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all kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table; two or three clownish servants were lounging about; every thing had a look of confusion and carelessness.

The apartments through which I passed had the same air of departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The once rich curtains were faded and dusty, the furniture greased and tarnished. On entering the dining-room I found a number of odd, vulgar looking, rustic gentlemen seated round a table on which were bottles, decanters, tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several dogs were lying about the room, or sitting and watching their masters, and one was gnawing a bone under a side table. The master of the feast sat at the head of the board.

He was greatly altered. He had grown thickset and rather gummy, with a fiery foxey head of hair. There was a singular mixture of foolishness, arrogance, and conceit, in his countenance.

He was

dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat, and green coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a little flushed with drinking. The whole company stared at me with a whimsical muzzy look, like men whose senses were a little obfuscated by beer rather than wine.

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My cousin (God forgive me, the appellation sticks in my throat), my cousin invited me with awkward civility, or, as he intended it, condescension, to sit to the table and drink. We talked, as usual, about the weather, the crops, politics, and hard times. My cousin was a loud politician, and evidently accustomed to talk without contradiction at his own table. He was amazingly loyal," and talked of standing by the throne to the last guinea, 66 every gentleman of fortune should do." The village exciseman, who was half asleep, could just ejaculate "very true," to every thing he said. The conversation turned upon cattle; he boasted of his breed, his. mode of crossing it, and of the general management of his estate. This unluckily drew on a history of the place and of the family. He spoke of my late uncle with the greatest irreverence, which I could easily forgive. He mentioned my name, and my blood began to boil. He described my frequent visits to my uncle, when I was a lad, and I found the varlet, even at that time, imp as he was, had known that he was to inherit the estate. He described the scene of my uncle's death and the opening of the will with a degree of coarse humour that I had not expected from him; and, vexed as I was, I could not

help joining in the laugh, for I have always relished a joke, even though made at my own expense. He went onto speak of my various pursuits, my strolling freak, and that somewhat nettled me; at length he talked of my parents. He ridicaled my father; I stomached even that, though with great difficulty. He mentioned my mother with a sneer, and in an instant he lay sprawling at my feet.

Here a tumult succeeded: the table was nearly overturned; bottles, glasses, and tankards, rolled crashing and clattering about the floor. The company seized hold of both of us to keep us from doing any farther mischief. I struggled to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My cousin defied me to strip and fight him on the lawn. I agreed, for I felt the strength of a giant in me, and I longed to pommel him soundly.

"Away then we were borne. A ring was formed. I had a second assigned me in true boxing style. My cousin, as he advanced to fight, said something about his generosity in showing me such fair play, when I had made such an unprovoked attack upon him at his own table. "Stop there," cried I, in a rage, "unprovoked? know that I am John Buckthorne, and you have insulted the memory of my mother."

The lout was suddenly struck by what I said: he drew back, and thought for a moment.

"Nay, damu it," said he, "that's too much-that's clean another thing-I've a mother myself-and no one shall speak ill of her, bad as she is."

He paused again: nature seemed to have a rough struggle in his rude bosom.

"Damn it, cousin," cried he, "I'm sorry for what I said. Thou'st served me right in knocking me down, and I like thee the better for it. Here's my hand; come and live with me, and damn me but the best room in the house, and the best horse in the stable, shall be at thy service.'

I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance of nature breaking her way through such a lump of flesh. I forgave the fellow in a moment his two heinous crimes, of having been born in wedlock, and inheriting my estate. I shook the hand he offered me, to convince him that I bore him no illwill; and then making my way through the gaping crowd of toad-eaters, bade 'adieu to my uncle's domains for ever.This is the last I have seen or heard of my cousin, or of the domestic concerns of Doubting Castle.

THE STORY OF THE BANDIT

CHIEFTAIN.

I am a native of the village of Prossedi. My father was easy enough in circumstances, and we lived peaceably and independently, cultivating our fields. All went on well with us until a new chief of the Sbirri was sent to our village to take command of the police. He was an arbitrary fellow prying into every thing, and practising all sorts of vexations, and oppressions in the discharge of his office. I was at that time eighteen years of age, and had a natural love of justice and good neighbourhood. I had also a little education, and knew some thing of history, so as to be able to judge a little of men and their actions. All this inspired me with batred for this paltry despot. My own family, also, became the object of his suspicion or dislike, and felt more than once the arbitrary abuse of his power. These things worked together in my mind, and I gasped after vengeance. My character was always ardeut and energetic, and, acted upon by the love of justice, deter mined me, by one blow to rid the country of the tyrant.

Full of my project, I rose oue morn ing before peep of day, and concealing a stiletto under my waistcoat-here you see it!-(and he drew forth a long keen poniard) I lay in wait for him in the outskirts of the village. I knew all his haunts, and his habit of making his rounds and prowling about like a wolf in the gray of the morning. At length I met him, and attacked him with fury. He was armed, but I took him unawares, and was full of youth and vigour. I gave him repeated blows to make sure work, and laid him lifeless at my feet.

body, and so I was condemned to the galleys for thirty years.

"Curse on such laws!" vociferated the bandit, foaming with rage: "Curse on such a government! and ten thousand curses on the Prince who caused me to be adjudged so rigorously, while so many other Roman princes harbour and protect assassins a thousand times more culpable! What had I done but what was inspired by a love of justice and my country? Why was my act more culpable than that of Brutus, when he sacrificed Cæsar to the cause of liberty and justice?”

There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous in the rhapsody of this robber chief, thus associating himself with one of the great names of antiquity. It showed, however, that he had at least the merit of knowing the remarkable facts in the history of his He became more calm, and country.

resumed his narative,

I was conducted to Civita Vecchia in fetters. My heart was burning with I had been married scarce six rage. months to a woman whom I passionately loved, and who was pregnant. My family was in despair. For a long time I made unsuccessful efforts to break my chain, At length I found a morsel of iron, which I hid carefully, and endeavoured, with a pointed flint, to fashion it into a kind of file. I occupied myself in this work during the night time, and when it was finished, I made out, after a long time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. My flight was successful.

I wandered for several weeks in the mountains which surround Prossedi, and found means to inform my wife of the place where I was concealed. She came I had determined to often to see me. put myself at the head of an armed band. When I was satisfied that I had done She endeavoured, for a long time, to disfor him, I returned with all haste to the suade me, but finding my resolution village, but had the ill luck to meet fixed, she at length united in my project two of the Sbirri, as I entered. They of vengeance, and brought me, herself, accosted me, and asked if I had seen my poniard. By her means I commutheir chief. I assumed an air of tran- nicated with several brave fellows of the quillity, and told them I had not. They neighbouring villages, who I knew to be continued on their way, and within a few ready to take to the mountains, and only hours brought back the dead body to panting for an opportunity to exercise Prossedi. Their suspicious of me being their daring spirits. We soon formed a already awakened, I was arrested and combination, procured arms, and thrown into prison. Here I lay several have had ample opportunities of revengweeks, when the Prince, who was Seiging ourselves for the wrongs and injuries neur of Prossedi, directed judicial pro- which most of us have suffered. Every ceedings against me. I was brought to thing has succeeded with us until now, trial, and a witness was produced, who and had it not been for our blunder in pretended to have seen me flying with mistaking you for the Prince, our forprecipitation not far from the bleeding tunes would have been made.

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LONDON:-WILLIAM CHARLTON WRIGHT, 65. Paternoster Row, and may be had of all Booksellers and Newsmen.

And she was happy-innocence and hope
Make the young heart a paradise for love.
And she loved, and was loved. The youth was one
That dwelled on the waters. He had been
Where sweeps the blue Atlantic, a wide world-
Had seen the sun light up the flowers, like gems,
In the bright Indian isles-had breathed the air
When sweet with cinnamon, and gum, and spice.
But he said no air brought health, or balm,
Like that on his own hills, when it had swept
O'er orchards in their bloom, or hedges, where
Blossomed the hawthorn and the honeysuckle;
That, but one voyage more, and he would come
To his dear Ellen and her cottage home-
Dwell there in love and peace. And then he kissed
Her tears away, talked of the pleasant years
Which they should pass together-of the pride
He would take in his constancy.

Is very eloquent! and as the hours

Oh, hope

Pass'd by their fireside in calm cheerfulness,
Ellen forgot to weep.

At length the time

Of parting came; 'twas the first month of Spring.
Like a green fan spread the horse-cheşnut's leaves,
A shower of yellow bloom was on the elm,
The daisies shone like silver, and the boughs
Were covered with their blossoms, and the sky
Was like an augury of hope, so clear,

So beautifully blue. Love! oh, young love!
Why hast thou not security? Thou art
Like a bright river, on whose course the weeds
Are thick and heavy; briers are on its banks,
And jagged stones and rocks are mid its waves.
Conscious of its own beauty, it will rush
Over its many obstacles, and pant
For some green valley, as its quiet home.
Alas! either it rushes with a desperate leap
Over its barriers, foaming passionate,
But prisoned still; or, winding languidly,
Becomes dark, like oblivion, or else wastes
Itself away. This is love's history.

They parted one spring evening; the green sea
Had scarce a curl upon its wave; the ship

Rode like a queen of ocean.

Ellen wept,

But not disconsolate, for she had hope.

She knew not then the bitterness of tears..

But night closed in, and with the night there came
Tempest upon the wind; the beacon light
Glared like a funeral pile; all else was black
And terrible as death. We heard a sound
Come from the ocean-one lone signal gun,
Asking for help in vain-followed by shrieks,
Mocked by the ravening gale; then deepest silence.
Some gallant souls had perished. With the first
Dim light of morn, they sought the beach; and there
Lay fragments of a ship, and human shapes,
Ghastly and gashed. But the worst sight of all-
The sight of living misery, met their gaze.
Seated upon a rock, drenched by the rain,
Her hair torn by the wind, there Ellen sat,

Pale, motionless. How could love guide her there?
A corpse lay by her; in her arms its head
Found a fond pillow, and o'er it she watched,
As the young mother watches her first child
It was her lover-

LOVE OF TRUTH. TRUTH, above all things-cried my father, on bidding me farewell, as I got into the coach that was to carry me to London,-always speak the truth, and you will prosper. I took leave of this good parent, promising I would follow his advice, and the coach set off.

In the vehicle was a fat lady, caressing a little urchin. What do you think of my baby? said she. It is very ugly, madam, dirty, and noisy. The lady loaded me with abuse; and a gentleman who was with her called me a mad fellow I replied in the same tone, and at the first place the coach stopped we fought. I was wounded in the arm; but I consoled myself by saying, I have obeyed my father and spoken truth.

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When I arrived in London, I presented my letter of introduction to a man in power, who had a vacant place in his gift, which I had every reason to expect. He received me in the most gracious manner, and invited me to a private play, that was to be performed that evening at his house. I went, and was tired to death. In the morning I repeated my visit. What did you think of the principal actress, said mine host? She is very bad, said I; she scarcely knew how to repeat her part. That is my wife, said he. Pardon me, I answered, overwhelmed with confusion, it is not the principal actress I mean; it is the waiting-maid. That was my daughter. I must be mistaken; then it was the lover, I think, who spoiled all. That part was played by my brother. To confess the truth, added I, vexed to the heart, the actors were not so bad, the fault was in the piece itself; it was detestable. I am its author, said the great man, and immediately dismissed me from his presence, and bestowed the place upon another.

I retook the coach, and returned to my paternal home. Father, said I, I have followed your advice, I have spoken the truth-and have not prospered.

MASQUERADE. A person very negligent in his dress, having a great desire to go to a masquerade, asked the advice of a friend, how he should disguise himself so as not to be known? "Nothing in the world is more easy," replied the latter, "put on clean linen."

BULL-One Irishman asked another his opinion of an article he wished to purchase :-" In troth," says the accurate estimator of value, "although you are to get it for nothing, you would never make your own money out of it."

MISERIES OF A COCKNEY. [Enter a Devil," in a devil of a hurry.] Devil.-I wants an article, to fill up. Publisher.-Here are a dozen, honest, devil, but which to choose, may the devil take me

Devil.-I must take something.

Publisher.-Here, then is a sketch from Nature, but of a most unnatural length.-Leander of Cavendish Square; but he wants an hero.

Devil-Send him to Greece, Sir, they want heroes there, too, I hear.

Publisher.-Silence, Devil!-Oh! here is the "Miseries of a Cockney," take it and fly.

Devil.-(grumbling) Miseries of a Cockney, indeed! Why,Sir, the Cockneys, as you call 'em, won't read your book if you are for taking off after that 'ere rate

-'tisn't a very pleasant thing, or a very polite one, either, to abuse them there folks who we get our bread from. Why now, Mr. W., can't we have our enjoyments without being cut up in your book? I am sure, I am almost ashamed to think of what I have printed about those indiwiduals, it's very ard we can't go to no place without being laughed at.-Only last Sunday, I went with my young 'ooman to Richmond, in the Steam packet, and 'cause I ax'd a civil looking gentleman, whether "Vales" were caught about that 'ere place, he laughed in my face, and called me—a Cockney!

Why, sir, it was only last September, when I went a shooting with one or two more devils, that I found the whole account of our day's sport in the next number of a Two-penny, and I couldn't say a word against it, because I am-aCockney.

(Getting very energetic)-And pray now, Mr. W., what 'arm is there in being born within the sound of Bow bell, havn't we some of the greatest men in the world live in London, isn't there Sir Villam Curtis ? look at him, sir! isn't it the finest place in the whole world' can't we shut the King out if we like? think of that sir! isn't St. Paul's a wery beautiful church, and a'nt Vaterloo Bridge a wery, wery magnificent bridge, and yet, sir, I mustn't talk about these things, nor come from this noble town without being called-a Cockney!

The Devil, in his energy, and in "suiting the action to the word, and the word to the action," had torn our correspondent's paper in pieces: determining, however, not to sink under our misfortunes, and having, by the way, no time to spare, we have substituted his vindication of the Cockneys, instead of our correspondent's.

* A Printer's, of course.

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