Preciosa sighed at hearing this; which her mother had the sagacity to attribute to her being in love with Don Juan; she said to her husband, "Sir, since Don Juan de Carcamo is of such good quality, and is so fond of our daughter, it would not be amiss for us to give her to him in marriage." To which he answered, "We have but found her to-day, and would you have us lose her so soon? pray let us enjoy her presence for a little while; for when she is married, she will not be ours, but her husband's." "You are right, sir," said the lady, "but give orders for Don Juan's liberation; for he must be lying in some dungeon." "He must so," said Preciosa; "for to a thief, a murderer, and above all, a gipsy, they will not have given a better lodging." "I will go and see him, as if I were going to take his confession," returned the corregidor; "and again I charge you, madam, that no one be acquainted with this story until I choose them to be so;" and embracing Preciosa, he immediately set off to the prison. : He entered the dungeon in which Don Juan was confined, but would not take any one in with him he found him with his feet in a cepo, a kind of moveable stocks, with the manacles on his hands, and with the pie de amigo still fixed under his chin; the place was dark, but the corregidor had a sort of small sky-light opened above, which admitted a very faint light; and as soon as he saw him, he said; "How do you find yourself, worthy sir? Oh! that I had all the gipsies in Spain in a string, that I might make an end of them in one day, as Nero would have done with the Romans! Be it known to you, most excellent thief, that I am the corregidor of this city, and am come to learn, between ourselves, whether it be true that a certain gipsygirl who came along with you is your wife." On hearing this, Andres imagined that the corregidor had fallen in love with Preciosa; of so subtle a nature is jealousy; however, he replied, "If she has said that I am her husband, it is quite true; and if she has said that I am not her husband, she still tells the truth; for it is not possible that Preciosa should tell a falsehood." "Is she so careful of telling the truth ?" returned the corregidor; "that is no small thing indeed for a gipsy. Well, my boy, she has told me that she is your wife, but that she has not yet given you her hand. She has learned that your crime is such that you must die for it, and she has asked me to marry her to you before your death, in order that she may have the honour of being the widow of so distinguished a thief." "Then, senor corregidor, I pray that you will do so, since she solicits it; for if I be but married to her, I shall go contented to the other world, after being made hers in this." "You must be very fond of her?" said the corregidor. "So much so," answered the prisoner, "that it is beyond all expression. Indeed, senor corregidor, let my case be terminated at once. I killed the man who would have deprived me of my honour; I adore this gipsy-girl; I shall die contented if I die in her favour; and I know that we shall not be without that of heaven, since we shall both of us have kept faithfully and punctually the promise which we made to each other." "Then," said the corregidor, "I shall send for you to-night to my house, and there marry you to Preciosa; and by noon to-morrow you shall be on the gallows. I shall then have satisfied the demands of justice, and fulfilled the wishes of both of you." Andres thanked him, and the corregidor returned home to his lady, and told her what had passed between him and Don Juan, and other things which he intended to do. In his absence, Preciosa had related to her mother the whole course of her life, and that she had always believed herself to be a gipsy and the granddaughter of that old woman; but that she had always had more self-respect than could be expected in a gipsy. Her mother desired her to tell her whether she really loved Don Juan de Carcamo; she answered, with down-cast eyes, that, having considered herself a gipsy, and that she should better her fortune by marrying a young gentleman of rank like Don Juan de Carcamo; having also experienced his good disposition and delicate attentions, she had regarded him with some affection; but that, as she had already said, she entirely submitted her will to theirs." The night came; and when it was almost ten o'clock, they brought Andres from his prison, without the manacles and the pie de amigo, but with a great chain wrapped round him from head to foot. He arrived in this manner without being seen by any one but those who brought him to the corregidor's house, where they took him silently and secretly into an apartment, in which they left him alone. In a little while, a clergyman came to him, and told him to confess himself, for he was to die the next day. To which Andres replied, "I am very willing to confess myself, but why don't they marry me first?-and if I am to be married, the bride-bed which awaits me is certainly a very hard one." Dona Guiomar, who knew what was going on, told her husband, that she feared he was going too great lengths with Don Juan, and requested him to moderate the rigour of this trial, lest it should have some fatal consequence. The corregidor thought this advice was good; and so he went and called away the priest, who was confessing him, saying that the gipsy was first to be married to Preciosa, the gipsy-girl, and that he should confess himself afterwards he desired him to commend himself to God with all his heart, as he often showered his mercies at the time when the fountain of hope seemed to be dried up. Andres was accordingly led out into a sala, or drawing-room, where there were only Dona Guiomar, the corregidor, Preciosa, and two men servants. But when Preciosa, who was standing beside her mother, saw Don Juan in his heavy chains, his face pale, and with the traces of weeping upon it, her heart failed her, and she clung to her mother's arm, who, embracing her, said, "Be of good cheer, my dear, for all that you see is to redound to your pleasure and advantage." But she, not knowing what was about to take place, seemed inconsolable: the old gipsy woman was in great perturbation; and the rest of the by-standers, in breathless expectation, to see how the affair would end. The corregidor said, "Master curate, this gipsy and this girl are the couple whom your reverence has to marry." Or "That," said the clergyman, "I cannot do, without the necessary preliminaries being first gone through. Where have the banns been published? where is the license from my superior?" "The inadvertence has been mine," answered the corregidor; "but I will procure the vicar's license." "Then, until I see it," rejoined the curate, "these good people must excuse me." And without staying to hear another word, for fear that any scandal should be given, he quitted the house, and left them all confused. "The reverend father has done right," said the corregidor, as soon as he was gone; "and peradventure this may be a providence of heaven to defer the execu tion of Andres, as he must at all events be married to Preciosa, and before that can take place, the banns must be published, and time will thus be given, which may possibly bring this unhappy affair to a happy end." He did, however, desire to know from Andres, whether, should his fortune take such a turn as to make him the husband of Preciosa without those dismal circumstances, he should consider himself happy in being so, either as Senor Andres, or as Don Juan de Car camo. As soon as Don Juan heard himself called by his name, he said, "Since Preciosa has not thought proper to confine herself within the bounds of secresy, but has discovered who I am, I will declare, that could I be raised at this moment to the empire of the world, I should still consider this union so blissful, that it would satisfy all my desires on this side the grave." -- "Then," resumed the corregidor, "for this good resolution which you have shewn, Don Juan de Carcamo, I will so order it, that, in due time, Preciosa shall be your lawful consort; meanwhile I give her to you in anticipation, as the richest treasure I possess, which you must value as highly as you say, for in her I give you Dona Constanza de Menesses, my only daughter, who, if she equals you in love, is not beneath you in birth." Andres was in utter astonishment at seeing this friendship shewn him, but Dona Guiomar explained it by briefly stating to him the loss and recovery of her daughter, and the indubitable marks by which she was identified; all which excited new surprise and wonder in Don Juan, rejoicing him at the same time beyond measure: he embraced his father and mother-in-law, calling them his parents, and kissed the hand of Preciosa, as she presented it to him with tears. The affair was now no longer kept secret; the news of it was soon spread by the servants who were present, and coming to the ears of the alcalde, the uncle of the dead man, he saw that his revenge was disappointed, as, independently of the particular circumstances of the case, he well knew that, according to the rules of Spanish justice, the rigour of the law could not be executed upon the son-in-law of the corregidor. Don Juan put on his travelling dress, which the old gipsy had brought; and his imprisonment and chains of iron were changed for liberty and chains of gold. The sadness of the imprisoned gipsies was turned into joy, for the next day they were liberated on bail. The dead man's uncle accepted a promise of two thousand ducats to desist from the prosecution of Don Juan, who, not forgetting his comrade Clemente, sent in search of him; but he was not to be found, nor was anything to be heard of: him until four days after, when it was known for certain that he had embarked for Genoa in one of the galleys lying at Carthagena. d The corregidor told Don Juan that he had certain intelligence that his father, Don Francisco de Carcamo, was appointed corregidor of that city, and it would not be amiss to wait for his arrival, in order that the nuptials might be celebrated with this consent. Don Juan said that he would do whatever else he should desire, but that first of all he must be married to Preciosa. The archbishop granted a license for the marriage to take place with one publication only. The citizens, with whom the corregidor was very popular, kept holiday on the occasion, and celebrated the wedding day with bull-fights, canethrowing, and illuminations. The old gipsy woman was allowed to remain in the house, as she would not leave her grand-daughter Preciosa. We had nearly forgotten to inform the reader, that the enamoured daughter of the landlady declared to the magistrates the falsehood of the charge which had been brought against Andres the gipsy, confessing her passion and her crime, for which no punishment was inflicted, because, in the general joy for the discovery and union of Don Juan and Dona Constanza, vengeance was disarmed, and mercy prevailed. CONVERSATIONAL INTERCOURSE. WHAT makes those men, who associate habitually with women, superior to others? What makes that woman, who is accustomed to, and at ease in the company of men, superior to her sex in general? Why are the women of France so universally admired and loved, for their colloquial powers? Solely because they are in the habit of a free, graceful, and continual conversation with the other sex. W Women in this way lose their frivolity, their faculties awaken, their delicacies and peculiarities unfold all their beauty and captivation, in the spirit of intellectual rivalry. And the men lose their pedantic, rude, declamatory, or sullen manner. The coin of the understanding and the heart is interchanged continually. Their asperities are rubbed off; their better materials polished and brightened; and their richness, like fine gold, is wrought into finer workmanship by the fingers of women, than it ever could be by those of men. The iron and steel of our character are laid aside, like the harshness of a warrior in the time of NOVEL EFFECTS OF REFLECTION. The story of the gipsy girl and her marriage reached the capital; Don Francisco de Carcamo learned that the gipsy was his son, and that Preciosa was the gipsy girl whom he had seen, whose peace and security. beauty, in his eyes, excused his son's misconduct (whom he had considered as lost, having learned that he had not gone to Flanders), and the more so, as his marriage with the daughter of a person of such wealth and consequence as Don Fernando de Azevedo, was a sufficiently advantageous match. Being eager to see his son and his daughter-in-law, he hastened his departure, and within twenty days arrived at Murcia; when the rejoicings were renewed, the marriage-feast was held, the history of the young couple was again related, and the poets of that city, which, says Cervantes, possessed several good ones, undertook to celebrate the extraordinary occurrence, together with the incomparable beauty of the gipsy girl; "and so well," adds our author, "did the famous licentiate Pozo treat the subject, that in his verses the fame of Preciosa will endure for ever and ever." A gentleman had for some years been possessed of two brown cranes, (Ardea pavonina) one of which at length died, and the survivor became disconsolate. He was apparently following his companion, when his master introduced a large looking glass into the aviary. The bird no sooner beheld his reflected image, than he fancied she for whom he mourned had returned to him; he placed himself close to the mirror, plumed his feathers, and shewed every sign of happiness. The scheme answered completely, the crane recovered his health and spirits, passed almost all his time before the looking-glass, and lived many years after, at length dying from an accidental injury. OF FICTION, POETRY, HISTORY, AND GENERAL LITERATURE. LEGENDS OF THE WARDS OF LONDON. (For the Parterre). No. I. THE MERCER'S WIFE: A LEGEND OF THE WARD OF CRIPPLEGATE WITHIN. CHAPTER I. THE TRANSMUTATION. He who has looked into Stow or any other writer on the antiquities of London (if he be a Cockney, we will not suppose it possible that he has not), will learn that in days of yore, Bucklersbury was inhabited by dealers in drugs and simples. But, like all the other localities of the great metropolis, it has changed its aspect, and all trades exist or thrive where herbs and "'pothecaries' stuff" once wasted their fragrance. 'Tis true that one warehouse of this description still remains (we know not whether it has descended from father to son since Stow wrote), at the corner of Barge Yard; but there is no other establishment of the kind, that we know of, in this neighbourhood. Bucklersbury is now noted for its eating-houses, which are, we believe, superior to any of the kind in London. There is also a coffee house y'cleped the Imperial, where, with every comfort, a luncheon, a dinner, or a cup of tea, may be obtained " upon the most reasonable terms," and in a style of neatness, not to say luxury, at which our forefathers would have marvelled. What would not have "glorious John," who, we are told, dined at a threepenny ordinary, said of and felt at such a place as this! Even "honest Ben" might have felt more at his ease, and left us fewer of his fancies. have always been friends to these establishments, first, because they afford rest and refreshment at a very reasonable rate to those whose avocations compel them to spend the greater part of the day in the city; and secondly, because they have taught young men to be content with a cup of wholesome coffee and the magazines and newspapers, instead of seeking excitement in the bottle. Though our nature is social, essentially social, we abhor drunkenness from our We very soul, and therefore we say, long live those establishments where the cup may be had that "comforteth the braine and helpeth digestion."* But (lest the reader should imagine that, like George Morland who painted out his ale-house scores, we have run up a score at the Imperial, and are writing a puff for the proprietor, to get ourselves out of the debt), we must leave modern Bucklersbury with its eating-houses and its other attractions, and tell the friends of the Parterre something about it "ages agone." In the reign of Henry the Fourth, there stood in Bucklersbury, a few doors from the end of Walbrook, an ancient house, with an ornamented gable, surmounted by a weathercock. Its upper stories jutted over the footpath, and its windows on the ground-floor were well defended by stout iron bars. Besides these precautions of the occupant, the shutters were always kept closed and barred, and the door was upon all occasions first opened with a chain attached to it, in order that the visitor, if an unwelcome one, might be excluded if desirable or expedient. Here dwelt Moses Lyons, a remnant of the scattered tribe of Israel. Why he was suffered to dwell there, was perhaps best known to some of the aldermen and spendthrifts of that day. At any rate, he was permitted to take up his abode in Bucklersbury, instead of among the people of his own nation, in the quarter allotted to the Jews in London. Moses had all the rapacity and cunning of his tribe; but could now and then do a kind act even to those whose religion he disdained, and who held him in detestation and abhorrence. At the close of a fine summer's day, while the bells were ringing for evensong, a youth of slender frame, clad like a page of that period, with a hood of purple velvet, and a jerkin of the same colour, hose of murrey-coloured serge, and long piked shoes, came tripping down Bucklersbury, flourishing his light staff, and affecting the air coxcombieal. From the embroidered belt with which he was girded, hung a short broad weapon resembling a wood-knife, and underneath the belt was stuffed a small elongated bag, the two ends of which seemed loaded with something which was certainly heavy, if it was not valuable. The youth proceeded direct to the house of Moses Lyons, and rapped with his staff on the door. The summons was * Lord Bacon. not heeded, for Moses was often annoyed by "runaway knocks" from the 'prentices and idle boys in that neighbourhood. The knocking was repeated again and again, and at length a small wicket was opened in the huge door, and a visage appeared of such surpassing and disgusting ugliness, such a libel on the human face divine, that the young man recoiled before it. It was Rachael, the Jew's housekeeper. "What want ye?" queried the beldame, in a tone that was any thing but inviting. "Thy master," was the laconic reply. "What would ye have with him this evening? he hath gone to his bed, and will not be disturbed." 66 Humph!" said the youth, tapping nervously with his heel on the ground, "that's unlucky, mine ancient portress; but say I have a pawn, a jewel of price." Instantly the hideous face disappeared, the huge chain which helped to secure the door was heard to fall, and sundry bolts creaked and groaned. Immediately after, the door opened slowly, and the page entered, the bolts and chain being again put in requisition, as it closed upon him. Hobbling along the gloomy passage, and beckoning the page to follow her, old Rachael bade him wait for a moment at the door of a room which she entered. A moment after, he was ushered into the presence of Moses the usurer, who, seated at a table, was busily employed in making entries in a large account book with huge brass clasps. "Well, what ish it you want thish late hour," inquired the usurer, eyeing the page with a scrutinizing glance. "I want money, Moses," said the youth, with an embarrassed look, "and men say you have plenty-that a legion of angels are at your bidding." "The world ish fond of falsehoods, young man. I am not rich: I am old and poor; but what have you got in that leetle bag?" The page drew forth the bag from under his girdle, and emptied its contens upon the table-sundry costly rings, a gold chain, a rich carcanet of jewels, and a clasp set with large rubies. "I would fain exchange these baubles for coin," said he. The Jew's eyes were instantly fixed on these articles of bijouterie, and counting them over, he asked his visiter whether he wished to pledge or dispose of them at once. "Give me what thou canst for them," |