ves," answered the valet. Faith, I can't tell that Betty," replied Dick; "but haps Mister Butler knows." It is impossible to say," responded the butler, laugh"unless that the Tories think them a set of stoopids, t wears block-heads on their shoulders!" Well!" exclaimed Dick, "if that isn't the very thing as a thinking of myself; but do you know why them its on master's side in the House are called Tories?" Yes," answered the confident butler: "Tories is in for them that have good places to give away. But e along, and let us see what your master is about." way went this trio up stairs, creeping softly on tip-toe, il they arrived at the Premier's chamber-door; and e, sure enough, they heard him declaiming in grand They, as we have seen, ignorantly supposed that Pitt was rehearsing his speech for the morrow; but fact was, that, according to his general custom, as no1 on similar occasions, by several of his relatives, he repeating, during his slumber, the whole of the arguts which he had used in the House of Commons during carlier part of the evening. What a vicked willain!" exclaimed Betty: "but do, yet the distance in losing sight of them would, in some me what is the Wigs." Why, the Wigs is them that backs Charley, and the moment spread behind the object looked at; and he degree, depend on any peculiar lustre the sun might at shes to get all the pensions and snug births to them- will see, by the two simple lines that I have drawn, that, But why do you call them Wigs!" inquired the per- after the eye directs its natural course, according to the ering housemaid. elevation of the individual whose eye is directed, it will strike the ground; and if from that part the ground took a sloping direction, the base of the post would be visible from the centre to where he stood, and which the two simple as far beyond the place where he lost sight of the other, as lines, as above stated, will show; for after the eye directs its natural course on a dead level, according to the elevation of the individual, it strikes the ground, according to that pitch, and loses sight of the base of the object; but the eye will not rest; it therefore seeks an object, and the sight is directed upwards. Now, had Mr. Hunt been of true sharp sight, or a sharp shooter, he would, during his experiments, have laid himself down upon his belly (excuse the term) or his side, when he would have been on a dead level, and then cast his eyes along the base of the posts, and, if there were no irregularities on the ground, he would have seen the same height as far as the natural eye would carry sight; and, with respect to his further ridiculous proof, by referring to the signals at Bidstonhill, so much elevated above him, the same thing will equally apply, but in an exactly reverse ratio; for those poles being elevated so much above him, his eye strikes the ground before he can see the base, and it is at once directed upwards, and where the back ground does not interrupt his weak sight, the poles are visible; but if he wished to see the base of the poles from where he stood, he must cast his eye up an inclined plane to the elevation of the poles, and those poles must stand upon a base no broader than their own base, with a perpendicular fall behind, to admit the full rays of light to their base, as in this way. e. Correspondence. FIGURE OF THE EARTH. TO THE EDITOR. And as to his speaking of the density of the atmosphere near the earth, it is quite ridiculous; it is nothing but the short stature of man, in looking at elevated situations, that does not enable his eye to reach the base of the object; and, in horizontal views, his elevated station directs his eye to the ground, according to his elevation, and it then seeks relief by casting that inquiring eye upwards, and then the summit only can be seen, or as low in proportion as the back ground may be clear and uninterrupted, with a clear atmosphere behind, and with a perpendicular fall of ground behind the object. J. F. R,-I have read with much attention, in your valuable of the 16th instant, Mr. Hunt's laboured and very ive description of the very grand discovery which he ks he has made, and of his refutation of the principles erly laid down as convincing proofs of our earth being rical. He has, indeed, laboured bard, and been at it ning, noon, and night; that labour will, however, be d to be productive of nothing, nay, not even a little se, for that would have been a saving point, when we pare his grand exploits to the mountain that would brought forth so much, when so little was produced. n, however, readily excuse Mr. Hunt, for I once ght I had made a grand discovery; and I was so inated with my little bantling while I was privately ing it, that I really thought nobody knew any thing myself; but when I brought the little fellow out, and ther people see him, I found that I had been dandling own little thoughts to such a pitch, that, at last, I was inced that I had no more brains than my infant off-the ng. I did not, however, put forth, as Mr. Hunt has 2, my discovery as being "without the fear of contraon;" and it is a pity that he has not either taken e time to consider of his discovery, or consulted some Duke-street, May 22, 1828. eye looking up the hypothenuse. TO THE EDITOR. figures painted thereon, are both in the same atmo- earth. Still, en passant, I must inform R. G. H. that the Prince's Pier is not a "dead level;" that a mason's plumb is not calculated to form a "dead level;" as "the plumb line settles into a direction perpendicular to the earth's surface, or to a tangent at that point," so that as no two perpendiculars can be parallel, the same base can. not form right angles with more than one, consequently an extent of ground like the Marine Parade cannot be leveled by such an instrument. If increase of density be the cause of the hull of a ship disappearing first at sea, why do the masts and rigging Why is the horizon itself so much defined? If density seem to grow out of the horizon when a ship approaches? of atmosphere were the cause, the horizon would fade away gradually, and become blended with the sky, instead of forming a marked line, as we see it does. earth always throwing a round shadow in eclipses of the Without saying any thing of the circumstance of the moon, which can only be done by a spherical body; without mentioning the obstinacy of individuals in maintaining their own opinions;" and without "affirming any thing without fear of contradiction," I will conclude; ultra crepidam."Yours, &c. but, in so doing, I would beg leave to hint, "Ne sutor DAINTY BITS. TO THE EDITOR. MATHEMATICUS. SIR,-I was the individual alluded to in the letter of An Epicure, which you were good enough to put into my hands. I see nothing objectionable in it, and you have may consider necessary. my leave to publish it, together with any comment you From a determination not only to conquer prejudice, but to be of service to man, I have made every sacrifice him, that I have partaken of the animals he has named, of my own feelings, and in reply to Epicure beg to inform and many others in addition; and that I have relished them much better than the common food. I have no desire to make proselytes now; but I shall be prepared, at a proper season, to communicate to the world some observations. As a real luxury I would recommend the foré quarter of a rat to Epicure; or, if he be what he calls himself, I shall be most happy to see him, and give him trouble. I can assure him that a peck of frogs and a a treat of that or other dishes, which will cost nothing but sucking pup would be esteemed, by me, a valuable pre sent, or any thing else that is a rarity, and that is caten judice in this country, both in our temporal and spiriWe have many specimens of the bad effects of pretual state; and where prejudice is productive of evil, the and I will promise not to play a second fiddle in the sooner it is eradicated the better: somebody must begin, part. I have subdued my own prejudices for the good of others and myself, and I trust the example will be followed by those who like substantial and dainty bits. SIR,-In your last number I observed a letter signed on who has more brains than himself; for I think I R. G. Hunt, and as I had no doubt that Mr. H. was I show, by the following simple explanation, that his joking with the public, I indulged myself with a hearty laugh. But joking should not be carried on at the ex-in other countries. id discovery, illustrated by the posts at the Marine pense of truth, and truth, I think, has been totally sacriade, is without sense or reason; and that his hypo-ficed in R. G. H.'s sage epistle. Still, as he is so conis is quite childish and ridiculous. fident that he is right, I may possibly be wrong, for two le admits that the Parade is a dead level; but yet he conflicting opinions cannot both be true. ¿ not see that he destroyed that level by the height of own wise head, making a certain perpendicular height n that level, from his feet to the height of his head. w, I do not know whether he is four feet nothing (one King John's men) or six feet three; but, however, the his height, the greater distance he would be enabled see the base of the posts; and from his losing the base soon, I should think he was a tall man. The accompanying sketch will show, that, as he stands right, and directs his eye on the line of the Parade, ching his sight at the posts, he will soon lose sight of e base of them, exactly in proportion to the height of his 'n person, when contrasted with another of a shorter or gher stature who might be trying the same experiment; We omit the sketch, which consists merely in one horintal straight line, to represent the Parade, and another raight line bisecting it in the centre, at a small angle. Now, Sir, the proposition which R. G. H. so con- (which is about that of a ship) is no more than .003, the Next October he shall have a new Cook's Oracle, if all be well with my real name, and not as I am, Sir, yours, AN INDIVIDUAL NOT 100 MILES FROM LOW-HILL. &c. Days. Tide Table. h. m.h. m. ft. in. 1 New Moon, 10h. 59m. in- 4 The Kaleidoscope. LEASOWE CASTLE. This most romantic edifice has been converted into an hotel, for which it is most admirably adapted, as it is not distant more than five miles from Liverpool. Mr. Parry, of Seacombe, and Mr. Bussard, landlord of the Leasowe Hotel, both keep cars; and the passage between the two places may be made in half an hour. It is impossible to conceive a more complete retirement than Leasowe Castle, and the contrast between the noisy and busy town, and the silence and tranquillity of this singular spot, is most striking. Machines are provided for the use of bathers, and the Castle itself has ample accommodations for families. We think, moreover, that the landlord would consult his own interest if he would convert part of his levels into a bowling-green, and a ground for quoit playing or archery. On Tuesday, the 27th ult. we had the pleasure to see this place, of which we had heard much, but which we never before had the curiosity to visit; and we venture to predict, that Leasowe Castle will, at no distant period, become a favourite resort for bathers and for jaunting parties. The dinner on Tuesday, which was considered as a housewarming, was served up in the grand dining-room, commanding a view of the sea. Several rich Chinese cabinets still ornament this apartment, as in the time of its late lamented owner, Mrs. Boodie. After dinner, and a rich and profuse dessert, several toasts were given, amongst which was one to the memory of Mrs. Boodie, who, by her adorn the crown, with a delicate plume of white ostrich feathers. protected partially from the inroads of the sea by a range The Drama. THE THEATRE. Mr. Westerne's singing during the present week has are à la Marie, with a very broad cuff at the wrist, t nating up the arm in a long sharp point. This has no collar, and is left very open at the throatt finished by a double frill of very fine lace, of a splas pattern. The hat is formed of gauze ribbons, seve gether in stripes, sea-green and white, in bias, and strings are of the same two colours; they are very b and very long. The hat is also adorned with an e profusion of green fancy flowers, of the rose kind, foliage. MR. WOOD'S LECTURES. "Good wine needs no bush," says the proverba those who have had the gratification to attend Mr. Wa most interesting lectures, may say to us that they no puff. We can assure our readers that nothing further from our intention than to disgrace Mr. Wood a common-place puff paragraph. His lectures are to portant, and their merits too generally appreciated, to for such stale devices. We cannot, however, suffia valuable and entertaining course of lectures. The advertisement to pass through the Kaleidoscope with congratulating the town upon the repetition of his course has given the most entire satisfaction, and, sen venture to add, that never were lectures delivered Of this gentleman's monster, in Frankenstein, adver- more eminently combined the Utile with the impossible for description to do justice to it. It was the some most valuable and unique drawings, which sublime of the horrific; and, in the commencement, af- to illustrate the descriptions with which his fected the whole house as if they had been subjected to abound. The introductory lecture, the outline of the operation of a violent electric shock. His pautomime we annex, may serve as a specimen of the a but absolute sound,-it is full of eloquence; and his con-improvements in building, from the rude hut t is beyond all praise,-it possesses every property of speech these very original, elaborate, and diversified lec "INTRODUCTION.-Progress of civilization mark v ceptions are vivid with poetry. This was peculiarly vention of the orders of architecture.-Means by striking when he hears music for the first time. It seems the orders may be distinguished from each other to thrill his frame till every fibre vibrates! It appears lumns used by civilized nations for the purpose as if he thinks it palpable to every sense; he looks for it to the earth and the air; he tries to grasp it,-it ceases, memorating events of importance.-Pillars of again, and he revives; and, at length, led by his ear, blance to the altars of Balaam and Balaak-High Druidical remains. Stonehenge; its probable follows it, moving tremulously and unsteadily from its of Scripture.-Ancient Celtic and Phoenician Wo over-powering influence upon a too sensitive suscepti- Beal or Baal.-Inhuman sacrifices.-Cromlechs: bility." the altars upon which human victims were sacrificed. humane attention to the poor mariners wrecked on this tised for to-night, a Scotch paper thus reports:-" It is Mr. Wood, we have heard, has been intrusted coast, has immortalized her name. There happened to be present two gentlemen who had had personal experience of this excellent lady's humanity and hospitality, of which they spoke in so feeling a manner as to moisten more than one eye in the company. It seems that this practical Christian used to have articles of wearing apparel always in readiness for the use of such as were wrecked on that part of the coast. Every attention by which it was possible to alleviate the sufferings of the unfortunate objects of her care, was bestowed upon them; they were fed, and his being seems to cease along with it; it breathes stone set up by a rude people for the same par clothed, and nursed by her, with the anxiety of a mother. In one of the bed-rooms of the castle there is a very spirited engraving of an enormous dog, once in the possession of Mrs. Boodie, with the following note: "An Alpine mastiff, the largest dog in England, brought from Mount St. Bernard, is now at Leasowe Castle. The dog was about a year old when he was received at Leasowe Castle, in May, 1815; his length was then six feet four inches, and his height, in the middle of his back, two feet seven inches: but he is now larger, and is still growing He saved a lady from drowning since he has been in England. Dogs of this kind are kept at the convent of Mount St. Bernard, for the purpose of discovering and assisting those travellers, who, in crossing the mountain, may have lost their way, or who have, unfortunately, been overwhelmed and buried in the drifting snow. They are sent forth in pairs, and when they discover a sufferer, one of them returns to the convent for further assistance, while the other remains doing his utmost to extricate the suf. ferer. These dogs are also used as animals of burden, and will carry a cwt. of provisions from Bauché to the Hespice, a distance of eighteen miles." The dog here mentioned has been dead several years, but there is now at the castle a much larger animal of the same breed, which actually measures eight feet from the hose to the tip of the tail. The following notice of Leasowe Castle, from Ormerod's Cheshire, may be acceptable to our readers: "New Hall, afterwards Mockbeggar, and now Leasowe Castle, was occasionally the residence of its proprietors, the Egertons, of Oulton. After an intermediate alienation, it is now, by purchase, the property of the widow of Lewis Boodie, Esq. It consists of a tall octagonal tower, to four of the faces of which, square turrets are attached, terminating in gables, which rise above the central building. The gardens are surrounded with a large fosse, or mound, and disposed in terraces and alcoves. It is situated to: wards the middle of a large level plain, called the Leasowe, which stretches along the end of Wirral, and is To Correspondents. merit, is calculated to do much good, by acting as a beacon ence. We must not omit to state that the spikes on the rails Fashions for June. DINNER PARTY DRESS.-A;dress of celestial gros des Indes, trimmed at the border with two rows of pointed satin. These pointed flounces are beautifully fluted; the flounces, falling over each other, and the edges bound with upper one finished at the head by cinque-foil ornaments in silk, pointed and edged round by narrow rouleux of satin. The body is engerbe, and the sleeves à la Marie, confined by bands, and on each band, at the outside of the arm, is a buckle. At the wrist is a cuff formed of flutings, and next the hand a bracelet of dark hair, clasped by a cameo. Round the bust is a very broad falling tucker of white blond; and a white crape fichu is worn under the dress, buttoning down the front, and surmounted by a triple ruff of lace or blond, just beneath the throat. Hat of white crape, ornamented under the brim with blue and white satin, en spatula. Ribbons of the same two colours a most interesting account of the manners and co SORTES VIRGILIANE.—The parody which Tag has sect "O, dear discretion, how his words are suited! Then turning from Shakspeare to that old, sury "If he has not so much fire, he must be allowed w more smoke." By way of finish, we then tried Hudibras, who fur "All which he understood by rote, Printed, published, and sold, every Tuesday, by OR, Literary and Scientific Mirror. " UTILE DULCI." Familiar Miscellany, from which all religious and political matters are excluded, contains a variety of original and selected Articles; comprehending LITERATURE, CRITICISM, MEN and ➡NERS, AMUSEMENT, elegant EXTRACTS, POETRY, ANECDOTES, BIOGRAPHY, METEOROLOGY, the DRAMA, ARTS and SCIENCES, WIT and SATIRE, FASHIONS, NATURAL HISTORY, &c. forming andsome ANNUAL VOLUME, with an INDEX and TITLE-PAGE. Persons in any part of the Kingdom may obtain this Work from London through their respective Booksellers. .416.-Vol. VIII. The Liver. LIVERPOOL, TUESDAY, JUNE 17, 1828. PRICE 3 d. by the violence of the Mersey, and the communication with Ince having been long lost, this place is now without any legal road, the trackway over the marshes to Stanney being only on sufferance. that the hundred of Wirral was, at some former period, was, about seventy years ago, swept entirely away It appears that the commissioners of the Chester inued from the Kaleidoscopes of Jan. 8, 22, and May 13.) e following desultory memoranda are laid beyur readers, without much attention to order or gement, as a supplement to our former topotical notices on the same subject. several of the preceding numbers of the present Tormer volumes of the Kaleidoscope, we have shed a series of interesting articles on the reable changes which are presumed to have taken in the estuary of the river Mersey, and the ad t coasts of Cheshire and Lancashire. In these es we have, of course, adverted to those reable relics of forest trees which are still to en near Crosby, and on the opposite shore of hire, stretching even below the ordinary lower mark. have adduced pretty strong presumptive proof the estuary of the Mersey, which is now so caas, was, at a distant period, extremely narrow, that some of those tremendous sand-banks i have proved fatal to so many seamen entering wing Liverpool, have, formerly, constituted a of the main land; also that a mere insignificant n flowed between the Lancashire shore and the nt Rock Point. In prosecuting such an inquiry, must, necessarily, be left to conjecture and proinference, as the documents which could alone sh undoubted evidence of the changes in quesare either wholly wanting, or of extremely tful character. "It is a generally acknowledged fact (says Ormerod) that, at some distant period, the tides have risen considerably higher on the western coast than at present; and this is borne out by the appearance of the banks of all the Lancashire, as well as the Cheshire, rivers; even without acceding to the common opinion, that the Ribble was once accessible for ships as high as the Roman station of Ribchester. With In an editorial article on this subject, which ap-reference to this, several channels have been pointed peared in the Kaleidoscope of Jan. 8, we stated that, out in the account of Wirral, by which the waters in Camden's Britannia, there is a map of Britannia of the Mersey and the Dee would have been made to Romana, collected from Ptolemy, in which the broad communicate between that hundred and Brixton, estuary of the river Dee is distinctly laid down, through a valley yet marked with shells and sea-sand, while the river Mersey is represented as a narrow by a tide only a few feet higher than usual; and the river, without any estuary at all. same stream would also be led through other valleys, between West Kirkby and Wallasey, and the rest of Wirral." Mr. Matthew Gregson, in his Fragments of Lancashire, gives a representation of an ancient drawing, from which we have made the subjoined very rude outline, the object of which is to confirm the opinion we have maintained, that the channel between the extreme point of Wirral and the opposite shore of Lancashire was formerly much narrower than it is at present. To show what little dependance can be placed upon ancient topographical notices of Liverpool, we request the attention of our readers to the following modern description of our good old town, which we happened to meet with, a few years ago, in a work entitled Pantalogia. Our epicures, and gentlemen of the turf, as they read it, will sigh over the exCopied from a Drawing, No, 6159, H. L. MSS., by M. GREGSON, tinction of the turbot, salmon, and the five-mile race LANCASHIRE, 1598. Kirkdale. More Hall. Lerpoole. Cheshire. 1821. Letherland. Bank Hall. Lancashire Wallacy. W. S. R. From Ormerod, and other writers, we course: "The Mersey, upon which the town is situated, abounds with salmon, cod, flounders, turbot, plaice, and smelts, and, at full sea, is about two miles over. In the neighbourhood are frequent horse races, on a five-mile course-the finest, for its length, in England." The following paragraph, connected with Liverpool, appeared some time since in one of the Liverpool papers, we believe the Courier. LIVERPOOL IN THE YEAR 1766. Messrs. Gore and Son have just reprinted a curiosity of its kind, - The Liverpool Directory for the year 1766. This publication contains "an alphalearn that, betical list of the merchants, tradesmen, and prinin the reign of Elizabeth, Wallasey had a little port, cipal inhabitants of the town of Liverpool, with he river Mersey has been so much narrowed and to which there belonged three barques and fourteen their respective addresses," together with a few We have examined this aded upon by successive embankments and piers, men;-a very inconsiderable number, but, never- pages of curious matter. ancient Directory with great pleasure. no general inference, as to the gradual advance theless, nearly one-fourth of the number of barques the names which it contains, we find the ancestors Among etrocession of the sea, can be deduced from a com- and mariners which were then employed in the in- of several of the present inhabitants of Liverpool. son of the present average depth of the stream, fant port of Liverpool, on the opposite shore; as, in They are, however, few; and, from the circum1 its depths at former periods; and if such a the same year, 1565, a census, extant in the town re- stance of most of the names of the leading, as well as aparison would afford satisfactory data for our pur-cords, states the entire number to consist of twelve opulent inhabitants, not being found in the Directory, we may infer, either that their ancestors had not e, we should not know where to look for them, barques, navigated by seventy-five sailors. settled in the town so early as the year 1766, or, if We gather, from Ormerod, that a tract of land, pos- they had, that they had not, by honourable industry sessed by the Pooles from an early period, formerly and commercial enterprise, vindicated their claim There are very plausible grounds for concluding called Green Worthe, and, lately, Pooles' Wharf, to a place in a Directory of the "merchants, trades. t is doubtful whether any chart of the river Mersey Iits estuary existed a century ago. men, and principal inhabitants of the town of Liverpool." It is curious to observe the changes which have taken place since the year 1766, in the streets which were, at that period, deemed the principal ones in the town. Streets which are now inhabited by the humblest classes of our fellow-townsmen, were, in those days, the abodes of the wealthy and respectable inhabitants. Thus, Thomas-street, Atherton street, and other streets in the vicinity of Pool-lane, Castle. street, and Dale-street, were, in 1766, genteel residences. Indeed, traces of the ancient respectability of most of the streets in those neighbourhoods may be seen at the present day, good buildings in them still remaining, although converted to other purposes than those for which they were then used. Water-street, Union-street, Lord-street, Pool-lane, and King-street were among the most respectable streets at the period of which we are speaking; and Wol stenholme, Williamson, and Cleveland-squares were genteel neighbourhoods. The extent of the town, in the year 1766, may be as readily discovered by this ancient Directory as from the inspection of a map; and the contrast which is presented between the ancient and modern town, shows the surprising progress which Liverpool has made in population, in wealth, and in commercial greatness in the short space of sixty years. on all occasions in which the emotions had no part: but gambler-no sensualist; his pleasures were few and refined; Charles Warner was now twenty-five; and it was not an act of prudence only, but of necessity, to endeavour to The list of stage-coaches in this Directory is very turn to some account the advantages which he possessed. brief. Two coaches went to London in three days, At this time, Lord G. had newly taken his seat in the during the winter season, and in two days during the House of Peers; and very shortly after, he was the origisummer season. There was one stage-coach to Man-nator of a proposition respecting some new immunities and chester, three days a week, and one to Kendal, every advance of learning. The proposal met with considerable advantages to be granted to a certain association for the Sunday. The list of waggons is equally brief. We opposition; and Charles Warner, without feeling any were amused by reading that the book-keeper of the particular anxiety upon the subject, yet, desirous of bringLondon stage-waggons might be "spoke with every ing himself forward, and, perhaps, of recommending himday in the week, upon 'Change, at 'Change hours." self to the notice of those who might assist his views, wrote and published a pamphlet upon the subject, dedicating it to Lord G. who was pleased with the performance, and being then in want of a secretary, offered the situation to its author, who thankfully accepted of it, conscious that he was every way qualified to discharge its duties, and believing that he had found the speedy accomplishment of his desires. Alas, unhappy Charles! would that thy desires had rested here! The Bouquet. "I have here only made a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own but the thread that ties them." THE STORY OF THE UNHAPPY PAIR, AND THE (From Solitary Walks through many Lands.) The noxious vapours of a summer's sky, The gathering clouds that darken in the air, Of the very early years of Charles Warner, I have nothing to relate; would to God those that succeeded were as barren of events! He was descended from rather an ancient family, and his immediate ancestors occupied the middle stations in life. When but little removed from childhood, he showed that love of reading, which was afterwards matured into a decided literary turn: and iong be. fore that period might be seen the dawnings of that ardent eathusiasm which, in after life, proved so baneful an enemy to prudence. As Charles Warner grew up, he was a fa. vourite with every body: he was so amiable; so obliging; so well informed; he possessed a great share of natural eloquence, without the vanity of displaying it; and was remarkable for that gracefulness in manner and appearance, which is not the result of study.-and which seems to be a natural inheritance in some, who have never partaken of the advantages generally supposed necessary to its acquisition. Charles Warner was by no means deficient in judgment: he could reason justly, and act discreetly, At the time when Charles Warner was appointed secretary to Lord G. and became an inmate at Park, his Lordship had been ten years a widower; Lady G. having died early in life, leaving one child, an only daughter, then eight years of age. Since the death of her mother, Maria had lived with her father, sometimes at Park, and sometimes in London; and about a year before the period to which my narrative refers, Lord G. had placed his daughter at the head of his table, and made her the mistress of his establishment. one. Though it was a menial office which Charles Warner had He was not indifferent to fema The daughter of his patron was no fit subject for C thoughts; and no fit object for his attentions; per dare to offer her any. For many months after Warner became an inmate in Lord G's. family, hr, have been surprised at the remotest hint of any fe tertained by him for Maria, other than that of flowing from duty to his patron. It was long erecte covered, that, to gaze upon Maria, was the occup which he most delighted; and that to keep his th within the compass of the page upon which his tự fixed, cost him an effort. Lord G. was a learned, rather than a literary ma mean, his studies were conversant more with philoso with the belles lettres; and more with classical, that va modern literature: he knew, however, that his own not the studies most to his daughter's taste, nor, the fittest to form the exclusive education of woman of rank and fashion: he had himself groun in a knowledge of the dead languages, which h I will not attempt any description of Maria. It is diffi- thought essential to a knowledge of her own; cult, thirty years after a face has been seen, to obtain she had acquired a thorough knowledge of those very accurate information respecting its features and ex-plishments for which she evinced a taste, and h pression. All accounts, however, concur, in ascribing her years, stored her mind with a large share of loveliness to it. I have seen a miniature of her, taken im- torical and other useful information, which his en mediately after her mother's death, in which she is painted furnished, he felt Charles Warner to be an acqu as a sweet fair child, with blue eyes, and a mirthful coun- his family, as he thought Maria might be berate tenance; and I have also seen a picture of her mother, his knowledge upon many subjects, to which be taken just after her marriage, when she was hardly twenty- but little attention himself. With this view, In this picture, it is easy to trace the resemblance would purposely lead the conversation to subjects of between her and her child, which is indeed remarkably with literature and the fine arts: and then, Charl strong, allowing for the difference in years; and if, at the dence would forsake him; and as he spoke of the period when my narrative commences, Maria had fulfilled ones of the earth, who have left behind them the urge the promise of her childhood, and resembled her mother, ble monuments upon which men gaze, and I am warranted in saying, that tradition has not erred in from, silent and thoughtful; as he spoke of the c ascribing loveliness to her. Of her mind, her history is, that have given birth to them, and painted these unfortunately, too true an interpreter. skies, and sunny seas, and perfumed airs, and ter that swells and dies among Italian vales, and the light of a southern night, as it falls among the relics of an older world; and as his language, eleva enthusiam, or unconsciously softened into tendernes most embodied, in a visible shape, the objects of quence, then would Maria breathlessly rivet her upon him, the kindling of enthusiasm mingling *** mildness; and even when he had ceased to speak, would look upon him still, until she shrunk bene blaze of beauty and intelligence, that seemed almost tial.-And Maria, like Charles, knew not, for a ler the nature of her feelings, or that to listen to ( was her chiefest pleasure. During the two years that had elapsed since Maria had emerged from childhood, and which had been spent for the most part at Park, she had seen at her father's table, and at those of his guests, the gay, the gallant, the high in birth, and the high in intellect; and the young, the beautiful, the accomplished daughter of Lord G. the heiress, too, of his wealth, soon sa among her suitors many who might be deemed worthy of her smiles; but no one had gained the favour of Maria. The world said that Maria was proud. It would have been better for Maria had the world been right. It was in this posture of affairs,-when Lord G. was residing at Park, after parliament had broken up in the month of July,-when Maria had been two years emancipa. td from childhood, and was then nineteen, that Charles Warner entered upon the duties of secretary to Lord G. Lord G. rather encouraged, than repressed the fret of those occasions upon which Charles' talents ar mation were displayed: he admired the natural cases which his secretary was master, and had some remote ews of making it useful to him in another sphere. The bjects which formed these conversations, he felt to be ther a relaxation from his own drier studies, and he was eased to observe the eagerness his daughter showed to Id to her information. His secretary to aspire to be his ughter's lover, was a height of daring which he did not ntemplate-and his daughter to love Charles Warner, a pth of degradation which he would have deemed impos. It is needless to detail the progress of what the reader is eady prepared to believe: Charles and Maria loved ch other; the one, in violation of duty; the other, in spite of pride. le! "MARIA." then, to a wretched mother of famishing children. I think, other's mouth, and firmness returned to him: he instantly my father, if you were to see me you would pity me, and re-seized the pen and wrote, affixing to the cheque the signature lieve me, perhaps, even forgive me; for error may surely be he was once so familiar with, that of the cruel father of expiated by an accumulation of suffering. Do not resist this his Maria. Hastily giving to the children a cake, which appeal. I am fast sinking beneath the weight of the suffering he had bought to keep them quiet until his return, he went that presses upon me: and consider, my father, I am not yet out and obtained money for his cheque: he was at home twenty-four years old; it would be hard to die so young. before Maria, and when she returned, the floor was covered You will not suffer your daughter (the sole daughter of your with gold. Let us live and be happy," said Charles, in a You once house) to end her days like a common outcast. tone of seeming gaiety; and then, in a more solemn manloved me, and I love you still: one word of reconciliation ner, 46 Maria, we will go to a foreign land-we may yet from you, and my face would be bathed in tears of gratitude be happy,-let us leave this hovel. Come!" Maria made and affection. I have seen you take children in your arms no reply: she saw determination in his countenance; she I have two children; the eldest is your knew not from what source wealth had come, nor did she and kiss them. image, the other is the likeness of your Maria, as I was once, dare to ask; but she saw spread out before her the means When matters were thus situated, Lord G.'s parliamen- not as I am now. If I deserve to suffer, if you cannot pity of existence; and she dressed the children, and made a y duties called him from the retirement of the country, me, pity my infants, for they have done no harm. May small package of the remnant of rags which were yet London; and being at this time engaged in preparing Almighty God dispose you to listen to my petition! This is spared, because they had proved below the temptation publication certain family papers, to complete which, probably the last time you will ever be called father by, or read even of merciless cupidity. In an hour they had left the : translation and transcription of some old manuscripts the hand-writing of, your once loved, and still dutiful, city behind them, and were waiting the departure of a re essential, he resolved to commit this duty to Charles daughter, ship, bound for a foreign land. The wind was fair,arner; and as the session was expected to be short, to It is certain, that to this appeal no answer was received. the tide was flowing,-the vessels were beginning to float, ve his daughter in the country, and take with him to Lon-I remark, indeed, some expressions in it that had better -the sailors were upon the shrouds unfurling the sails,n only such part of his household as he should abso- have been omitted: the recollection of what Lord G. Heave the anchor!" cried the boatswain: "she floats!" ely require. considered a family disgrace, would be only the more bit- Charles and Maria stand upon the quay. "Oh that an When Charles and Maria knew this determination, their terly renewed by his daughter reminding him, that she hour were past!" thought Charles; only a few minutes, feeling was joy, their next was fear. We often fear was the sole daughter of his house,-and telling him, the minutes fly,—all is ready,-the sails are set,-the thing we desire; and, indeed, where any duty must be that her child bore the family lineaments. anchor up, the moorings are untying: "Aboard!" cries rificed that we may attain the object of our wishes, these the captain, and Charles has placed his foot upon the lings are almost equally balanced. Up to this period, plank, when a hand is placed upon his shoulder. Is it arles and Maria had loved, without willingly comMaria's ?-he turns round, and sees himself surrounded by anicating their feelings to each other; and they almost the officers of justice. Imprisonment-trial-a verdict shed that they might continue uncommunicated. They of guilty, and sentence of death successively follow. I esaw the trial that awaited them during the absence will not lead the reader to the cell of the unhappy Charles, Lord G., and mutually feared a disclosure, that would rtainly affect materially the condition of both. Charles ired for Maria, her father's displeasure; and Maria eaded for him, the loss of patronage. They judged rightly; a sentiment of which two hearts e conscious, needs but opportunity to be communicated language. Lord G. left- Park, and soon afterrds arrived the consummation of their imprudence; ey married, regardless or unmindful of consequences. om that hour Maria never more saw her father. A detail of the hardships and struggles that fell to the t of Charles and Maria, after their imprudent union, uld be profitless, and might be painful to the reader: it, indeed, were it otherwise, I am not in a situation to atify curiosity. The particulars I have been able to llect, of the first three years of their marriage, are anty, and hardly authentic enough to entitle them to a ace in this narrative. It is natural to think they would ide, as much possible, from the world, that lot, which its ty could not alleviate, and which would be felt to more bitter by its neglect. During the first three ars of their marriage, Charles occasionally found some terary employment; and this, with the disposal of is wife's jewels, and the small wreck of Charles' paimony, served, during that time, to support a strugle with the difficulties of life: demands increased ith a family; Charles had but few friends, and of the w he had, no one proffered him assistance; let me say ather, Charles had no friend. As for Maria's relations, uring the first months of her marriage, they did not enrely forsake her; they kept up with her that sort of doubtful onnexion, they gave her that half countenance, which ight be withdrawn or increased as the conduct of Lord G. hould point out to them; but, as soon as it was plain that e would hear of no reconciliation, and that he had for ver shut the door against both forgiveness and compassion, hey too, all cast her off. They said, "she deserves to uffer!" Alas! the sacrifices which we make to avarice r pride, the world call worthy; but those that are offered at the shrine of nature and tenderness, are esteemed the offspring of low-mindedness and folly. One by one, the sources of the unhappy pair failed them; and Charles and Maria, and their two innocent children, were left, by those who might have raised them up, to sink beneath the taunt of the unfeeling, and the cold gripe of penury. I have not learnt whether many attempts were made by Charles or Maria to obtain the forgiveness of Lord G. From one letter, however, which I have recovered, written but shortly before the awful events which have to relate took place, it appears that such attempts had been made; and, as this letter throws considerable light upon the condition of the unhappy pair, I think it best to transcribe it. "MY FATHER, "14th November, 1794. "This is the last appeal of your daughter Maria. I have no hope that you will now grant the forgiveness I have so often sued for in vain: this time I ask from you not forgiveness, but bread. My children, my helpless children! are perishing beside me, and I have nothing to give them; you have abundance. If you will not aid me as your daughter, give, I now approach the climax of my tale. 66 It was on the evening of the 30th November, 1794, that Charles and Maria, and their children, had not broken bread for nearly two days. Nine o'clock chimed from the spire of a neighbouring church; it was the hour when Charles and Maria had once been accustomed to take their frugal evening meal; but this night there was none to share. They were sitting in a miserable garret in an obscure lane; a solitary lamp threw a dim unsteady light upon the bare wall; the patched and shattered window shook to every gust of the wintry wind, and it was only when a drop of rain fell heavily upon the dying embers in the grate, that they showed any sign of existence. Upon a mat, two little ones were lying, locked in each other's arms-they had newly fallen asleep: "God be praised," said Charles, "they sleep at last! Maria, they shall not starve! when they awake they shall have bread. I will go, and bring bread to them and you." "Charles, my husband, hear me,-hear your wife! we can bear it a little longer: you have lived in virtue, let us not end life in dishonour; it will soon end, Charles,-and were it not for these" Maria stopped, cast her eyes upon her children, and burst into tears. Charles rose, took his hat, and laid his hand upon the door. "Do not leave me," said Maria; stay, Charles,-let us trust in God." "God has abandoned us," said he; "I will not trust in God." Maria heard Charles' footsteps rapidly descend the creaking stair, and she sunk upon her knees, and prayed for her husband. As Charles descended into the street, ten o'clock struck. The night was dark, and a drizzly rain was falling; the lamps gleamed upon the wet pavement, and only showed the big drops falling from the houses. Charles walked swiftly forward, and soon found himself on the outskirts of the town. "I have no arms," said he; "no matter, I do not wish to injure; I will think of my wife and children, and I shall not lack strength." In a few minutes it was put to the test ;-he had judged rightly, for the next monient he was walking homewards, his hand grasping a purse. "They shall not starve to-night," said he;-he felt no fear-no compunction; he thought of his wife and children dying, and then pictured his children eating and smiling; and he said to himself, "If I have outraged the laws of man, I have obeyed the law of nature." Having provided for the necessities of his famishing wife and children, he reached his own abode, where he found Maria sitting as he had left her, weeping, and the children still asleep. "Awaken the children, Maria," said he, and let them eat; I have brought food." They opened their eyes, and saw bread before them; and Maria smiled when she saw her little ones smile, with food in their hands; and, though she knew the morsel was unlawfully obtained, yet she looked with fondness upon her husband. The booty that Charles had obtained was but trifling; at the end of two days only a small remnant remained. "Let me go," said Maria, and buy food with it." "I have another use for part of it," replied Charles; "but go, my love, and buy bread with this." The moment Maria was gone, Charles went out, purchased the requisite paper, returned swiftly home, and locked the door. As he took the pen in his hand it trembled: he laid it down, and raised his eye from the paper; his children were opposite; he saw one of them snatch a morsel of bread, even from the I will spare him the scene between Maria and her husband, on the morning of the fatal day. Their children were there too; the tears coursed down their soft cheeks, although they knew not why ;-but they saw their father and their mother weeping, and the place was dark and dismal. As the first bell tolled, Maria fainted, and they carried her away; Charles imprinted a last kiss upon her cold and yet quivering lips, and said, " Mayest thou never awake!" 66 It is said, the sun shines alike on the just and on the unjust; ay! and it shines alike, too, upon the happy and the wretched. That morning it rose upon millions of the gay, and it left them gay at its setting; and the morrow it would again behold them full of life and glee. That day men ate, and drank, and smiled, and said, Truly life is a pleasant thing!" What had the world to do with Charles and Maria? What was it to them that he was cut off in youth and health, and that the sun would rise to morrow upon his grave? What was it to them that Maria was broken-hearted, and that, ere morning, she found relief in madness? Was that the rabble shout? No; the crowd are silent; they have learnt that famine impelled the deed; they are silent as the grave. The men turn away their heads, and the women weep; and, as a shriek of returning sense from the wife of Charles pierces the silence, every soul is harrowed up, and some mutter deep curses on the law that condemned, and on the power that would not save. Charles heard it too; and he shuddered even in the agonies of death. I know not whether Maria lived or whether she died; nor have I been able to learn the history of her children. Report says Lord G. is childless; and that, at his death, his domain will revert to the Crown, because he has no heir. Such are the particulars I have been able to collect of this unhappy history. Remorse is that cancerous ulcer of the mind, which is at first disregarded, and is undiscernible to the outward eye; but it eats in and in, and hollows out a secret inner chamber for itself, where conscience sits enthroned among her thunders, and life becomes a curse; but death, a thing yet more hideous. And the wretch who endures the present hell, only because he dreads one more eternal, bears at length in his aspect the reflection of his torment. For some time after the catastrophe I have related took place, Lord G. showed no token of remorse; he mixed in public as he had been wont to do, and was received as he had been accustomed to be received; the world seemed to have forgotten the events in which he had so large a share; but there was one whisperer still,-and that whisperer was Conscience! Gradually he withdrew from public life; and, for twenty-six years, lived in total seclusion; and one of the first occasions on which he had emerged from it was, to originate in parliament a motion for the amelioration of the criminal code. To dive into men's motives is not my business; it may possibly be. however, that Lord G. felt it some alleviation of his pain to benefit society at large, as a sort of atonement for individual wrong he had committed. |