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by his bushy brows and a pair of horn spectacles. On the desk lay a piece of sealing-wax and a large thumb-ring, both of which had apparently been just used, a pair of small scales for weighing gold, and a volume on Conveyancing. In the window-seat stood a pile of books and papers; and over the chimney, up which no hospitable smoke had passed for many years, hung an old musketoon, an iron-handled broadsword, and a rapier in a red leather sheath, all covered with venerable dust. "Well, Master Latymer," said the Scrivener, pointing at the same time, to an empty chair; "I have closed the bargain at last; pray seat yourself; I had much trouble in the matter, I assure ye."

"It is ever a hard bargain when we wish to sell," replied Latymer; "how much have you obtained for the estate? Pr'ythee tell me at once; I sit on thorns the while."

"Fifteen hundred pounds, Sir; fifteen hundred pounds!" said the Scrivener, placing his pen behind his ear, and rubbing his hands together with apparent satisfaction. "O, it was an excellent bargain-an excellent bargain, Sir !"

"And who may this prodigal be, who has made up his mind to give that sum for an estate which cost my poor father, in worse times, three thousand pounds?" inquired the young man, in a tone that shewed he did not partake of the Scrivener's enthusiasm; "Curse on the cuckoldy clown! would he not give more?"

"Heaven forgive ye, for thus speaking of an honest man!" ejaculated Master Battencourt. "Alas the day! that our citizens should be thus flouted. He is of the Common Council, Sir; a man of substance, a mercer; his name is Andrew Trollope, and his house is the sign of the Seven Fleur de Luces, in the Minories."

Latymer suppressed the reply which rose to his lips, and inquired for the money. The Scrivener informed him, that it would be paid on the morrow, when the deed of conveyance would be ready for his signature. It was arranged that the purchaser should be ready with the money at twelve o'clock on the following day; and Latymer was about to take his leave, when the latch of the door was suddenly raised, and a gallant entered with a careless air, and throwing himself into a chair, surveyed his own hose and his shoe-ties with evident satisfaction. "Art busy, my old deity?"

inquired the intruder, casting, at the same time, a penetrating glance upon Latymer. "A- no, my lor your worship, no; I am at your-your worship's commands," said the Scrivener, stammering, and looking all confusion; for the gallant winked, and eyed him significantly. Latymer now took his leave, but not without observing the face and figure of Battencourt's visitor. The gallant appeared to be in the prime of life; he wore a long periwig of brown hair, and his gaily trimmed moustaches were of the same colour, and turned up at the ends; his eyes were of a greyish hue, his complexion fair, and the expression of his features would have been feminine, but for a rakish air which pervaded them. Latymer felt persuaded that he had looked upon that face before. He returned to his inn, and left Master Battencourt and his visitor together.

In the morning he resolved to have a ramble through the city, to which he was almost a stranger, before the hour appointed by the Scrivener should arrive. He had scarcely left the inn, when he beheld with some surprise advancing towards him, the man who had so strangely interrupted and bearded the quack on Tower-hill. His astonishment increased, when Arkinstall saluted him by his name, and inquired respecting the health of his father.

"I have heard that he has been ailing," said Arkinstall, "and as he was roughly used in the late wars, I fear the worst." "He has suffered much, Sir," replied Latymer; "but I wot not that you were acquainted." "Acquainted! we were sworn friends! Ah, youth! when thy father saved me from death, and snatched me from before a file of Corbet's musketeers waiting for the word to fire, he dreamt not that a life of privation and suffering would be the lot of his friend-his schoolfellow ! I see thee look incredulous-tut! the name that villain Rochester, for 't is he thou sawest in the guise of a mountebank-the name he used is only one of many which I have found it expedient to assume in these sad days—but how of thy father?"-" He has been dead these six months," returned Latymer, still suspicious of his interrogator, whose threadbare garments were ill-concealed by the large cloak he wore, from beneath which the long rapier before mentioned peeped out menacingly. What, thought the youth, if this should be some bully, ready to denounce me as a plotter against the

state. Arkinstall read what was passing within him. "Poor boy," said he, "I blame thee not for thy suspicion in such days as these. I will not bring thee into danger, by detaining thee in the street, where every eye is upon us. But a word in thy ear ere we part: mistrust not the tattered jerkin; thou hast more to fear in this city from silk and velvet. Adieu! we may meet again. Walter Sibbell would peril life and limb to serve the son of his friend." He disappeared down a narrow street, and Latymer, who had no time to reply to this caution, regarded his receding figure for a moment, and then pursued his way. "'Tis strange, thought he, that this man, of whom I have heard my poor father speak in terms of friendship, should be thus heedlessly hazarding life and property by a quarrel with a nobleman so powerful as Rochester; and stranger still, that he should be able to recognise me after a lapse of so many years. I would fain know more, though his forlorn appearance tells me that he is needy and desperate, and that any intimacy with him might bring upon my head the vengeance of his powerful enemy, the profligate earl. Property, did I say? his threadbare doublet leaves no doubt of his being poor; and he seems to set but little value on his life. Misfortune has, perhaps, scattered his wits to the winds, for I noted the wild glance of his light-grey eye."

Nothing further occurred to interrupt his reflections, and as the appointed hour arrived, he knocked at the door of the Scrivener. Battencourt was not alone; he was engaged in earnest conversation with a short, burly personage, whom he at once introduced to Latymer as Master Trollope, of the Minories, and the deed of conveyance was placed in his hands for approval. He had scarcely read a dozen words, when a loud knocking was heard at the door, and upon its being opened by Master Battencourt's boy, Walter Sibbel suddenly entered the room. His eye glanced fiercely on Trollope. "Ha!" cried he, "what! the cuckold mercer joined in the conspiracy to cheat a friendless youth of his inheritance! Art thou giving the earl thy aid, in reward for his having deprived thee of an unworthy mate? William Latymer, I have arrived in time to save thee. Sign nothing which this hoary villain may tender thee. Battencourt, thy treachery is well known Thy grey hairs alone protect thy recreant carcass. As for thee (ad

to me.

dressing himself again to Trollope) my sword would be dishonoured by contact with thy vile body: begone, base pander to the most abandoned of men, lest I forget myself and do thee harm. William Latymer, you must hasten hence, and hie to the King who can alone protect thee-he cannot, abandoned as he is, forget thy father's merits— the Earl is in disgrace, but if you take not this step you are lost."

"I am indeed lost," said Latymer, "but it is in amazement — what am I to learn from this?" "That this hoary_cheat has conspired with the noble Earl of Rochester, aided by this trembling slave (pointing to Trollope, who stood quivering with fear and rage) to rob thee of the estate thou wouldst foolishly sell.”

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Here the Scrivener broke forth in a shrill cracked voice, which age and wratlı had rendered strangely discordant: "God a mercy," cried he, "what times we live in, when every mad jack-an-ape beards us under our own roofs. Get out of my house sirrah, or we shall find you a lodging in the Compter-Here, Will! run and fetch a constable." thy master the devil from his burning throne, he will hear thee sooner," cried Sibbel fiercely-" The boy has done his work bravely, and discovered the plot to his real master."

"Summon

"The accursed urchin!" ejaculated Battencourt. "I have been nursing an adder, then :--where is this imp of Satan?" "Beyond thy power, and in safety,” rejoined Sibbel-" but come Master Latymer, I must send you on your errand, and let you further into the mysteries of this plot ;" then taking Latymer by the arm, he led him away, casting as he passed out a threatening look upon Trollope who evinced an inclination to follow them. Upon gaining the street, Sibbel hastily described the plan which had been contrived by the Scrivener to obtain the title deeds from his unsuspecting client. It had been arranged that Trollope should have the documents sent to his home, which would afford him an opportunity of absconding with them, while a ruffian, hired for the purpose, was to denounce Latymer as a plotter against the state, and get him lodged in Newgate; the Earl of Rochester was then to intercede for him, and procure a commutation of his sentence to banishment to the plantations. No time was to be lost. Latymer flew to the court and laid the whole before the king, while

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loss of blood. "Thus perish the king's
enemies! " said the foremost soldier, star-
ing alternately at the now lifeless body
of Sibbel, and the barrel which was
filled with gunpowder." We have had
a narrow escape, Will!"
A. A. A.

darken

Not there! Not there!

The dull, damp church-yard earth should never
The crowned ringlets of her golden hair:
Child of the Laurel! be thy dreamless slumbers
Far from those charnel-regions of despair!

Make her a grave

By the low murmur of a sylvan fountain,
And silvery aspen leaves and dewy roses,
Where the wood-violets in the foam-drops lave,
To the wild music of the breezes wave.

There should be heard,
When the red light of summer eves is dying,
The low, sweet warble of some unseen bird,
Hymning the parting sunset, wild and lonely,
As the wind-harp by ærial breathings stirr'd.
Fit dirge for thee,

Whose soul was music-Beautiful departed!
Like the charm'd spell of some far melody
Echoing within our souls, a shadowy requiem,
For happiness and love, no more to be.
But unforgot

Wilt thou be, sweet Ianthe-Consecrated
By the heart's truest tears, the lonely spot
Where all that death can claim of thee shall
perish

As the evening advanced, the bustle on the river decreased, while the hum of voices, and the various sounds of labour were hushed into a calm, when Walter Sibbel quickly descended the THE GRAVE OF THE POETESS. stairs at St. Catharine's, and jumping into a wherry, desired the waterman to row across to Dock Head. The boat had scarcely reached the middle of the stream when three figures were seen descending the stairs. They immediately entered a wherry, and rowed after that which bore Sibbel, calling loudly on the waterman to lay to, as he was bearing one impeached of high crimes against the government. The boatman seemed inclined to obey this summons, but the threatening aspect of Sibbel plainly told that he dared not, while the two pistols in his girdle, which his cloak, now laid aside, no longer concealed, indicated that any attempt to capture him would be dangerous. Sibbel gained the shore, and throwing the waterman a groat, hurried to a wretched hovel in the neighbourhood. Lifting the latch and dashing open the door, the fugitive cut short the inquiries of the old woman who acted in the capacity of his housekeeper, and throwing her his purse which contained but a few pieces of silver, forced her gently out of the house and closed the door, at which his pursuers were the next moment thundering for admittance. One of them was a constable, the others were soldiers, and all were armed with swords and pistols. Their loud knocking at the SYDNEY AND THE MAURITIUS. door alarmed the neighbourhood, and brought many persons to the spot. They now attempted to gain admittance by the small latticed window, but this was strongly guarded by iron bars. A large spar was at length brought, and the besiegers using it as a batteringram, dashed the door into shivers; then rushing in sword in hand, encountered the object of their pursuit, who was well prepared for them. The constable was instantly shot dead by Sibbel, who kept his pursuers at bay, and gradually retreated up the small staircase at the end of the room. He gained the chamber, and a shot was fired which broke his sword arm. His rapier fell from his grasp, and he uttered a groan of anguish; another shot was fired, and Sibbel staggered towards a barrel, into which he snapped his remaining pistol—but it missed fire, and he fell, exhausted from

But the bright spirit-Earth, thou hast it not:
Ask we for our belov'd one. Soul enfranchised!
Not, not of thee,
Why should we murmur where thy dust shall be.
The undying has no grave-ashes and darkness
Are all we give to earth-Immortal,
Thou art free!

PAUL AND VIRGINIA.

E. S. C.

As the intercourse between Sydney and the Mauritius is now likely to become more frequent and regular, the subjoined details, collected from the most modern authorities, may possess interest at this time.

The Isle of France covers a surface of 400,000 acres. The temperature is healthy, and the heat moderate; but the island is subject to hurricanes. The soil is in general of little depth and full of stones; but it produces wheat, rice, maize, sugar, coffee, cotton, and spices.

It was originally discovered by the Portuguese, and afterwards occupied by the Dutch, who gave it the name of Mauritius (after Maurice of Nassau, Prince of Orange). The first French inhabitants emigrated thither, from the contiguous island of Bourbon, in 1720.

The late war placed it in the possession of the English, who, much to the mortification of the French, did not cede it, with Bourbon, by the treaty of 1814. It is admitted by both, that in a commercial point of view, the possession of the one island is valueless without the other.

The annual production of sugar is, on an average, 20,000,000 lbs.; of coffee, 600,000 lbs. ; of cotton, 500,000 lbs. The population in the year 1812 was as follows: 17,000 whites, 4000 creoles, 70,000 black slaves-total 91,000.

For the beauty and grace of the women, and for the suavity and freedom which reign in social intercourse, this island is highly celebrated.

But it awakens peculiar interest as identified with the charming romance of Paul and Virginia, of which it is the

scene.

How often are the fictions of the novelist, however, built upon the frailest foundation!

"Paul, the hero of the tale" (it is remarked by a late reviewer of the voyage of Captain Freycinct, in the Uranie corvette, that touched here in 1819), " is a mere creature of fancy. Madame de la Tour, the mother of the heroine, so far from dying in an agony of grief, for the loss of her daughter, survived the catastrophe long enough to espouse three husbands in succession; and the pastor, who acts so fine a part in the novel, is transformed into a chevalier de Bernage, son of an echevin at Paris, who, after serving in the Mousquetaires, and killing an antagonist in a duel, had retired thither, and taken up his residence at the Riviere du Rempart, half a league from the spot where the St. Gerand was wrecked.

"But to make amends for this diversity in the characters of real life and those of romance, the Isle of France is celebrated for the residence of others, whose adventures have partaken of the extravagance of fiction. One of these was the daughter-in-law of the Czar Peter, who, escaping from Russia, sought an obscure retreat at Paris. There she married a M. Moldac, sergeant-major of a regiment which was sent thither; and in consideration of her rank, her husband is said to have been promoted to a majority, by an order of the Court. Another was Madame de Puja, wife of a French colonel, and recently deceased. She was the celebrated Anastasia, the mistress of Count Beniowsky, who, after facilitating his escape from Kamschatka, accompanied him in his wanderings, and when

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the morn!

Though gaunt, angust, defying though forlorn.
The lichen's gold and silver seal of years.
Like gems, the bastion's crimson colour wears
And in and out (as daring and as free
As erst black Agnes) winds the German Sea.
Mocking with groans the long-hushed battle
shout,
"Twixt porch and chamber, winds he in and out.
Once, not so chartered, when each billowy road
The adamantine mass in sovereign pride be-
Then, while below the buried ocean raved,
Above, helms glittered, and gonfannons waved:
Swept o'er its gulfs, unwet, Patrician furs;
Where'er a craig its threatening head uprear'd,
And softly clinked the gold chivalric spurs.

strode.

There the bold turret rose and domineered;
Where'er deep rifts received the dauntless main,
Leapt the light ark, and made th' invasion vain.

Deep at its base Behemoth lay at rest,
And eagles wished their eyrie on its crest!
Man his bold work with conscious pride sur-
veyed,

And the curbed ocean bellowed-but obeyed.
Yet oft his floods the Barmkin's crest have known,
Oft weltering watched the dire Mazmorra's

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Have lulled themselves with royal Mary's lute:
Or, lashed to frantic rivalry, have drowned
Agnes Corspatrick's wildest slogan sound;
Pictured her patriot flag in waveless blue,
Or drenched its blazon with tempestuous dew.
And hath, indeed, the downy purple bed
In this damp, windy, grass-grown pile been
spread?

Have torches glimmered, where the sun as bright

Blazes, as o'er Dunpender's houseless height? Or chequered tapestry's legendary pall

Decked with red raiment this bewildered wall? Think of the warm green forestry that spreads Where Southron castles rear their gleamy heads;

Constrasting with its pageantry of dyes,
The sun-gilt panes, gray towers, and azure skies.
Then on this ocean fortress lean, and look
Where fitful gales, nor flower, nor foliage brook!
Age brings no robe to dignify his walls,
And, like the Roman, veil him as he falls :
Still, though dismantled, still that giant form
Salutes the sun, and challenges the storm,
Bids the bleak wind his healing watch-bell be,
The stars his sentinels, his moat the sea.

Note.-Black Agnes was not the only heroine of Dunbar Castle, as the following anecdote will shew, taken from the lips of Mrs. Grant, of Laggan, the delightful writer of "Letters from the Mountains."

It is said to be the prototype of Rebecca's turret scene in Ivanhoe, and is interesting not only in itself, but also as exhibiting the wonderful power of the dead magician, in retaining every thing he once heard; and seizing in an instant, and adapting to his purpose, anecdotes which to others might have seemed common place, but which having passed through his crucible, came forth with the stamp of dramatic sublimity and pathos.

One of the loftiest remains of Dunbar Castle (I think it is the porch, surmounted by a coat of arms and a window), is easily accessible on one side, but, on the other, looks down into the black scarped vaults by which the sea intrudes into every quarter of this extraordinary fabric, and which make the eye reel to measure them. As the day, though sunny, was excessively windy, when I was there in the autumn of 1828, it was as much as I could do to creep, on my hands and knees, within a few yards of this porch, though anxious to decipher the blazonry of its armorial

shield.

About forty years ago, one of the bonnie lassies of Dunbar, with her bare white feet and snooded golden hair, was busily employed in the bleaching field, whose wide green lies close under the castle walls that shield it from the sea, a young officer of theDragoon Guards then quartered at Dunbar, was lounging about the ruins; was struck with the girl's extraordinary beauty, accosted her, and met with a civil but short reply. Far from rebuffed, however, he proceeded to pour into her ear a jargon of that equivocal strain, at which a sensible girl would laugh, and a modest one frown. At length he offered to salute her, and was received with a ringing box on the ear, which staggered our amorous son of Mars, and deafened him, for the time, to the loudest roar of the neighbouring waves.

Half laughing, half indignant, the lass

fled up the steep and broken gallery, that leads to the outer gateway of the castle. Half laughing, and thoroughly put to his mettle, thither the knight pursued her; till, finding she had no other resource, this maritime Venus sprang to the armorial porch already mentioned, and darting into its doorless arch (from whose threshold a dizzy descent shot perpendicularly down to the hideous and roaring gulf below), she clasped the pillar with one hand, and with the other waving back her pursuer, she vowed that if he advanced another step, she would dash herself into the abyss of rock and wave at her feet!

There was too much earnestness in the tone of her voice, the hue of her cheek, and the glance of her eye to permit her Lothario's doubting, one instant, her resolution of executing what she threatened. Still she was not satisfied that he instantly stinted in his pursuit, at her menace; but extorted from him the promise of a soldier and man of honour, that he would permit her, unmolested, to resume her labours on the bleaching green, behind the castle.

And to this slight incident are we indebted, for that shuddering scene in Ivanhoe.

For the Norman towers, and embattled platforms of giant Torquilstone, we have the haggard, haughty spectre of Dunbar; and, for the turbaned and high-souled Daughter of Jerusalem, the barefooted, but equally intrepid Scottish Maiden.

LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. No. 1.

THE REV. H. WHITE TO MISS

Ulverston, Sept. 22, 1795. "WHEN I left the Spiral Graces, your idea, my dear -, that I should record at evening the sights and events of the finished day, appeared reasonable and practicable in theory, and for this purpose I brought with me a blank paper book for memorabilias, which, alas! now lies by my side as innocent and unstained as when it first issued from the paper-mill. So much for practice; but in truth there has not occurred a single day, after whose full occupation my eyes would suffer me to write a line, but called aloud with Scotia's queen, 'to bed, to bed, to bed:' and it is impossible for me to adduce a stronger proof of my desire to gratify you, than by tasking my day-weakened sight to fill the present folio blank. This

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