5. MNTEEABH-a distinguished political 1.-12345 writer, the father of a school of politicians still very numerous, and perhaps increasing. He was a man of unblemished character.

EDITED BY HERR HARRWITZ.

PROBLEM No. XVII.-BY MR. A. G. M'COMBE, of Glasgow.-White playing first, mates in 4 moves.

BLACK.

1. Q. Kt. to B. 3.
2. K. P. 2.

3. Q. Kt. to K. 2.
4. Q. P. 1.

5. K. Kt. to B. 3.

6. P. takes B.

GAME No. XVII.-Played at the London Chess Club, 10th of July, 1850. MR. HARRWITZ giving the odds of Pawn and Move to MR. GREENAWAY. (Remove Black's K. B. P. from the Board.) White-Mr. Greenaway.

Black-Mr. Harrwitz.

1. K. P. 2.

2. Q. P. 2.

3. Q. P. 1.

4. Q. B. to K. Kt. 5.

5. Q. Kt. to B. 3.

6. B. takes Kt.

7. Q: to K. R. 5. (ch.) 8. K. Kt. to B. 3. 9. K. Kt. to R. 4. 10. K. B. to Q. 3. 11. Castles on Q. side. 12. K. R. P. 1. 13. Kt. to K. B. 5. 14. Kt. takes B. 15. Q. to B. 3. 16. Kt. to K. 2. 17. K. Kt. P. 2. 18. K. R. to Kt. 19. Q. B. P. 2. 20. Q. to K. 3. 21. K. B. P. 2.

22. Kt. takes P.

23. K, Kt. P. 1.
24. R. takes P. (ch.) (c.) 24. K. to B.

14. K. takes Kt.
15. K. R. P. 2.
16. K. R. P. 1.
17. B. to K. B. 2.
18. Q. B. P. 2.
19. Q. to Q.
20. Q. R. to B.
21. P. takes P.
22. Kt. to K. 4.
23. P. takes P.

WHITE.

7. Kt. to Kt. 3.

8. K. B. to Kt. 2. (a.)
9. K. to B. 2.
10. Q. B. to Q. 2.
11. Q. to Q. B. (b.)
12. B. to K.

13. K. to B.

25. Q. R. to B.
26. K. R. to Kt. (d.)
27. B. to K. 2.

28. Q. to Q. B. 3.
29. B. takes P.
30. Q. Kt. P. 1.
31. Q. to B. 2. (f.)
32. K. to Q. (g.)
33. P. takes Kt.
34. Q. to Q. 3.
35. K. to K.

WHITE.

1. Kt. to K. Kt. 7. (ch.)
2. K. B. to K. 4.

3. B. to Q. 5. (ch.) Mate.

3. B. to K. B. 5. Mate.

25. K. to K.
26. Q. Kt. P. 2.
27. P. takes P..
28. Q. R. to Kt.
29. R. to Kt. 5.
30. Q. to Q. R. 4 (e.)
31. Q. to R. 6. (ch.)
32. Kt. takes B.
33. R. to Kt. 7.

34. B. to R. 5. (ch.)
35. Checkmates in two
moves.

I

Solution to Problem XVI., p. 122.

BLACK.

1. Kt. takes Kt. (hest.) 2. If Kt. at B. 5 is moved. or if

2. Kt. at Kt. 2. moves.

NOTES TO GAME XVII.

(a.) Q. to K. 2, and then to K. B. 2, would have been better, because Black would, in that case, not have been obliged to play his K, and thus lose the privilege of Castling. (5.) Threatening to win the White Q. by Q. B. to K. Kt. 3. c. Well played; Black would lose his Q. were he to take this R.

(d.) He should have played this R. to Kt. 7, with a view to take the B., and then play Kt. to K. 6.

(e.) Menacing to take B. with R., and thus win White Q

(f.) He seems to have no better move.

(g. Interposing Q., or playing K. to Kt. sq., would have lost a piece.

FRANK

MEANWELL;

OR,

MISTAKEN PURPOSES.

seriousness to the boy, fulfilling the sentiment of our great poet:

CHAPTER VI.

THE hearts of youth and childhood are like the first and youngest shoots of plants, which are so full of life, that they bear up against burdens, and flourish in opposition to difficulties which would have completely destroyed the more advanced growths. The hurricane which prostrates the oak of maturity, bends only the more flexile stems of springing corn, or the elastic boughs of the young osier; in like manner the sorrows and calamities which would overwhelm and break the heart of the man, cast but a passing shadow and temporary gloom over the spirit of the child.

"Love refines

The thoughts, and heart enlarges; hath his seat
In reason, and is judicious; is the scale
By which to heavenly love we may ascend."

It was no trifling folly, but a prolific source of goodness-as true pure love is ever. It had no selfish purpose, no thought of self. The happiness which he felt he longed to give to every one around him. A perpetual stream of kindly feelings-of blessings for all the world, sprang like a pure fountain therefrom. The very flowers had sweet significance for him, from the humble heath, with its waxen flowers, to the courtly chestnut, with fan-like leaves and pink-striped satin flowers, standing in conscious pride of beauty with its dazzling pyramids of blossom. He wanted no book of fashionable convention to give the beauties of nature names and sentiments; the Thus it was with Frank Meanwell. The feelings and emotions were welling from natural elasticity of nature, which belongs his heart, and settled upon fitting flowers. peculiarly to early life, had, in a great External beauty, to a nature so attuned, degree, supported him through calamities as suggestive of religion, and he learned which, happily for him, he could not wholly to see in each lovely object which for the estimate; and now, under happier auspices, first time met his raptured eye, only anthe same strength of life enabled him to other reflection of the goodness of GOD in regain his wonted spirits and his former the myriad-faced mirror of nature. Around health. He had not forgotten what had his heart was thus entwined a garland of happened-far from it. The past gave an pure and holy feeling, in which were woven unchildlike seriousness to his disposition, together the "forget-me-not" of memory but seemed at the same time to stimu--the recollections of his mother-with the late his affections. He was sensible of the moss-roses of affection-his modest love singular position which he occupied, and for Isabel—and white water-lilies, emblems ingenuously grateful for the kindness which of that pure spirituality which, like those was shown to him, the very excess of which flowers, has ever its eye and bosom directed seemed to pain him, by reminding him of heavenward. A calm was in Frank's heart, the singular train of circumstances which like the stillness of a summer evening. As had made him the object of tender sym- in that season, nevertheless, clouds pile pathies. In his pure love for Isabel he themselves in fantastic mountainous heaps was indeed happy, and her girlish confes- in the blue sky, tempting to the belief that sion of regard had carried him beyond all there is some distant land, the fancied home bounds of joy. His heart seemed to live in of the storm, there stretching far away to sunshine; and his existence, while Isabel the many-coloured stars, so in Frank's mind there seemed to be distant clouds in was by, was to him a summer day in the horizon of his destiny. Yet the stars of hope shone down over the gloomy vapours, and it was with no sadness that he taught himself and Isabel to believe that his mother watched over him from behind the blue curtain of the sky above. Yet a shade

JUNE,

and when a transient shade, like a summer night, would pass over him in her absence, thoughts of her shone like the glow-worm's light through the gloom, by the wayside of

his path of life. Like the air of that sea-like those rising clouds-would someson, which gives maturity to leaves and times come over him, and lessen the joyflowers, this attachment appeared to lend ousness of his day-dreams when he thought

G

VOL. III.-NO. XXX,

of the past. The violets, and snowdrops,
and primroses of Spring were gone. It was
not that he saddened when his memory
wandered back to his mother's death-bed;
no, he felt that she was entirely happy.
No; for ever there in front as he glanced
along the path of life, a mystery obscured
his view, like a spectre standing in the way.
A question constantly remained unan-
swered; and the uncertainty with regard
to his father's fate weighed upon him as a
nightmare. Curiosity in the gossips had
grown tired of seeking for a solution of
the mystery which many believed would
only be explained "when the secrets of
all hearts should be revealed." As the
boy recovered from the first shock and
surprise of his misfortunes, and as with
his growth his intellect acquired increasing
power, the question was daily pressed upon
him by himself. It was like the fabled
riddle of the Sphynx, which involved the
destruction of those who were unable to
solve her enigma. "Guilty, or not guilty?"
seemed to be every now and then whispered
in his ears.
There was something oppres
sive in the very happiness in which h
lived, while the cloud hung over him; anu
the discovery of his father's fate became a
purpose of his life.

One morning two letters were placed upon the breakfast-table at Mr. Keen's house, and it was observed by the children, who knew the postman's welcome "tat-tat," that one of them was in the handwriting of their brother, James Keen, the eldest of the surgeon's family. They detected also that it bore the post-mark of Rochester, where the youth alluded to was at school.

till too late: the poor husband expecting the arrival of his wife, who is dying on her way in a dreadfully loathsome lodginghouse, while he is unable to purchase the letter which calls him to her side, or directs whither aid can be sent to her: all these, and a hundred other miseries, arose from a heavy tax upon communion by writing. How priceless is a letter ! How marvellous a thing is the fixing of our thoughts upon paper-the painting of ideas with a pen! How glorious the thought, that the time shall be when, from this power of conversing with those afar off, shall arise the means of binding the hearts of all men in the bonds of love and brotherhood!

The pleasure derived from letters in Mr. Keen's family was not confined to himself and his benevolent wife; for it was the surgeon's custom to read aloud at the breakfast table all letters except those which referred exclusively to professional matters. Philip and Isabel were therefore delighted to know that they would hear what their brother had got to say, as soon as the morning meal had been concluded. Frank, moreover, upon this occasion, was interested more than he otherwise might have been, because, with the last despatch of family letters which had been sent to James, with some cake to school, he had written a friendly note, informing him, that owing to the kindness of the surgeon, he had been allowed for a time to take up his residence in James's home. Frank was also aware that further information with reference to the circumstances which had caused him to become an inmate of Mr. Keen's house had been despatched by Isabel at the same time. The breakfast having been concluded, the surgeon opened the letters and glanced over them; but while he did so his face underwent a change, in which surprise appeared to be a prominent expression. He then, to the disappointment of the children, handed them over in significant silence to his wife, whose curiosity was not a little excited by her husband's manner and his deviation from his usual custom. In a few minutes afterwards, the surgeon and his wife left the table, requesting Frank to follow them to the "consulting room," as the apartment connected with the surgery was called. The children's wonder and anxiety were still further excited when the servant was

h

In those days of expensive postage, when letters were a luxury only to be enjoyed by the wealthy, or by the friends of members of Parliament (who could "frank" the envelopes), the receipt of a communication from a friend was an event of some importance, and was thought the more of on account of the rarity of its occurrence. What miseries did not the system entail on those who were already suffering! The widowed mother, longing to hear from the son upon whom her support depended, yet denied the welcome document, being too poor to pay the postage: the daughter unable, from the same cause, to possess herself of the epistle which informed her of her father's illness, or her mother's death,

seen to take Frank's little coat and hat from the hall, and carry them to the room where he was closeted with their father and mother. Their fears that Frank was going to be sent away increased when they saw a hackney-coach drive to the door; but these were again dispelled when Frank, clothed in travelling attire, came running out to kiss his little friends, and said that he was going to see James, and should be back again the next evening, he believed. After many loving and affectionate messages had been given to him, Mr. Keen hurried the boy away, saying that he feared that they would be too late for the coach which they had to meet; and in a minute afterwards, away rolled the vehicle, leaving Isabel and Philip staring from the door, as if their foster-brother had been stolen from them by some enchantment. Frank leaned out of the window and waved a handkerchief, till the carriage turned a corner, and thus excluded his young friends from view. Throughout the day Mrs. Keen was sub-tainty and conscience-stricken doubt that jected to many inquiries and ingenious forbade them to draw any consolation from cross-questionings; but either would not, the success of their dishonesty. or could not give the children any satisfactory replies. From what was said, nevertheless, Isabel was led to believe that the journey was fraught with most important consequences to Frank's prospects and happiness, and that it was quite possible that he might not return for many days.

Important events were passing elsewhere. Not in the horizon of Frank's prospects only did clouds collect, and look portentous; but while to him a steady faith gave firm assurance that those vapourous masses would break into refreshing showers for the earth, even though accompanied by tempest, to some others they were charged with a gloomy uncer

1.

In the meanwhile the objects of curiosity having arrived at the booking-office in time, secured places on the outside of the Rochester coach, which was about to start with much ceremony. After a great deal of bustle, and a great deal of trouble in packing, and considerable delay in waiting for some passengers who had taken inside places, but who had not made their appearH ance, the old coach rolled away from the chief office, swayed on either side by the great tower of luggage which was built up on the roof. The bustle and noise were repeated several times at different smaller offices before they reached the outskirts of London; and a quarter of an hour was occupied by a dispute that arose between two gentlemen about the box-seat, which in those days was considered to give a dignity and importance to its occupant. All these matters having been settled, the coach was at length drawn out of the great eity. It was mid-day before they changed

horses, and late in the afternoon before they arrived in the straggling, but once important city of Rochester. On the way down, Frank and his friendly guardian had few opportunities for conversation, as it was not deemed prudent by the latter to allude in any manner to the objects of their journey in the presence of strangers. The surgeon, on alighting at the hotel, inquired if they could have private apartments, and being answered in the affirmative, ordered dinner, and then retired to his bedroom to remove the chalky dust of the roads, which had completely whitened the travellers.

In a street near the Seven Dials, in the vicinity of Mrs. Margaret Mallalieu's establishment for the sale of old iron and stolen property, an apparent cripple was huddled in a heap beside the door of a ginpalace. Though the slouched felt hat

which he wore was made to conceal his features, enough of them could be seen to show that the man was, or had been, in bad health. As he solicited alms from the persons who went in or out from the spirit vaults, he eyed them with a curious inquisitiveness, and, unlike the ordinary beggar, did not repeat his request after he had looked at the person he addressed. A frequenter of that over-crowded locality might have observed the same figure in turn at the door of each public-house and wineshop in the district; indeed, the man had been already recognised as a sort of regular appendage to the doors of those polluting establishments. At one or another he sat from morning till night. Nobody knew, or cared to know, his history; but it was a tale in bar parlours, that the beggar had been seen to run without halting, and that his apparently distorted limbs had been, under sudden excitement, called into activity and natural shape. In a district where ingenuity was thought more highly