartily t'eel for ine, when you hear my painful narrative, for the sufferings to which I have, i can safely say, been most undeservedly subjected, arid the unjust aspersions that have been cast upon my character. To you, Eustace, must T also attribute much blame, for so hastily condemning her to whom, I bad ever cause to believe you were so fondly attached, and who never gave you reason to suspect her capable of acting in any way dishonourable to the name of Arlingham, or to that noble house to which t bad allied myself. Oh, my brother did you but know the, nights, the days, the hours of int. anse, of Indescribable anguish which 1 have for so nvvny years endured, and yet amidst it all, how constantly my priiyers were ottered up for you, and t'iilt dear girl whom I loved as fondly as if she bad been mine ovvn offspring, how severely would you reproach yourself for— but no matter, let me puss this painful subject over as quickly as possible! Heaven knows you have bad your share of affliction, nnd 1 outrlit not to reproach you after the dreadful confession which the, unfortunate, the ill- fated Amabel rhade to you <)., her death- bed. Otir's has been a most unfortu- P « '. e family, Eustace; marked, as it were, by fate lo be '. ts Sport, buffeted about at its caprice. But I become tedious. Alas! the recollection ofthe many sorrows 1 have endured,' so bewilder my mind ihut I scarcely know what I am talking about. " I am ready to admit, Eustace, that I was wrong in one thing, and that was in not making Vou acquainted w ith the sentiments 1 had imbibed tor Sir Vincent, when you urged the suit of Lord Dalton; but at the same time you should not have enforced me to unite my fate with a man whom I had candidly acknowledged to you 1 couldn't love, although 1 could sincerely esteem him as a friend. Had you not been so peremptory, and bad 1 not been so tenacious of opposing the wishes of a brother whom I had always revereil as a superior being, how many misfortunes, bow many cares might 1 have Saved myself. But it is pa* t now, and let me not ' rfaste my time In useless regret, but rather come as rfOon as possible to the conclusion of a narrative, the incidents of Which 1. cannot recal to iny memory without the deepest anguish. That I loved Sir Vincent, 1 have already admitted, but no sooner did I yield my hand to Lord Dalton, thin I made up my mind to ' endeavour to discard him from my thoughts, anil 1. can solemnly avow that, after I became the bride of his lordship, 1 never harboured a thought that I need since be ashamed of acknowledging. I must confess that I had a hard struggle with my feelings before I could accomplish my wishes, hut the uniform affection of my husband, tbe high regard in which 1 had always held his virtues, and tbe dutiss that I felt were incumbent upon me as a wife, nt length triumphed, and I became happy. Alas! it was not to last long; Sir Vincent, ( whom his friend never sivspected for a moment of any guilty design, or Ihe sentiments that really inhabited Ills mind to.^ ardsme) was, as you arc aware, a frequent, nay, al',„ osl u constant visitor at our house, arid although 1 " VtiBl do myself the justice to state, I endeavoured as much as possible to avoid his presence; common etiquette Would not admit of iny always absenting myself, neither could I do so without making my husband acquainted with the secret, which 1 wished, for his own sake and mine too, he might be kept in Ignorance of. " You may imagine what X suffered at those times, Eustace, but it was nothing to what is was my t'ate afterwards to undergo. Although I most Sedulously avoided all that was in my power, being alone with Sir Vincent, he seized every opportunity, lie possibly could to be so, and lo urge his passion. I heard him with feelings of disJ„ 8t. severely reproached him for the injustice h'„ dl,| rny character, and how much he ,< y husband, of whom he pretended to be so frieHd, anil when he still persevered in '.' jiportuning ine, and endeavouring to win me to the Indulgence of his sensual desires, I threatened to make known his conduct to Lord Dalton ; he threw off the mask in which he had so long concealed himself, and stood confessed in his true character. He laughed at my threats, mocked what he called my false modesty, and vowed that, obdurate as I was, no pcfwer on earth should force him to give up ihe design he had fixed upon, and that, in spite of all iny oposition anil my threats, he would not rest ijntil he had accomplished bis wishes, and had me in his power. I paid but litlle attention to his threats for I thought them at the time merely to originate in disappointment and offended pride; but it was not long ere " t found out how egregiously mistaken 1 had been, t'nen X severely upbraided myself for not hav'. ng , T, ade my husband acquainted with the whol » of [ he Circumstances, but yet it was done from best of wronged i sincer- " motives ; I was fearful to distract his mind, and render him perpetually unhappy, while, if he was kept ill ignorance of the truth, lie would be contented with the love I bestowed upon him, which was really sincere, and not have cause to torment his mind, where there was actually no occasion, by supposing me weak enough to yield to the persuasions of Sir Vintftent Rosenford, and doing anything derogatory io the vows I had plighted with him at the altar. " It was my custom frequently ( 0 walk forth in an evening in a neighbouring Wood, when my husband was from home, and taking w',| h me a book, 1 would sit down beneath some Oool umbrageous shade, and peruse the contents, in undisturbed enjoymeutofitsbeauties, until d » rkne;„, 8et in, when I would return to the castle. II was o"|, on one of tln^ e occasions that I was seized , by 8l\"< ne wretches whom Sir Vincent had employed, a,'. r< borne away to an estate he bad in a remote part of the country. Here I found myself entirely in his power, and was hourly tormented - with his importuni- ties. But [ will not enter into the particulars of all I suffered from his loathsome addresses; for loathsome they were to ine now, and I hated him as much as I had before loved him, for the base act of treachery he had been guilty of; suffice it to say, and I call God solemnly to witness that I speak the truth, I was enabled to resist them, and to defeat liim in all Iiis attempts. Before I had been forced away, 1 had discovered myself to be in a delica'e situation, and Sir Vincent, there- fore, was forced to relax in his conduct for fear of fatal consequences, and I must do him tbe justice to say, that in the interval which elapsed prior to my confine- ment until subsequently, he behaved to me with the utmirgt kjndness and attention, and I had all the advice any assistance my peculiar situation required. In a vihort time I gave birth to a son, whom it is unnecessary for me to state is that young man. whom you have hitherto known only as Hugh Clifford, but who is the lawful heir of Lnrd Edward Dalton, my husband. What with the suffering I underwent, in consequence of the manner in which I was situated, anil Ihe misery and anxiety I was aware that you and his lordship would be suffering, it was a long while before I was able to leave my. bed, and it was then advised by the medical inen thai I should have change of air, and the south of France was suggested as the most likely place where 1 might recruit my strength. In vain on my knees I implored Sir Vincent to restore me to my friends; he was inexorable, and I was borne on board a ship together with my infant boy. In the night after our quitting the sight of land, a terrific storm arose, and, in spile of all the efforts of the captain and crew, the ship became unmanageable, and shortly afterwards foundered. Better had it been for me and my offspring, perhaps, had we met wilh a watery grave at that lime, for il would bave saved us many, many cares it has since fallen to our lot to undergo. However, we were picked up by a smuggler, of whom a Captain Clifford, as be called himself, was the master; and we were behaved to with a humanity which would have rellected credit on those who take to themselves the sole merit of being christians. Sir Vincent Rosenford was never heard of afterwards, so doubtless he perished. " Captain Clifford had formerly been a naval officer, and had done his country good serV; ce, but, like many other brave fellows, had met with the most shameful neglect, and disgusted with the treatment he had received, he quitted the service, and, with the residue of a fortune he had been enabled to save from a very unsuccessful course of adventures, he purchased a vessel, and com- menced the life of a smuggler, in which he met with the most extraordinary success, and soon accumulated a large sum of money. His principal retreat, or the place where he used to deposit his contraband goods, was in the cavern of the rock, underneath tbe rtiins of this abbey, and which I need not describe to you, as you have been in it several times. And the batter to keep the place secure, a most awful report of the Abbey and the adjoining spot being ha mted, was industriously circulated, which the ignorant and the superstitious very readily believed, and sedulously avoiding it, Clifford and his companions were left iu uudistiiibed possession of the ancient fabric, j " Captain Clifford was a married man, and had a family ; although his calling was vv^ at is termed lawless, lie was an excellent and humane man, and would have formed a bright example to many who pretended to far more rectitude of conduct', lie sincerely pitied my situation, and looked upon my poor infant wi'h the most unbounded compassion. " * Poor litlle innocent,' lie cxdaluieil, ' if your father will not receive yon, I will replace his loss, and always be to you a protector and a parent ?' I thought little of these words at that time, hut I was not lung before I was ab'e to test their sincerity. Mr. Clifford brought me safe to England, and landed me ut Ibis spot, from which place, accompanied by one of his confidential men, with a heavy and foreboding heart I set out for Arlingham Hall, t will not atlempt to describe my feelings as I proceeded thither; the hopes, tbe fears, that hy turns distracted and perpl- xed my mind. At length 1 rcached Ihe well known spot; my God 1 but to what a dreadful change did I return ? The venerable home of. my ancestors was in the posses- sion of another; I Was informed of your disgrace, Euslace ; 1 was told of Ihe distraction of my husband ; his abrupt departure for the Continent, but to what particular part no one knew, and the guilty wretch I was supposed to be, not only by him, but by you, my brother, and almost everybody else, guilty, yes, aguilty wretch, unworthy of pity Or a thought. It is a wonder I did not go mad at that time, or that I did not destroy myself, but mypittle innocent's smiles withheld my hand, and for his sake I resolved to live. " Captain Clitl'oid took me to his house, and intro- duced me to his wife, who received me widithe utmost kindness, and did all iu her power to soothe me under my heavy afflictions, and at length she did partially succeed. I took up my residence with her, and tbe utmost attention was paid to me and my child. I had heard of the mysterious death of Lord De Morton, and of the second second marriagV of Matilda to his brother; I knew that brother to be a very base man, and that Matilda had ever viewed him with a feeling of hatred aud dread, therefore was I certain that she had never willingly assented to become his wife. After consider- able reflection upon the subject, I determined to seek an interview with her and chance the reception she might give me. I left my child in tile care of Mrs. Clifford, and set out for De Morton Castle, I asked an interview with the Baroness; but judge of my astonish- ment when I was informed that she was no more, and hp. d been consigned to the tomb only the day before. It was front the Baron himself that I received this information, and unable to suppress a feeling of disgust and horror that came over me, in his presence, and extremely shocked at this unexpected intelligence of the death of my cousin, X hurried from the castle. I had only just entered the wood, when X found myself forcibly seized by the villain Rufus and another, and in spite of my screams for help, they forced me back to the castle, and taking me by a secret way, I was conveyed to au apartment, in which I was locked, and remained till the morning without seeing si, y person, l/ l'he wretch De Morton then made his appearance, and afier entering into a long aud hypocritical apology for his conduct, vowed the Sost unbounded passion for me, and offered nie every enjoyment if I would yield to his base whiles. You may guess the answer I made him, the manner in which I upbraided him for his villany, and, in a teriible rage, he loft me, vowing that I should be his, and if I did not yield a compliance with his desires, he would use force to compel me. I will pass hastily over all that I endured while a prisoner in De Morton Castle, and the difficulty Ihad in resisting his nefarious designs; but at length rllmour having reported my being a prisoner there, 1 was removed secretly one night, and conveyed to the Old Grey Tower, but unaccompanied by the Baron, who intended to follow me as soon as bo had an opportunity. Here I endured all the agony which the peculiarity and horror of my situation were calculated to engender; but the principal cause of my anguish was the idea of my infant, my little Hugh, not but that 1 felt confident Mrs. Clifford would behave with the greatest kindness towards him, but yet what was the utmost attention without the mother's fostering care ? " Providence, however, interfered in my behalf, and a short time after this I contrived to make my escape, and travelled wilh the utmost expedition until I reached Ihe bouse of Captain Clifford, hut was distracted when i found it closed, learned that Mrs Clifford had died suddenly, apd that Captain Clifford had gone to sea again, taking the child with him, under the care of a nurse. " You may judge of the state of my mind, when I became acquainted wilh this, and for some time stretched prostrate and insensible on tbe pavement; with tremulous haste I raised her in my arms ; the rays of the light fell full upOtl her countenrnce, and judge of my astnhishmetit when X recognized in her features those of nry cousin, our dear Matilda, whom t had heen informed was no more ! But here, perhaps, it would be better for the Baroness to relate her own story." " Oh, no, dearest Erameline," ejaculated the still beauteous Lady de Morton, who was seated between Angelina am* Sir Eustace, and listening with a melan- choly interest to her narrative; " pray proceed;— I should new r be able to collect myself sufficiently, at this momet. t, to do justice to it." " Well, then, Matilda," resumed Lady Emmeline, " since it is your wish, 1 will briefly relate the circum- stances, as I received them from your own lips ; Our emotions at so unexpectedly meeting, anil under such singular circumstances, 1 shall take the liberty of'pasi- itig over ; they can be easily imagioed hy all present. " The brother of Matilda's husband, from the. very moment he beheld her, had viewed her with an eye of desire, and bad, doubtless, resolved wiihinhis own inind to possess her; but she had ever looked upon him with detestation, and a feeliug approaching to horror. Of the mysterious disappearance of Lord Edward de Morton you have heard, and Matilda's subsequent mar- riage to his brother. But think not it was by her con- sent ; oh, no ! She was forced to the altar at midnight, and the ceremony was solemnized ia secret. A short time afterwards Matilda was delivered of a girl, which they told her had died, and it was taken away from her sight. She became distracted, anS- ffdcused the baron ot murdering it, and also with the murder of her husband,— for a dreadful suspicion had always haunted her imagination to that effect, and she had heard De Morton utter cerlain broken sentences in his sleep, which served to* strengthen it. The baron appeared conscience- stricken, and turnin&. JSM- pale, he rushed immediately from the chamber. Matilda saw no more of him, and ihe nurse who attended her was a woman of the most repulsive character. Ill spite of all, how- ever, a natural strong constitution enabled her to Com- bat with these heavy trials, and she recovered from her accouchement; but her alarm and grief was increased, when sbe was informed that it was the baron's orders she should be confined to her room. " Here she was treated with every cruelty and indig nity, her only attendants being the old nurse and Ruftis, the latter of whom created an indescribable sensation of horror whenever she beheld him. " She bad been confined in this manner about a month, when, one night, Rufus catne to the room, and from the peculiar and awful expfessioti of his countenance, she guessed that be was come upon some dreadful errand as soon as he entered. He brought with him a bottle and a glass, which he laid upon the table, and Matilda, quite overpowered by her terrible apprehen- sions, directly Ile came in, fell upon her knees before hiui, and with clasped hands, and in piteous accents, she implored his mercy. The ruffian only answered her with a scoruftil laugh, arid then stood gaziiig at her emotions for a second or two, as though he exulted in the Hood- thirsty deed he was employed to perpetrate. "' This night settles your business,' said the blood- thirsty miscreant, coolly taking a poniard from his bosom, and then proceeding to pour a dark brown liquor from the bottle into the glass; " the baron has doomed you to death!— You may take your Choice, either tb swallow tbe contents of this glass, or die by the poniard— it's a matter of indifference to me 1' " Let me hasten over this revolting scene as quickly as possible; in vain Matilda supplicated; her prayers and her tears were alike unavailing, to a wretch who was destitute of all sort of feeling; and seizing the fatal glass, she commended her soul to Heaven, and drank the contents, Rufus standing over ber with the dagger pointed to her breast, while she drained it to the dregs. Her brain immediately seemed to whirl round ; fl. Ames appeared to flash before her eyes— a mist gra- dually gathered before them, and she remembered no I scarcely knew what X was doing. Fortunately I had a purse of money, which I had about me when I wits seized by the order of the Baron, anil I therefore resolved to make the best of my way to one ot the daughters of Captain Clifford, who was married, and endeavour to learn further particulars from her. or at any rale seek a shelter beneath her too' until Captain Clifford might return, which would be in a short time, no doubt. " From the same individual who furnished me with the intelligence 1 have mentioned, I was told of the ab. upt departure of ihe Baron De Morton from the castle to the Continent, and thus 1 considered I had nothing to fear from him. In my way I had to pass this Abbey, and just as I did so a violent storm came on, and 1 was forced to seek a shelter in the ruins. I recollected, too, a circumstance which had quite slipped my recollection in the multifarious and afflicting events that had recently occurred to me, and that was the chest of gold which you, Eustace, had buried iu troublesome times in the grounds of Arliugham Hall, and which by my instructions and the aid ofthe smug- glers, had been secretly removed to the Abbey ruins, and I determined to see if it was safe. To my great satisfaction I found it in Ihe same place where it had been tirst deposited, and which did not seem to have been touched since. 1 looked at il, and closed it up again, without touching a coin. No, I was determined to suffer any difficulty rather than take, the smallest portion ot th at coin which belonged to my brother, an/ J who could do me the injustice to suppose W6 the guilty w retch that 1 was reported to be. 1 was turning away from the spot, when I was surprised lo behold a light glimmering at the further end of the vault, and almost immediately the shadow ofa human form met my gazia, which Hilled beneath an arch- way with the giuatest precipitation. " I was, as you may guess, somewhat startled at this circumstance, but I speedily recovered myself, and hastening to that part of the vault whence the form had vanished, 1 called in a firm voice, and demanded who was there. Instantly a loud scream struck my ears, and then the tall, as if of some heavy substance upon the pavement. With a courage I never remember to have felt before, aud for which I have never been able to account, I rushed immediately forward iu the direction which tue fi. rm I bad seen, had taken, and almost immediately afterwards, I beheld ihe rays of the lamp which it had carried, and which seemed to be at no great distance from ee. I came up to the • spot, I beheld a humau form, the form ofa female clad in while, " When Matilda recovered her senses, she felt an icy ( dullness all ovet her linAs, and a burning sensation in her . head. She was invdlved in complete darkness j— but feeling around her, her hand came in contact with damp stone wall*, an< V « h* then rsSMected all th » i had passed, and imagined slie was consigned lo one pf the dismal vaults underneath the castle, being supposed to be dead ; but, after drinking the dreadful draught, what astonished and bewildered her more than all was, that she should be stilt alive ; the only conclusion she could come to was, that the wretch, ( tufus, had made a mis- take, and given her some strohg opiate instead of poison. Brit, oh 1 how awful wis her situation, ens closed, as she imagined, in that awful place, where she would ba left to perish of hunger. She wrung her hands in despair, and groaned aloud wilh the agony of her mind. She felt around the walls, until her hands met the door, which, to her astonishment; was open; and with the speed of lightning she enierged iriio the subterraneous passage beyond. She then found that she had Conjectured right, that she was un- derneath the castle. So overjoyed was she, that she fell upon her knees and returned her most heartfelt thanks to Omnipotence, for she knew she could easily regain her liberty, being acquainted with all the secret pas- sages with which this place abounded. She was not mistaken, and in a short time found herself in the open air. For. some time she remained in a state of doubt and uncertainty in what mantlet' she should act, but at length she took her " course through the wood, without having made up her inind as to what point she should direct her steps. It was but just tha dawn of day, and upon the weakened fi- ame of Lady de Morton, the fra- grant breeze came most refreshing. At length, she re- membered that the cottage of her old nurse was situated on the skirts of the wood, and sbe resolved to hasten to her, and theie seek a shelter for the present, knowing that in her she could confide. She was not long in reach- ing the cottage, and the old woman was, at first, very much alarmed,— for, thinking that Matildft was dead, she imagined il was her spectre she beheld. The poor old woman shuddered with horror when Matilda briefly related to her all that she had undergone; but a sur- prise, a delightful, and unexpected circumstance, awaited Matilda, which, at first, was nearly the means of driving her mad. The daughter of old Margaret lived in the adjoining cottage to her and about a month or two before, her husband— so Margaret informed Lady Matilda— in crossing the wood, heard the cries of an infant, and coming up to Ihe spot, saw a wicker bas- ket lying upon the ground, which, on opening, a female infant, apparently but a few weeks old, met his view. He immediately took the cinfti henne to his wife, who had not long, recovered from her confinement, and they resolved to adopt it for their own, thinking that its in- human parents, whoever they might be, would never acknow ledge it, should they discover that it still sur- vived ; and, although they were poor, they could not have the heart to abandiin . the poor litlle innocent to the mercy of strangers, or consign it to the same fate from which they had so recently rescued it. When Margaret was relating this, a strange emotion filled the bosom of Matilda, and she trembled so violently that she could scarcely support herself. She asked hastily to see the little foundling,— and, hastening to the cot- tage belonging to Margaret's daughter, judge of her feelings, When, the moment sbe beheld the infant, she knew it was her own child ; but if any confirmation of her conjectures was wanting, it was soon obtained ; a mark of a peculiar description on the left arm, was an indisputable conviction; the frantic mother hugged her child ( you Angelina) to her bosom." Lady Emmeline was so overcome by her feelings, as was also every person present, that sh » could not pro- ceed for a few minutes. Lady de Morton's eyes tilled with- tears as she clasped the sobbing Angelina in her arms, arid pressed her witb/ Stl the ardour of maternal fondness to her heart; and every one present' admired the wonderful ways of Providence. At length, Lady Emmeliiie resumed in the following words:— " Those good apd humane people, who had rescued you from death, Angelina, were the parents of Bridget." <" Good God 1 is it possible 1' ejaculated our heroine with a shudder of horror, as she thought upou the fate of that unfortunate woman, of whom she had not heard anything since the shipwreck. Lady Emmeline con- ti ued,— " I shall not tire your patience with a long detail of what feelings of transport filled the bosom of the fond mother upon this discovery; imagination? may picture them, but the tongue cannot describe them. It was agreed that Angelina ( which was the name the child af- terwards received,) should remain with its present af- fectionate nurse, and Matilda Could never sufficiently return her thanks to Heaven for the miraculous way in which it had been restored to her, and for her own won- derful preservation from a dreadful deathi but, alas! what was to become of her, now she was at liberty ?— She had not any money, or means of supporting herself, and from becoming a burthen upon those poor people, as well as her child, she revolted. But, alas! she had no other alternative, until such time as she obtained re- tribution for the wrongs she had sustained from the baron. But, then, her personal security would be at risk ; for a long time she racked her brain to no pur- pose ; at length, an idea stmcji her. The ruins of St. Mark's Abbey had long been deserted, and reported to be haunted, and Matilda, who believed not the ridi- culous stories that were circulated concerning it, knew that there were many parts of it that were not only habitable, but In a very good condition. In this vene- rable abbey, then, did Matilda resolve to take up her future residence, feeling assured that the wild super- stition connected with it, would be her best security.— Here, as 1 have before stated, we met. The resolution of Matilda pleased me, and was exactly in accordance with the slate of my mind. I was tired of the world, and was resolved, therefore, to become her companion, and', in future, to exert every nerve to bring about that retribution for our wrongs, and destruction upon our enemies, we both were so anxious to obtain. 1 had money, and, therefore, we could put such a plan into execution without any inconvenience. In a few days. Captain Clifford returned, stopping at the abbey, and I had then once more the delight of clasping my child to my bosom. Mr. Clifford was astonished and enraged when X related to him the particulars of the wrongs I had endured, atld the sufferings of my unfortunate cousin; yet lie, at first, was opposed to the singular re- solution I had formed, but yielded at last to my argu- ments, and insisted upon becoming the protector of dlv boy, whom he put under the care ofa nurse, in a place so adjacent, that I could see him every day. Behold me, then, as Wild Kate ofthe Ruins, which was tke cha- racter I thought proper to assume, while Matilda acted the part of the spirit which was supposed to haunt this ancient fabric. We were not long, Euslace, in disco- vering where you resided,. but still we determined not to reveal ourselves, until such time as Providence should be pieased, ill Its own infinite wisdom, to bring about our restoration to that rank and reputation in society, of which we have been so unjustly deprived, and likewise to place us in a fair situation of gaining a just retribution upon the heads of our oppressors. The idea of committing Angelina to your care, and endea- vouring to make you believe she was my daughter, was mine,— for I felt firmly convinced, Eustace, that how- ever you might condemn me, you would not act other- wise than as a parent towards my offspring; and, there- fore, Matilda readily yielded her consent to the ar- rangement, more especially, as Ellihor, the mother of Bridget, was attacked with a severe fit of illness, and was, consequently, unable to attend upon it with that care which she had hitherto done. Besides, under your protection, we both considered that Angelina would be more secure, and, therefore, without any farther hesi- tation, we decided upon Ihe plan, which you afterwards know we put into execution. We forgot, however, to remove a small miniature likeness of her mother, from the fchild's neck, and we were fearful that this cir- cumstance would lead you lo suspect who sbe really was." " Why," interrupted Sir Eustace, " I certainly, at first, did think it rather remarkable ; but afterwards I concluded it Was one which Matilda had presented to you, and that, when you committed the child to my Foi the purpose of being near Lord and Lady Dalton, and Lady Matilda and Angelina, Sir F. ustaca purchased an estate near De Morton Castle, and Hugh and Angelina having shortly afterwards plighted their vows at the hymeneal altar, they all became united aa one family, and their future happiness knew of no in- terruption. Not long after these events had taken place, our heroine was transported with pleasure, one morning,, when the faithful Bridget, who had suffered so much for lier sake, and whom she had supposed to bave met with an untimely death, presented herself before her. She had been preserved in a most miraculous manner ; and hastened as soon as she learnt that Angelina was also ? aved, and where she could find her, to rejoin one to whoni s'le was 80 devotedly attached. An- gelina was determined that she should never leave her again as Ion « - as she i. Ived. and she kept her resolu- tion, Bridget residing in tlae ca* tle> and beiBS treated as a sister by our heroine, and with tu « ™ 03t distinguished esteem by every other person. Angelina and Hugh were supremely ha^ Py \ n, e other's love, and in seeing a family of virtuous t,"* 1(> beau- teous children around them, never looked back up a." 1 ll'e sorrows of the past with any other feelings than thou""* of satisfaction, as they taught them more duly to appre- ciate the felicity of the present, and the unbounded goodness of Providence. Laura Arlingham, in the course of a year after these events, was united to a gentleman every way worthy of her, and they passed a long life together in mutual hap- piness and content. Lady de Morton caused St. Mark's Abbey to be re- stored to all its pristine beauty, and it became the favourite residence of her son and daughter. It may be as well to explain, that the skeleton which Angelina had seen in the chest, upon one occasion of her visiting the ruins, had been placed there by the desire of Lady Emmeline, by the smugglers, to alarm any person who might be bold enough to examine the place, and it was removed from one of the vaults un- derneath the old abbey. Thus, then, do we end " This round unvarnished tale."* * In bringing this romance to a conclusion, the author cannot but express Ms regret at several errors of a most ridiculous description* having accidentally crept into its pages ! forinstauce, tfie date of the story should have been 1625, instead of 1725 ; the name of Ruthucn for that of Rufus, is substituted in several places, and many other mistakes, which he has not space to enu- merate here. He, however, trusts that the reader will excuse them, as in many instances they were unavoid- able. you placed it round her neck for the purpose of recalling to my memory the features of her we both so tenderly loved." Lady Emmeline concluded her extraordinary recital I in the following words:— " I have a little more to relate, with which you are unacquainted. I so disguised myself, that X thought it was utterly impossible for any one to know me, and it appears X succeeded to a marvel. Years flew on, and Captain Clifford well fulfilled his promise as regarded my son ; no parent could behave better to him, and as he grew np, he felt as ardent an affection for him, I be- lieve, as if he had been his son ; in fact, he knew him- self for no other; as for me, he imagined that I was related to hiin, but that, otfing to some heavy calamity, I chose the wild life and air of mystery I did. He be- came attached to the life of Captain Clifford, although the latter did not encourage him in it ; and when the Captain died, lie assumed the command, and has ever since been in the situation in which you first knew him. It was I who urged you, Eustace, in the first instance, and continued to do so, to discourage the passion of Hugh and Angelina, and to refuse your assent to their paying their addresses to each other ; for 1 foresaw that if 1 had not done so, it might have been produc- tive of much misery, and when the real faets of their birth were revealed, have given you cause for reproach. I have now stated all the particulars of this extraor- dinary narrative." CONCLUSION. We will draw a veil over what passed after Lady Emmeline had finished her narrative) or the powerful emotions that were experienced by every one present. It was finally determined that Sir Eustace should hasten immediately to Court, and, seeking an audience of the king, solicit the restitution of those rights, of which he had been so unjustly deprived, and afterwards to state the whole particulars of the events that have been re- lated here, and pray for justice on the guilty, if they still survived. Sir Eustace lost no time in putting tills plan into execution, and having arrived in London, by the interest of an Old and tried friend, whom he found out there, he obtained his wishesj and threw himself at the feet of his monarch. The king, who ha I many times repented of the harsh treatment Sir Eustace had received, and had cause to suspect the truth of his ac- cusers; received him affably, and promised him that a proper inquiry should be immediately instituted, and every justice rendered him. While this was pending, news reached the Court of the death of the Baron de Morton, who had been attacked by robbers while tra- velling, and so severely wounded, that he only survived a few hours. He had been preserved from tbe ship- wreck, but tbe villain Rufus had perished. Before he died, he had made a confession of all his crimes, in the presence of the gentleman to whose house be had been conveyed, and among others, he accused himself of having been guilty of the treason he had been the means of laying to the charge of Sir Euslace Arling- ham. It is unnecessary to add that justice was imme- diately done to the latter, and before he quitted the Court, he was fully reinstated in those possessions, and that title he hail been so unjustly deprived of. But a more joyful surprise than all awaited Sir Euslace ; on the last day of his appearance at tbe palace, he en- countered Lord Edward'' Dalton, whom he had supposed to have been dead, or never expected to see again.— The meeting may well be imagined ; but when Sir Eus- tace informed him of the sufferings his unfortunate wife had undergone, and the certainly there was of her in nocence of the guilt of which she had been suspected, his agitation was so great that it was almost more than he could support. Ill a faw days, Lady Emmeline Dalton was restored to the arms of her husband, from whom sbe had been so many years separated ; and to her former rank in society, while Hugh, for the first time in his life, received tbe embraces of his father, and heard his blessing invoked uponhia head. No sooner did Orillia hear of the death of the baron and the confession he had made, than, unable to meet Ihe disgrace which would follow such disclosures, she 8- d, wilh the Marquess Florendos for her paramour, and ended her clays on the continent, in a career of pro- fligacy, dissipation, and shame. Lady Matilda de Mor- THE MILLER AND THE FREEBOOTER. In Glenquoich, in Aberdeenshire, in the early part of the last century, there was a corn- mill erected, . for the use of the neighbourhood, and, as the construction a « d management of such machines were ill understood iri that part of Scotland at the time, a miller was brought from the low country to superintend it. In this neigh- bourhood, there lived at that time, a certain Donald Mackenzie, a hero, remarkable for his haughty and imperious manner, and known by the appellation of Donald Unasach, or Donald the Proud. Being a native of Glenquoicb, he knew as little of the English lan- guage, as the miller did of Gaelic. He was all outlaw, addicted to fi eebqoting, and of so fierce and, unruly a temper, that the whole Country stood- in awe of him. One circumstance, regarding him, struck every one with superstitious awe, and created much- conjecture and speculation among those around him : he was never known to be without abundance of meal, aud yet be was never known to carry any corn to til - mill. But the sagacious l- niller of Gleuquoich, soon disco- vered, that, HI order to bilk him of bis proper mill, dues, tbe cai iff was iu tho habit of bringing his grain to the mill in the nil< ht, and grinding it, and carrying' it off before morning. To charge him directly with this lrand, was too dangerous an attempt. But, the miller ventured to ask hiin now and then, quietly; how he did for meal, as be never brought any corn to the mill; to which the freebooter never returned auy other answer than one in Gaelic, signifying that " strong is the hand of God !" Provoked at last, the miller determined to take bis rown way of curing the evil; and, hiving some previous notion of the next nocturnal visit of his unwelcome cus- tomer, he took care, before leaving the mill in the even- ing, to remove the bush, or that piece of wood which is driven into the eye of the nether millstone, for tin: purpose of keeping the spindle ste idy in passing through the upper stoue. He also stopped up tbe spout through which the meal discharged itself; and, as the mill was one of the old- fashioned machines, where tbe water- wheel moved horizontally, and directly under the stones, it follows, that, by this arransement of tilings, thecorn would fall into the stream. Having made these preparations, the miller locked hia house door, and went to bed. About midnight, Donald arrived with bis people, and some sacks of dry corn % and, finding everything, as be thought, in good order, in thd mill, he filled the hopper, and 1ft on the water. The ma- chinery revolved with more than ordinary rapidity ; the grain sank fast in the hopper; but, not a particle of it came out at the place where he was wont to receive it into his bag as meal. Donald the Proud, and bis gillies, were ali aghast. Frantic with rage, he and ihey ran up and down ; and, in their hurry to- do everything, they succeeded in doing nothing. At length, Donald perceived, what even tbe obscurity of the night could not hide, a long white line of fair provender flowing down tbe middle of the stream, that left not a doubt as to where his corn was discharging itself. But, h « could neither guess how this strange phenomenon was pro- duced, nor how the evil was to be cured.. After much perplexity, he thought of turning off the water. But, here the wily miller had also been prepared for him, having so contrived matters, that the pole, or handle connecting the sluice with ihe inside of the null, had fallen oft' as soon as the water was let ou tbe wheel. Baffled at all points, Douald was compelled, at last, to run to tbe miller's house. Finding the door locked, he knocked aud bawled loudly at the window; and, on the miller demanding to know who was there, be did his best to explain, in broken English, tbe whole cir cumstance of the case. The miller beard him to an end; and, turning himself iu his bed, be cooly replied, " Strong is the band of God!" Donald Unasach gnashed his teeth, tried the door again, returned to the window, aud, humbled by the circumstances, repeated his explanation and entreaties for help. * " Te meal town te purn to te teil ! hoigh, lwigh !" " I thought ye had been ower weel practeesed in the business to let ony sic mischanter come ower ye, Donald," replied the impertuibable lowlander, " but, you know, ' strong « tbe hand of God 1'" The mountaineer now lost all patience. Drawing his dirk, and driving it through the window, he began to strike it so violently a aiust the stones on the outside of the wall, that he illumi- nated the house with a shower of fir, , and showed the terrilied inmates tbe ferocious countenance of linn who wedded the weapon. " Te meal to te mill, te mwter to te moiller," sputtered out Douald. in the midst of his wrath, meaning to imply, that, if the miller would only come and help him, he should have all his dues iu future. Partly moved by this promise, but s ill more by his well- grounded fears, the miller arose at last, put tbe mill to rights, and ground the restof the corn. And tradition tells us, that, after this, the mill- does were regularly paid, and the greatest harmony subsisted be- tween Donald Uuasach and the miller of Glenquoich.— From Sir T. Dick Lauder's Account of the Moray Floods. THE LEEGII.— There is no outlet in the intestiur. l canal of the leech, mere transpiration is all that it performs; the matter oozing through, and fixing on the surface of the body, whence it afterwards separates in small threads. If it be intended that the leech shall draiv a quantity of blood, the end of the tail is cut off, and then it sucks con- tinually. Leeches may be frozen stiff, lik « pieces of ice, and easily re- animated, for a leech lias no heart; if it had a heart, it would not suck continually, ever, in re- venge, for its tail being cut off. NOT MARRYING FOR MONEY.— A couple from the sister island presented ihemselvesat the altar of Hymen, in one of tlie Catholic . churches, and after they were duly registerod as man and wile, departed in higb glee, hen the registrar informed them they had five shillings) , itllll Buauie. jjauj lua. ijua . i'- . tiui" , rru^" ... toil was, without any difficulty, recognized, and the I to pay. " Fixe shillings!" says Fat} " by Jasus wealthy possessions of the family restored to her, j haven't a shiMing in the world." THE PENNY SUNDAY TIMES, AND PEOPLE S POLICE GAZETTE.^ .^ Fragments for tfje Curious. DR. WARTON.— Dr. Warton was invited, while master of Winchester- school, to meet a relative ot Pope, who, from her connection with the family, he was taught to be- lieve could furnish him with much valuable and private information. Incited by all that eagerness which so strongly characterized him, he, on his introduction, eat immediately close to the lady, and, by enquiring her con- sanguinity to Pope, entered at once on the subject, when the following dialogue took place j " Pray, sir, did vou not write a book about my cousin Pope?" —" Yes, madam,"—" They tell me ' twas vastly clever. He wrote a great many plays, did'nt he?"—" I have heard ;, nl„ one attempt, madam."-" Oh, no 1 I bfg yftnr'pardon, that was Mr. Shakspeare; I always Confound tliem." This was too much even for the doer's galiautry . he replied, " certainly, madam 1" an;,', with a b,) w changed his seat to the opposite side of th, e room( where he sat)^ 0 the amuse. merit oiaiarje > prty, with such a mingled countenance of arcnuess an^ chagrin; such a struggle between his taste nonrtrI ' lCulous » and his natural politeness, as could be pourtr |, ut by his speaking and expressive face. . <. » N ENGLISH AMBASSADOR.— Jerome Bowes was sent BV Elizabeth, queen of England, in quality of minister, to the Czar of Russia. To conform to the etiquette of the times, and the prerogatives of his place, he remained covered at the first audience. Some one represented to him the danger of such a conduct, and the evils he might bring on himself by it. " lam not acquainted with them," said he, " but I am the ambassador of a queen who will revenge any affront offered to her in th » person of her ministers." _ The prince, far from being offended at such a declara- tion, presented him to the assembly, and recommended the boyars ( nobles), to imitate his examples. " Behold,,' said he to them, " a brave man, who has the courage to uphold the honour of his sovereign with dignity. Who atuong you would do as mnch for me ?" THE HAND OF GOD. When winter! freezing touch tomei on, ind all Is clad In white— When the silvery moon, and the twinkling atari, peep froth the Haavena by night; When the tempest's howling voice il raited, and the mad waves lash the stand,— Then, 01 then the woiVs are Been, of God's Almighty liand. When the winter s chilly blast is gone, and the snow- storm passed Wh'day1,6 * Un " C'e" ' ight lncrtM" more> wllh e, ch ' ucceedlng Wlleiinde f" thered ™ bler' « » < ® K ' « !> « "< i throughout the happy Then, O ! then the works are teen, of God's Almighty hand. Wlim^ tlie blossom peeps from out the leaves of every blooming Whee from the slowly openlr g flow„ ,, ] ieilrd the humming bee: fSnnL , ammnt ' whispering wind, the blushing rosa is Then, OI then the , re Meni of God's Almighty hand. Wh? a , utumtt c'jmes with varying hand, to tint the leaves with brown, When by '. is weight, the yellow corn, its heavy head bends down} When this rich fruit grows ripe and sweet, at nature's mild com- mand, Then— as in ail the works are seen, of God's Almighty hand. Newcastle- upon Tyne. JR. M. Cfjcatm. *' Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." SHAKSPERE- Sir Joshua Reynolds, having one day said, that he took the altitude ofa man's taste by his stories and his wit, and of his understanding by the remarks which he repeated, being always sure that he must be a weak man who quotes' common things, with an emphasis as if they were oracles; Johnson agreed with himj and Sir Joshua having alio observed, that the real ouaracter of a man was found out by his amusements, Johnson added, " Yes, Sir; no man is a hypocrite in his pleasures." Johnson used also to say, that if a man talked of his misfortunes, we might depend upou it there was something in them not disagreeable to him— for where there was nothing but pure misery, there never was any recourse to the mention of it. " A man," he " aid, " should be careful never to tell tales of himself to bis own disadvantage. People may be amnsed, and laugh at the time; but they will be reme. ubered, and brought out against him upon some subsequent occasion." MY " LYRE I!" Yes I reach me my •• Lyre,'< my pfifty fctrtcken " Lyre," * Tho* sadness and sorrtow hate strain'd every string, A voice hath rekindled Its Numbering fire, And forth from Its embers wild harmonieK spring. ArOsTBormz'b. My Lyre! thou wert Wont to be joyous and gay. But where now the ttftht tones ot halcyon gladness Which flung their bright raptures in every lay ? Alas 1 they now stealthily murmur In sadness. My Lyre t mine own Lyre I Ah ! why Hoi blame— 1 Thy faithful companionship nought has estrang'd; Thy soul, moving melody's ever the same Iu sorrow, or joy—' tis I that am chang'dt Tho'i'rt so hush'd in my woe, so subdued is thy tone, it steals o'er my soul like a seraph's solt sigh. That in heavenly pity vibrates to my own. In an indistinct cadence from anthems on high. And in happier times thou hast pour'i! the fall strep' Of thy ravishing ecstactes over my heart; So intense in thy gtadness, thy music dtd seem Too passionate sweet for this world to impart. Yet,— breathe but those notes ( my loY'd Lyre) once again. Whose sympathies clear ( la » n hour like this) Would blend with ray feelings, beguiling of pain, And lavt my worn spirit in calmness and bliss. I will touch thy huah'd strings with a pressure so fond, That its thrill shall the gush of thine energies waken | Each chord or my heart to thine own shall respond. For adversity ne'er thine allegiance hath shaken. Then, give me thy music— its spell shall controul T'ne deep tone of anguish that reigns in my breast, And soothe th. emotions that rise In my soul ( By thine Influence iull'd) to composure and rest. March IS, 1841. ANNA, MINSTREL OF TUB HEATH, MATHEWS AND THE SILVER SPOON. — Amongst Mathews's pranks of younger days, that is to say, when lie first came from York to the Hayinarket Theatre, he was invited with F and some other performers to dine with Mr. A . now an eminent silversmith, hut who, at that period, followed the business of a pawnbroker. It so happened, that A was called out of the parlour, at tbe back of the shop, during dinner. Mr. Mathews, • with wonderful celerity, altering his hair, countenance, lr at, & c., took a large gravy spoon off the dinner table, ran instantly into the street, entered one of the little dark doors leading to the pawnbroker's counter, a( id actually pledged to the unconscious A his own gravy spoon. Mathews contrived, with equal rapidity, to return and seat himself ( having left the street door open), before A re appeared at the dinner- table. As a matter of course, this was made the subject of a wa" er. An ectair- cissement took place before the party luoke up, to the infinite astonishment of A Rabelais never accom- plished a neater practio^ i joke than this. COME AWAY TO THE GLEN. WRITTEN BV A KYNE, 1 Come away, come away, to the gleft, let's advance, Where music's gay notes sosmetly sre sounding) Like Male's elfin band, let us join in the dance, While careless each heart with rapture is bounding. For the season of youth is the time to be gay, And when once ' tis gone, we may rue it with sorrow | Then the pleasures that rise for enjoyment to day, Let's taste as they flow, lest they tempt not to- morrow. Thei>. away, come away, to the glen, let's repair, Where music's gay notes so sweetly are sounding;. That thfe nymphs of the rills, and the sprites of the air, Will mimic our sport in the greenwood surrounding. Yonder rose on Its stem has lUunted with a smile. But time has destray'd all Its vigour and sweetness j Such a fate may be our s, but the thought we'll beguile, And show by our mirth that we heed not its fleetness. Then away, come away, to the gltn, let's advance. Where music's gay notes sre sounding so sprightly; Since health brings content, let us seek it in the dance. And bless Heav'n for the gift as we trip it so lightly. According to the Linnean naturalists, sponges are the habitation of a tribe of animals belonging to the class Vermes, order Zoophytes, each of which is characterized as a fixed animal, flexile, torpid, of various lorms, com posed either of reticulated fibres, or masses of small spines interwoven together, and clothed with a gelatin- ous flesh, full of small mouths on its surface, by which it absorbs and rejeots water. As early as the days of Aris. totle, these curious marine productions were supposed to possess animal life. The same opinion prevailed in the time of Pliny. Modern naturalists, losing sight of the observations of the ancients, pronounced them to be vege- tables, and many extraordinary conjectures were hazarded as to their probable origin; some assigning them to the animal, others lo the vegetable, and others again, to tbe mineral kingdom, while not a few imagined that thev were produced by a concretion of sea mud, These opi- nions continued to embarrass the speculations of the learned till ihe year IT52, when M. Peyssonell, actually discovered and described the animals that form four dii- lereot Kinds of sponges, each of which, \, e pronounced to be altogether inanimate bodies, insensible to thetouoh' or, indeed, to the undulations of the sea, and formed bv U TV' g lnous exu< M° ns ° f the zoophytes which The uncommon length of the romances, in the present number, precludes the possibility of our doing that justice to the Easter entertainments, at the different places of amusement, which we could have wished— a circumstance which we much regret, as never did the managers of the various metropolitan theatres cater better for the enter- ' t'. nment of their frequenters than they have done on this occasion. We shall briefly mention the amusements pro- duced at most of the houses, and reserve our more lengthy critique for a future number, COVENT GARDEN,— Aftet the performance of the highly successful comedy of London Assurance, a new grand Kaster spectacle, called Beauty and the Beast, got up with all that taste and magnificence which has distinguished this theatre during the present management; As a holiday entertainment, it is all that cnuld be wished ; and the audience testified their approbation by the most enthusias- tic demonstrations of applause. HAYMARKET.— Mr. Webster has put forth a bill which enumerates pearly the whole strength of the theatrical world, in tragedy and comedy, and commenced the sum- mer season 011 Easter Monday, with a house thronged to the ceiling. When we Mention the names of Mr. Charles Kean, Mr. Macready, Mr. Wallack, Mr. Bucksbotie, Mr; MayWood, Mr. David Rees, Mr. Wrench, Mr. Oxberry, Mr. Phelps, Miss Helen Faucit, Mrs. W. Clifford, Miss Grove, & c., as some Of the principal members of this most powerful galaxy of talent, we are confident that we shall have said sufficient to shew our readers that our praise is not unmerited. STRAND — This elegant little theatre Opened on Easter Monday, under the management of Mr. Hall, and with a verv effective company* and among others; Mrs. Keeley. OLYMPICS— Mr. G. Wild has commenced his manage- ment under the most favourable auspices, and onened wllh threw new pieces, viz.— a new drama called Charles O'Malley , or, The Irish Dragoon s The Little Gipsy, by Mark Lemon, and a new mythological burletta, from the pen of Mr. Graves, author of Cupid, & c., called Olt/ mp ic brailties. They were entirely successful. CltY.— This theatre opened ou Easter Monday, under tbe management of Messrs. Cockerton and Shepperd. The company is composed of several very good performers, and among others Mr. Hicks, Mr. Marshall, Mr. Ross, Mrs. Honey, Miss Emmeliue Montague, & c., & c. PAVILION— Mr. Denvil lias not been behind hand with his brother managers in produCinga most excellent Easter fund of amusement for bis numerous patrons, and he has met with a commensurate reward in having his theatre crowded to the ceiling every evening. In our next we shall give a lengthy critique of the performances. VICTORIA.— Osbaldlston has commenced his manage- ment of this theatre with every prospect of success. Tke theatre has undergone innumerable alterations and im- provements, and presents a very elegant appearance. The new pieces are IVomitn'S Love, and Knave's Acre, and have been well received. Miss Vincent in Nature and Art played with her usual excellence. ASTLEY'S.— Ducrow has opened with mnch spirit, anrl no doubt the usual success which has hitherto attended him, will be his reward. ALBERT SALOON.— A new romance; on a most magni- ficent scale, was produced at this admirable place of amusement on Easter Monday. It is called The Imp of the Devils Gorge; or, the Dumb Slabeofthe Mountain, and is a very excellent affair. We cannot, however, do that justice to the entertainments which they merit until next week. doubt, some artfully devised tale invented to deceive you, for I still feel assured that neither our daughter nor Martin Palliser would have been guilty of the base de- ception they have been charged with." " You think, then, that I have been inventing this story ?" exclaimed Sir Lionel, with pretended anger. " I do, indeed." " In that case there is an end of tbe matter," cried the other. " I had intended to have performed a service by thus telling you the truth, but as you are determined to insult me with your doubts I shall take my departure, wishing yon joy of your new son- iu- law— that is, if he is honourable enough to marry a girl who could so far forget her duty as to run away with her father's ap- prentice." " Stay, sir," cried the goldsmith, impatiently, " stay at least until you have informed i-. ie where 1 can find them," , I shall interfere no further in the business," replied Sir Lionel, witil hauteur •, " 1 have dofie thy best to serve you, but my intentions nave been regarded vVith suspicion, and, therefore, I shall take my leave." Sir Lionel Preston upon this scrambled over the wall by means of the rope ladder which was still remaining there, well pleased in his own mind at the delay he had occasioned iu case pursuit was commenced, and pretty well satisfied that, in spite of what had been said " by Lester and his wife, they were not without fears that his accusation was correct. The almost distracted parents retired to bed no more that night, and early in the morning Arnold, ac companied by Ralph Lobsoii, left the house in search of sottte information by which he iliiglit be able to trice the fugitives to the place whither they had tied. Which way to go, however, he knew hot, but adopting a hint which had befell thruWti Otit by his servant, he proceed to thfe ^ eat door of Si. Paul's Cathedral, into which edifice lie gained speedy admission. Leaving these fyt s-* i< ne, we must now return to the party who had been so unexpectedly interrupted at the moment when the rhoek ceremony of marriage was about to take place. The priest staggered i- Sek w ith lerror when he heard thfe dreadful aiinouncferiieht that he had been stricken with the plague at the very ttloltieut when he was engaged ia the performance of the sham OLD A LEGEND OF SAINT PAUL'S. BY M. H. AINSPORTH. [ Continued front our last,) CHAPTER XVII. • HIE DEFEATED LIBERTINES. RETRACING our steps, we must now return to the house of Arnold Lester, at the moment when Eustace St. Clair had succeeded iu carrying off the maiden, though closely followed by Martin Palliser. We have seen the result of the pursuit, arrd must, therefore, re- turn to Sir Lionel Preston, who, having accompanied Eustace to the goldsmith's house, was determined to do the best he could to favour his esbape, Or, at any rale, breveht the suspicion that he was aware would fall on him. With tins design he set up a loud cry, which quickly brought Ralph Lobson, the porter, to the door. " What, in the name of fortune, . is all this racket about ?" he demanded;— k' who the devil are you, and what do yob waut making such a chatter at this time SF the night?" " There's matter enough, my good fellow," replied the other, pretending to be greatly alarmed ;—" your master's daughter has been stolen away, and if instant pursuit is not made, she will become the victim of a villain 1" " Ah 1" exclaimed Ralph. " I see it all now— that rascal, Eus'ace, has beeu here again and taken her away with him I" " You are wrong there, my friend," answered the other; " for ill this instance the young gallant is not so bad as you suspect; in fact, he lias nothing whatever to do with the carrying off of the young lady." " Do you mean to tell tne, then," demanded Ralph Lobson, " that she has run away of her own free will ?" " I mean to say," answered Sir Lionel, " that she's gone off with a villain, and the fellow is no other than your master's apprentice, Martin Palliser." " You don't say so 1" " But I do say so," retorted the other; " and if some- thing ain't done pretty quickly, your master will, per- haps, never see his daughter again." " What shall I do, then,'' asked Ralph, in bewilder- ment. " Why run aud tell your master;— tell him all that I have just been relating to you. and if he doubts it, bring him here aud I\ v. soon convince him that Martin Palhser is the scoundrel that has ran away with his daughter." Away rati Ralph with this intelligence, leaving the other to l'orhi his owri plans for future operations. So far he had succeeded, quite as well as he expected, but he knew well enough that the father was not quite so easily tb bt deceived, and he was still pondering upon the subject, when Ralph Lobson, followed by his master and mistress, again approached him. " What is this I hear ?" cried the distracted father;— " my child gone, say you ? - run away from the shelter of her parent's roof to become the companion of a profligate ?" " I tis even so," ahswered Sir Lionel, in a tone of pre- tended commiseration; " she has just made her escape over yonder toall, and the companion of her flight is 110 other than your immaculate apprentice, Martin Pal- liscr." " It is false!" cried the old man, with generous warmth; Martin lovtd her well; he had even my con- sent to pay his addresses to her, aud therefore it is hardly iikelv he would seek to draw my curses upon his head by so base an act," " And yet," returned Sir Lionel, " here am I, ready to swear that I saw them leave this place together not half an hour since." ' Why, then," cried Mrs. Lester, " did you not at- tempt to prevent their flight ?" " I did," answered the other; " I pursued theiu some distance, but the fellow drew his sword, and turning round upon me. we had a sharp encounter together for some minutes; in ihe end my foot slipped, and I fell to the ground, when I thought it was all over with me, but instead of stopping to give me my quietus, he hurried on with the young lady, and was out of sight before I had time to raise myself and follow him." " This seems like a lie, sir," exclaimed the goldsmith " and, as 1 cannot prove thy falsehood, 1 must remain content till 1 have further evidence." " It is truth i tell you, Master Arnold Lester." " If it is, I have wronged you by my suspicions; if uot, I will not fail to take vengeance ou you," answered the goldsmith. " Will you not follow them ?" " I know not what to do," returned Lester;—" that my daughter has deceived me I fear there is but too much reason to believe;— she has left my house clan- destinely; and if she be as guilty as I fear she is, 1 will not step over the threshold of my house to lemonstrate with her upon the deception which she has used towards a fond and indulgent parent." " Oh I do not blame our pour Marianne tillj'ou know more of this affair," cried Mrs. Lester. rites, and Martin Palliser, taking advantage of the op- portunity lhat was thus offered, rushed forward, seized Marianne in his arms, and was rushing he knew not whither, whfeti Stella presented herself before him, and motibniiig forhith to follow, led hittt through a small door which Was immediately afterwards closed upon them. But their course had not been unobserved by Eustace St; Clair; who, enraged at the trick that had been played upon him, rushed after the fugitives, and was within a few steps of them when the door closed. In vain he tried to force the massive portal open; it was strongly secured on the inside, and he was about to leave the place with thfe design of running round to prevent their escapeby another way, wheli Arnold Lester rudied furiously towards hiiii. " Villain I" he exclaimed, hoarsely, " I have at length found ihee, and never will I lose sight ol thee till thou hast restored to me the daughter thou hast basely stoleu from her home." " Take your hands from my throit," cried Eustace, violently disengaging himself from the grasp of his an- tagonist, and then recovering his usual composure, he continued —" I can easily pardon your wrath, old man, because 1 have heard from, my friend Preston the heavy loss you have sustained. Your daughter has been stolen from home, but so Utile haVe 1 beeu t- onfcerned iu the transaction, that I am even at this moment engaged iir searching for her and the fellow who has borne her away." " Who do you charge with the base act?" demanded the goldsmith. ., " Your apprentice;— the meek and virtuous Martin Palliser." " " l is false I" cried Lt- ster; " tile youth never yet deceived rtie, nor will I believe this of him." " Well, you can do as you please about that.," an- swered Eustace, With perfect tomposore. " You can believe me or not, but I again tell you that it was he who stole her away from your house, and they have now entered yonder cnapel, where I expect the lharriage ceremony has by this time made them man and wife.' " How am I to be assured of the truth " f this ?" de- manded the goldsmith, trembling viiih rfgitation. " By waiting here a little while, anrlyou will see them come from the changK" " But they may escape by some other door." " 1 have taken catV- to prevent that," exclaimed Sir Lionel Prestoil, whu; by this time, had joined the party; " 1 have placed Watchers at every point where there is the least chance of their getting out. They will, there- fore; be compelled to come from this door, and you will theu conviucfe yoursfelf that I spoke riot falsely last night when I said it was Martin Palliser that had rttn aw ay with your daughter." The goldsmith made no reply to this, for his heart was too full for utterance, and retiring back a few paces, he resolved to wait there to see whether Marianne and his apprentice would really come from it. Permit- ting him to indulge his owti conflicting thoughts, Eustace St. Clair and Sir Lionel Presttm moved a short distance from him, the latter of whflrti said :— " It appears to me that, let this affair terminate as it will, it cannot be very favourable to yourself, the old man will not fail to take her home with him, and as a stricter guard than ever Will be put over her; you may give up all further pursuit as vaiiu" " 1 am half afraid of it," replied Eustace, thought- fully." " Then why not give up all further thoughts of the girl?" demanded Sir Lionel; " there are plenty of other wenches in the world that may be gained with CHARADES. I. I am a word of nine letters.— My first letter is the initial of a celebrated historian; my second, of an European country, famed for its delightful sctnery; my third, of a British poet; my fourth, of a painter, of great celebrity; my fifth, of the noblest king Britain ever possessed 1 my sixth, of one of the most extensive mercantile ports in England; my seventh of an Implement ot war, uted by the wild . Indians; my eighth, of a fsmous general; my ni th, of a person who introduced au article of consumption into Britain, which proves an immense source of profit to the revenue; and the whole of my initials forms the i. ame of a town and gar- rison in possession of the British, which is celebrated for having withstood one of the longest sieves known in modern history. Blacktriar's Koad. X. Y. Z. II. ADDRESSED TO MR, C. WI1ITS. I'm forui'd by ted letters, Mr. White, now declare, I know you can do so, tile name that I bear : My 9, 10, 3, is much used by ail classes, My 1. 2, and 4, in request ' moilgst the lasses. My 6, 3, 4, Is oft used by the fair, In the ball- roop] or theatre, ' tis sure to be there; My 9, 8. 10. 3. 9, is, doubtless, a treat, And to 10, 3. 9. is awkward if you oan't g t a seat. My 9, 5. 4. 10, is a musical sound, My 1. 10, 3, iu gardens and fields may be found j My 9, 5, I, Is well known among boys, And constitutes one ot their principal toys. A 6, 5, 10, I hope you'll never know, Tho' many a one I've known undeservedly so ) A hint or two more, and then I have done. When you give a slight stroke ' tis my 9. 2, 1. I form two terms in music, both very much used, And my whole, when lent out, is often abused. Newcastle Upon Tyne. W. J. HUDSON. III. My first is a river— a river of fame, My second subsistence from mendicants claim; My third is a creature rxalted, ' tis true, Yet my whole does often lhat creature subdue. W. MAHARO. IV. I am a Word of letters seven, Which oft' in punishment is given; Whl, h, if yon transpose a wor- 1 wilt muVe, That you should all do for yonr own sake; And not a word nbout trouble say, For " where there's a will, there is a way." VauJtall. W. F„ P. . V. My first five letifcrs does contain. And for miles does hound the InRln} Leave on, one letter, I will th< ti Name what is often worn by men. Behold me now, I then will name, Vllat may be dremed a useful g'aln; F< ur- fifths of my first is an expense, Also four- fifths Is to send a thing henoe. Three- fifths of my first will name a besst, Also, three fifths is of dwellings 111- least; My second I acknowledge to be a protector, Perhaps by this my whole y tt'. l conjecture. If so you'll name against fraud a defender. Who many brave hearts have cause to remember. Bathgar, near Dublin. Jo"" LAW. VI. ADSItESSEtt tfo if. J. HUDSON. There is a word, you must know, of letters eight, Ti » linfl ine out y » u must puzzle your pate. A ?, 3 8. all fi- hermen use, you must own Ann if you take a 2. 3 6 4. you may perhaps, break a bone. A 7, 6, 4, after dinner I own I very often lake, And in a 4, 6 7. you can. if you wlfll it. cook a beef- steak. By the use of the 4. 3, 7, many people dn liv-. And 8, 3, 7, shillings for aS, 6. 8— is all I will give; If you look in the almanack for to see Ihe date. You, of course, will « ee this is Ihe season of 2, 3, 7, 8. A 6. 3, 7 In the farm yard you will, no doubt, see, And If yon see a corpse their face will be 4, 6, 2, 3, In Asia and Africa my whole may be setm— It's au animal that walks on four legs that I mean. Marylebone. W. ALIEN. B1BDLE3. I. My first doth name an animal, Tnat in Britain is not scant) M, second names a member, That none on earth can want. My ihird from my first and second, Is ,- ften made by woman. My " hole combine, and then you'll find, What in Scotland's West is common. II. From a very great, b'essing In this earthly domain, Extract the second letter. And a carse will remain III. far less trouble, and that are, perhaps, quite as fair as this Marianne Lester." " The fact is," answered the libertine, •'! have set my heart upon possessing this prize, and 1 Will not abandon the project whilst there is a hope left." " More simpleton you, then," muttered Sir Lionel. " Now I have, myself, discovered a girl of surpassing loveliness since I have been in this place, anil I meau to do my best to gain possession of my prize. But if I find obstacles in my way that appear to be insurmountable, I shall at once give up the chase, and go in pursuit of game that is less difficult to rapture." " What is the name m this damsel that has so taken your fancy ?" asked Eustace St. Clair. " She is called by the somewhat romantic name ol Stella." " Humph '.— the daughter Of one of the vergers, I suppose ? " No; she is the daughter of an old blind minstrel, named David Logan. They have sought refuge here, I believe, because they have no other home just at pre- sent, through the dread people have of taking strangers into their houses, lest they should chance to be tainted with the plague." " And where is the tnaiilrm now ?" demanded Eustace. " In youder clia| ioi, % vKij Mririarine and the young ap- prentice," answered the other. " Ah !" he continued, eagerly, " by Heavens I they have grown weary of being cooped up, aud are now corning forth from therr strong hold!" It Was, indeed, as Sir Lionel Preston had said, Itir the door of the chapel was at that moment observed to open, and the next moment Martin Palliser, accompanied by two veiled females, came forth. The goldsmith had also observed them, and darting furiously towards his ap- prentice, he demanded an explanation of his conduct. I will explain all hereafter," replied Martin; " at present Marianne demauds your care ; look to her, and see that she falls uot again into the hauds of thes^ evil men." " I have been deceived by thee, sirrah!" cried the goldsmith, angrily; " thou hast acted a base part to- wards me, aud never again shalt thou enter my door. Away, sir, and never let me behold thy face again." " Path- r!— dear fa'her, he is not to blame!" cried Marianne, throwing aside her veil, and falling at the feet ot the old man. But Arnold Lester was too much enraged at that moment to hear reason and raising her fiom the ground, he dragged her along the aisle towaids the ureat door. As til. y disappeared from the place, Sir Lionel looked round for Stella, but in tile confusion she had found means to escape without being observed. This was a source of great rnortilication to the knight, and rush- ing from the place, he swore never to abandon his search till he had again found her. ( To be continued.) EXPRESSLY roa THE WORK: — ' 1 he Contented Man". My Sarah and Me. ' Domestic Economy. Brandy and Salt. Population ; or, It's all owing: to the Family Ointment. 1 LLOYD'S LISt OF POPULAR WORKS. SIXTY- FIVB HUMOUROUS ENGRAVINGS BY ANT EM1NF. NT ARTIST, AND TEN NEW COMIC SONGS ( BY PREST) FOB ONE PENNY! ! ! " THE PENNY S~ U N D A Y. T I M ES GALLERY OF COMICALITIES," CONTAINS THE KOLLOWINO ORIOINAL COMIC SONUS, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY A Private Still. Happy Land— a Sad Lot. Poor Jack— Pl » a « e Re- Mem- ber . Tack. John Deif— In his Cups. Hard- tJp ; or, shocking Ex- , R", N TNK FOLLOWI. VP GRAPHIC SEETCHES : - The Maw ol tl. e Mlil.- A Oene.- al KWng.- Phy. ical Force.- Bringing Him too ( Two).- A Black Jast.- Ladies of the Court— HI, Mind is on the Knck.- Setllinsr » H Count; Double Entry.— Frar Bacon.— Giving Hirmelf ( B) alrs.- Contracting an Acquaint- ance.- A Heavy well.- AGood Bite.- HMlg.'-, Be.|- Sed « n erp Occupation.— Currant Jam ; a Friendly Squewej- A Neat Turn- Out.- A Votary of the Nlne.- Taking th. Pledge.- Warlike- Guise ( Gays)!— Food for Reflection- Celling vl'hackj: a Bel- frey.. - A Promising Child.— A Boy In a Fit— Giving- HP the - Cabriolet Society— Pleasures of " Fancy.' - Best London . orter - A Back Settler— Going by tbe Post; General ilelivery.- Com ® , of Age— Cutting Him to the Quick— Breaking Cover - S- auce ( Source) of ihe Nigger ( Niger)— ABey's PIsasure- A >* A Picht;. — A Belly Full of Grapes.— The Changeless One— A Private Boxi- - Taken in A[ r] reit. - The Lively Smack; Looking Out forr Squalls.— Hebrew Melodies— A Funny Pair— A Good Calling— A Shocking Stick— The Pot- n y— Snmmut Short— Detachment of Cavalry— Deprived of the Use of their Organs.— Neat as lor- ported— A Free- Booter— Famy Fair— At a Stand- St.' H— An happy Attachment— Coming It slap. * * THE KMBELLISHMF. NTS HAVE BEEN ENGRA'VFD AT THE ENORMOUS EXPENSE OF 1,000 GUINEAS ! 11" In Weekly Numbers at Id. and Monlh'y Paris at 4d., the New and Highly In'erestW Romance of J< ATK » . EENI OR, THE SECRET IVIARRIACE. * * The Plt'st Number, contaln- ng tsiiiht cioaely. printed en Two Spl-' iClid E„-'.. lni.. on. ep. rate ? apJ- r, J apes. nd a most Magnifi- TETT GRATH with No S4 of " TUB PBBT cent SUNDAV TIMES Shortly will EMSLY FITZORWIONDI OR, lie Published In We- kiy Numbers at 1 d., and- Monthly Parts at 4.1., THE DESET5T& ONE* R. Y. A. J. P. Gentle reader, I h « Vi> nfc donht You'll try your best to li . d me ou'i I'm a word of tour tetters, You pisli. ly will see; Oft our equals and otters Are h- aring of IT. V. I'm in the hui. and palace,- Abroad and at home, And I soon fly from t'alals To Dover or Home. I'm here to- day— there to- morrow i Wilh me comes both joy and sorrow. In the world's points I'm to be seen— The North, East, West, and South, I mean. From these points f. mr letters take; If you take them right, An answer soon you will make Appear to - your sight. I'm a ways In motion— All times of the year, O'er the broad briny ocean, And lands far aud rear. I bring accounts of war and trade— Of battles fought, and bargains made. IV. ADDRESSED TO MB. MORGAN, or THORNBUKY. Friend Morgan, this riddle i send unto thee. Three- fourths of a part of the day, if you take, And three sixths of a well- known male bird, you'll see The name of a person to you it will make. Richmond Street, Maida Hill. T. TURNSK. f. Take the first letter of a precloiitf utome, My seoond's in an animal well known, My third you'll find belongs unto the bear. The fourth is found in falsehood, loss, and square, The fifth Is with the beggar and the king. My sixth, part of a stone set in a ring. Mv seventh is first and last ot a small bird. The eighth Is found in seen, taste, felt, and heard. Unite the letters, snd I'll bet a crown. They'll name a place well known of great renown, VI. My first in a jewel, my eighth In a din. My twelfth is in Kent, my sixth In a skin, My fifth in a peeress, my fourth in a pall, Mv third in an angle, my second in nail, My ninth's like my first, my tenth's I ke my second, My eleventh aud seventh are easily reckoned. By joining tbe lette- s, will plainly be shown, A place in the city that's very well known. Wilh No. 1, will be presented OUA !'!>, Two Magnifies.? Plate* and a Wrapper. Shortly will be Published, in Number at One Penny, and Four- pennv Monthly Parts, ERNNE8TINE DE LACY I OR, THE ROBBER'S FOUNDLING. With No. 1, will be presented GltA'l'la, Two Splendid Engravings on separate pas er, and a Wrapper. Complete la 104 Numbers at On » Penny each, or Elegantly Bound: at Nine Shlllmn and Sixpence ELA, THE OUTCAST! OH, THE CIPSY CIRL Or ROSEMARY DELL. A TALE OF THE MOST THR1LLINO INTEREST. Complete In 54 Numbers at One Penny each, or E egantly Bound' at Fi.- e Shillings FATHERLESS FANNY! OR, THE MYSTE « OU3 ORPHAtst. A TALE OP DEEP INTEREST. 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He was al « r © spared. The quarter- deck w- ts now gained, but the slaughter strii continued, notwithstanding the endeavour cf the officers to suhdu © it; the main and lower decks were yet unsubdued, and as U. e Don Pedm ranged up on the opposite side to board, both ships fired." ( See page 20.) London:— W. Strange, 21, Paternostrr- rowj and all Count Booksellers. cc London:— Printed and Published by E. LLOYD, 231 H'gh Street, Shoreditch: and at 44, Holywell Street • Strand.