Of

(From the French.)

I'm as round as a globe,

As a feather I'm light;
I shine in the sunbeams
Resplendent and bright.

I rival the rainbow

In richness of hue;
I live but a moment,
Then vanish from view.
Two of the elements

Give me an existence;
But to other agents

I owe my consistence.
By air I'm produc'd,
And by air I'm destroy'd;
Essay you to grasp me?

Your hand will be void.

To childhood's glad time
My short life is due;

And p'rhaps I've been sent forth,
Kind reader, by you.-A. G. G.
11.

my first I have one-indeed, I've two, And the sea has more than I or you;

Tis yours and mine, does my next express
How many a mother's heart will bless
My whole, that serves through war's alarm

To keep the loved one free from harm.-E. S. R.

GAME No. XXIII.-The following is the second of the two games played in the Glasgow Chess Club, on the 26th of September, by HERR HARRWITZ, without seeing the chess-board or chessmen, against four members of the Club, two in consultation at each board:CHESS-BOARD, No. 2.

White Mr. Harrwitz.

26. Kt. to Q. B. 5. (ch.) 26, Kato Q. B. sq. ba A

27. Q. Kt. P. 1. 28. R. takes Q. 29. Kt. to K. 2.

30. R. to Kt. 4. (g.)

31. R. to Kt. 5.
32. B. to Kt. 4.
33. B. to R. 5.

34. R. takes R.
35. K. to Q. 2.
36. B. to Kt. 4.
37. K. to K. 3.
38. P. to Q. B. 3.
39. P. to Q. B. 4.
40. B. to Q. 7.
41. K. to Q. 2.
42. P. takes P.
43. B. to Q. B. 8.
44. B. takes P.
45. P. to R. 4.

46. Kt. to B. 3.

47. Kt. takes Q. P. 48. B. takes Kt. 49. K. to K. 2.

50. B. to B. 4. 51. B. to Kt. 5. 52. B. to B. 4. 53. B. to Kt. 5. 54. K. to K. sq.

55. B. to B. 4. 56. K. to Q. sq. 57. K, to B. sq. 58. B. to Q. 5. 59. K. to Kt, sq. 60. K. to R. 2. 61. B. to B. 4.

NOTES TO GAME XXIII.

(a.) We would have preferred playing Q. Kt. to Q. 2. (b.) Kt. to K. B. 3. appears stronger play. (c.) We do not see the necessity for giving up this piece; we think K. to B. sq. would have been good play. (d.) This was not a good move of White, his Queen is now.quite out of play.

(e.) If White had taken P., Black would have played R. to R. 3, and "pinning" White Rook, next move with Bishop.

(f.) We do not see any great objection to Black taking the Kt. Suppose:

26. P. to Q. 5.

27. P. takes Kt. (ch.)

winning two Pawns.

(9.) A very bad move.

25. P. takes Kt. 26. Q. takes K. P..!

27. K. takes P.

h. At this point it was agreed to adjourn the meeting till the following day, when the game was proceeded

and concluded in the course of a couple of hours.

(i.) The best move he had.

62. B. takes P.

63. K. to R. 3.

64. P. to Kt. 4.

под

The play of Black from move 34 is very creditable move 63, K. to R. 3, was made intentionally to bring about

FRANK MEANWELL;

OR,

MISTAKEN PURPOSES.

CHAPTER THE LAST.

delighted attendant, he takes the vacant chair, and lifting Philip to his knee, prepares, as is his wont, to relate the proceedings of the day.

"The little sparrows," said the benevolent surgeon, with the old light beaming from his eyes-"the little sparrows, Philip, are protected by their Maker, and we, his noblest works, should have a sure confi

DECEMBER,

in his train. The winds that so recently, with loud choral tones, had chaunted solemn hymns through the arches of the woody aisles, as if the fabled deities of sylvan scenes still held their temples there, had hushed their music to a low requiem, and, wailing and sighing, bore light fillets of crystal beauty to scatter on the tomb of the dead year-the youngest son of FATHER TIME, who was soon to be buried in the dark mausoleum of the past, and laid beside his predecessors, till TIME himself should be no more. Like a mother mourning for an infant dead, NATURE, robed in white, sat silent, with cold tears congealed upon her cheeks, and sought a solace for her woe, by weaving pale embroidery upon the boughs that once resplendent hung with garlands woven by her offspring, the SUMMER and the SPRING.

A group is seated round the fire-place in the surgeon's house. The shades of winter twilight have come on-but loth to break the charm of the changing lights that flicker from the grate, no candles have been lighted. The red glare from the caverned coal falls upon thoughtful faces, and dark shadows appear and vanish on the walls. James sits apart from the rest, and there are two vacant chairs. The usual occupant of one of them has been missing for more than a quarter of a year, but his chair still retains a place in the family circle, and seems to wait for his coming. The ordinary occupant of the other has been labouring night and day to save his friend from a dreadful and ignominious death. He enters, and the air, so still a moment before, is agitated by multitudinous questionings. Giving his hat to one, his gloves to a second, and coat to a third

VOL. III.-NO. XXXVI.

"Oh! papa," said Isabel, "will he not save Mr. Meanwell then?"

"I believe he will," replied the surgeon ; and the announcement was received with a great cry of joy. Mr. Keen then related what had happened. The man known to the reader only as "the beggar," had, to the surprise of his medical attendant, rallied, and had acquired sufficient collectedness to be able to make a testimony upon oath of the most important character, to the effect that he was the person who had left the gambling-house with the deceased Parker, and that he had remained with the unfortunate man till nearly six o'clock in a house of doubtful reputation at the back of Piccadilly, after which time they both walked towards the Park, through which lay the shortest route to Zara Cottage. The statement, which was taken in writing in legal form, proceeded to affirm that the witness had accompanied his friend for a considerable distance through the heavy snow, which then lay thickly upon the ground, and had returned, fearing that the gates might be closed, or that he might lose his way in the darkness, and by the obliteration of the pathway. The storm had made the way very difficult, and he believed that the gate at the north-west end of the Park must have been closed before his companion reached it. The beggar had, moreover, declared his belief that Parker must have lost his way, and perished in the snow. This statement, with the evidence of Barney, (who proved that the body had not been robbed when discovered by him), together with a mass of confirmatory evidence, had been laid before the Secretary of State for the Home Department, and a recommendation founded upon it would forthwith be made by that officer to his majesty the king.

In the meantime, the Society of Friends, with Frederick Turner at their head, had

N

succeeded in obtaining the postponement of the execution, till the evidence in favour of Meanwell's innocence could be examined, and his majesty's pleasure known.

"I wish I was the king," said little Philip, with enthusiasm; "I'd let Mr. Meanwell out of prison directly-this very minute."

"He is sure of a long reprieve, at least," said the surgeon, "and I have every reason to believe that he will be pardoned. That is Barney knocking at the door; he comes from the prison, and perhaps brings news."

A rapid footstep trod the hall; a gentle but quick "tap, tap," sounded on the room door, and Barney, sprinkled with large snow-flakes, burst into the apartment, his face beaming with the wildest delight,

"Och! hullaballoo! Pardon it is! Liberty it is! Faix, y'er honour! an' that uncivil dirty vampire of a jailer has got the notice. Shilliloo! By the Vargint, it's the finest intilligince. Ah! murther alive, what will I do! Where will we put the gintleman? Faith, an' it's Barney that's content to die this minit!"

With a torrent of words that seemed likely to choke him, did the Irishman scream his delight at the top of his voice, flourishing a stick which he held in his hand, and dancing in the most grotesque manner, while tears of joy streamed down his cheeks. In a few hours afterwards Henry Meanwell was at liberty and restored to his friends. How the tide of affection, so long repressed, rushed happily along! How cheerily the fire burned! How merrily the kettle sang! And when the night had far advanced, how thankfully and prayerfully did they all retire to rest! With what holy influences then, stealing in upon their sleep and mingling with their dreams, did the voices of the waits in harmonic order, one under another, fall upon them :—

"As Joseph was a-walking,

He heard an angel sing,
"This night shall be born,
Our heavenly King.

He neither shall be born,
In housen nor in hall,
Nor in the place of Paradise,
But in an ox's stall.

He neither shall be clothed
In purple nor in pall,

But all in fair linen,

As were babies all,

He neither shall be rock'd
In silver, nor in gold,
But in a wooden cradle,

That rocks on the mould.'"* Isabel knew that Frank was safe; he had met her father in the prison, and though he had declined to visit the house on James's account, he had assured the surgeon of his grateful affection, and told him how he had fallen into the hands of Frederick Turner, the benevolent tea-dealer, in Strood.

True happiness excites to goodness, and Isabel, as the soft music of the waits died away, with a heart brimful of love and thanksgiving, prayed her Almighty Father to assist her to live worthily of such blessings as that day had brought her; and so she sank to sleep, and happy dreams of doing good to all the world.

But her generous purposes were not ever dreams. The seed then planted, like the fabled mustard-grain, sprang up and grew greater every day, bringing forth fruit in pious deeds, and only achieving its full strength and beauty when, in after life, she went forth, like an angel, universally to bless and to be blessed.

Mr. Capel had not heard of the pardon, and it was kept secret for several days. The villany of the schemer was of course known. Henry Meanwell denied having made over to the broker any property what soever. It was feared that all proofs of the forgery would have been obliterated; and this fear was confirmed when Capel was subsequently arrested, his office searched, and the documents were missing. For some reason, the beggar had concealed his knowledge of Capel's proceedings, and had hitherto only manifested a desire to save Meanwell's life; but having heard through Barney of the arrest of the broker, he astonished Meanwell's friends by producing the proofs of Capel's guilt.

The case came before the magistrates. Capel was committed upon the charge, and sent to be tried by a superior court without delay. The usual forms having been complied with, the prisoner was placed at the bar, but he denied his guilt. Witnesses were called to prove the charges contained in the indictment.

was

The wretched and disappointed scheme worn and ghastly, like a man half

* Hone's Antient Mysteries, p. 92.

starved, and the wrinkles in his leathern face more deeply cut. His black and yellow eyes twinkled with a dreadful fire, like those of a malignant serpent, as he glanced under his dark and louring brows from the barrister to the witness-box, where Henry Meanwell, almost overcome by the emotions excited by the scene, and by the recollection of the altered position he then occupied, was giving his testimony with great difficulty of utterance. The evidence was voluminous, as the circumstances under which Capel had come into possession of the shop and business were peculiar, and required explanation to the jury; but for a long while the prisoner had hopes.

Mr. Yardley had just stepped down after a bullying cross-examination by the barrister for the defence, and the old sardonic smile had crept over the cunning face of the accused, when, uncalled, another witness stood forward in the box. A sudden expression of surprise from the crowd in the court directed the attention of the prisoner to the man. It was the beggar, that Capel believed to be dead! The sardonic smile vanished in an instant, and a leaden paleness spread over his features.

"Hell itself," he shrieked, "supplies witnesses against me!" He staggered, and would have fallen, but was supported by the turnkeys who stood beside him. "Water, water!" he added in intense agony, "Water, water, or I shall die!"

Water was given to him, and a chair brought on which the prisoner was allowed to sit. Trembling and muttering, he writhed in his old manner, twining his snake-like fingers amidst his dishevelled hair.

Silence having been restored, the witness was sworn. A pin might have been heard to fall when the barrister asked the witness to give his name. He did so in the husky tones so well remembered-" Thomas Billing."

A second murmur of surprise ran through the court. The witness then proceeded to give his evidence, which was to the effect that he had known the prisoner Josiah Capel for several years, that he had come to him (the witness) and Mr. Bamford on the night of the riot in Marton Fields, and had thereupon induced the latter to sign a document, purporting to be a receipt for moneys which had, however, not been paid;

that the prisoner had since acknowledged to him that the signatures supposed to be Meanwell's were forgeries. During an irrelevant cross-examination by the barrister for the defence, the witness related how he had been struck down by a blow which rendered him insensible on the night of the fire; and had been subsequently thrown out of a window by the mob, who intended his body to be consumed by the bonfire which they had made outside. The agent, however, which had been intended for his destruction, had, by the intense pain that it caused to him, roused him to consciousness, and enabled him to escape, though his hands and other parts of his body had been dreadfully injured. He declared also, in conclusion, that the prisoner, fearing that he (the witness) knew too much, had attempted to poison him.

Capel heard every word of the witness; of the defence he heard not a syllable. A higher power than human law was administering an awful retribution.

The barrister engaged for the prisoner founded his arguments upon legal quibbles only, but was completely successful. The judge was compelled to direct the jury to acquit the prisoner; and they delivered their verdict accordingly, amidst the yells and execrations of the populace.

He was discharged the same evening; and was seen at a late hour to enter his office in Water Street. New proceedings were, however, forthwith taken against the broker, and to re-arrest him, officers were despatched on the following day. They knocked repeatedly, but not receiving any answer, they tried the door. It was unfastened. In the room where Billing and Capel had met, the former was seated opposite the empty grate, apparently asleep. The officers tried to rouse him, but in vain, he was quite dead. In the upper rooms no trace of inhabitant could be found, and the men were about to leave the house, when one of them observed the entrance to the cellar, and suggested that it should be searched. The door was fastened; it had been locked from the inside, for the key was in the door. They broke it open, and examined the place. There, from a beam which had often supported his wicked feet, and within a yard of the broken glass which still lay upon the floor, he was hanging in a position which evinced the horrible