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of the streets, as we are unwilling to bring innocent | satisfy her, and that she might enter immediately on ser-
and respectable persons into disrepute, because it is
their misfortune to live in the neighbourhood of in-
famous wretches, who ought to be transported from
the country they disgrace and pollute with their
odious presence. We shall, however, feel it impera-
tive upon us to communicate all the circumstances
which have reached us to the Mayor and Common
Council, who never had a subject brought before
them which more imperatively claimed their prompt
and vigorous interference.

SEDUCTION AND ITS VILLANOUS PROMOTERS.

able style, but has actually purchased property to a con-
siderable amount, and who is, withal, so careful of the
morals of his children, that none of them are suffered to
approach it! If there is one epithet of infamy more de-
grading than another it should be affixed to the name of
such a man.

The Beauties of Chess.

"Ludimus effigiem belli.”—VIDA.

SOLUTION TO STUDY CLIII.

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3 Castle......A-8X
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7 Bishop ...D-3
8 Castle.........G-5X

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BLACK

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4 Queen......C
5 Queen D-

6 Queen ......C-4

7 Queen......D

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vice. This, of course, was promised; and the young woman only retired to apprize a friend of her success. Fortunately a respectable female in the neighbourhood, who had seen her enter the house, watched when she came out, and gave her such information respecting its character from a life of infamy and disgrace. Another young woman as prevented her return, and thereby probably saved her had a narrow escape from a house of a similar description in-street. She had actually engaged, and taken her trunk to the house; but, having occasion to go out the first evening of her service, she was met by a friend, who told her what she had heard of the place. She left immediately, though not without a severe struggle for the recovery of her clothes. But there is one establishment The multitude of prostitutes which are to be seen on of this kind which surpasses any other we have heard of. White to win with a pawn in nine moves, without S the streets of this town after dusk, has often excited the It is kept by a-MAN !-the head of a family !—who, from surprise of strangers, and led them to draw a conclusion ex-its proceeds, has not only supported his family in a respecttremely unfavourable to the morals of the inhabitants. We question much, however, whether Liverpool is in a worse condition, in this respect, than other populous towns, and particularly sea-ports. We are inclined to think it is not; but this we are sure of, that the number of these unfortunate creatures is such as to furnish just grounds of alarm to all who have a due regard for the welfare of the rising generation; for, were it not for the counteracting checks which religion and benevolence interpose, it would be next to impossible that the young, especially of the lower classes, could escape being contaminated, by the many bad examples which are constantly before their eyes. But however disgusting and depraved these women may appear in the streets, still their unhappy fate is entitled to commiseration; for it is well known that many of them have been driven to follow their vicious course of life, more through misfortune, or the vile arts of seducers, than from their own choice. In this, as well as in other large towns, there are a number of wretches who have lost every thing in the shape of character themselves, and who make it their business, for the sake of gain, to ensnare unsuspecting females into their own abandoned courses: and it is chiefly with a view of putting the unwary on their guard, that we have been induced to give publicity to some facts which have been communicated to us on this subject. We understand that the keepers of several private bagnios have emissaries in different parts of the town, who, under the pretence of procuring places for young women, send them to the houses of their employers, where they are gently, but gradually, initiated into the practice of vice. The first step in the process is, to place the newly-arrived female in attendance on some gentleman, who is highly spoken of for his rank, and wealth, and other accomplishments; and strict injunctions are given her to be civil and obliging. The gentleman, on the other hand, is kind, condescending, and generous. If the plot succeeds, as it too often does, she is soon after obliged to take her place among the other miserable inmates; while such as have lost their charms are, at the

same time, turned out of doors. In this way recruits are
constantly raised for these receptacles of vice; and it is
thus, when every thing that is valuable to a woman is ir
retrievably lost, she is sent adrift upon the world, without
a friend to assist her in her need. We do not say that every
prostitute goes through this process. Many have deviated
into vice from bad example at home; many from their
own depraved inclinations; and not a few from sheer want.
But that a great number have been unfortunate, in the
strict sense of the word, and through the means we have
stated, can be proved by undeniable evidence.
There is a house in
which is noted for its
achievements in this line, to which a respectable young
woman from the country, who was in quest of a place, was
some time ago recommended. She went to the house,
found a genteel establishment, a polite and lady-looking
mistress, and thought herself quite in luck when she was
told by her ladyship, that though inquiry would be made
respecting her character, her face was quite enough to

Much has been said against the French system of licensing houses of ill fame, and without doubt it is highly disgraceful; but when we hear of such practices as those we have adverted to, we are inclined to wish that that part of it which obliges such houses to be registered, were adopted in this country. It would at least, have this effect, that no female would enter them who was not aware of the consequences.-To conclude; the treatment which many of these wretched women meet with, after all the gains they bring to their employers, is, we are informed, of the most shocking description. Few of them are retained for more than two or three years, after which, in consequence of disease, they either sink into a premature grave, or drag out a loathsome existence, marked with want, sufferings, and crime,-the scorn of their seducers, and the pests of society. &

MARINE LIFE-PRESERVERS.

On Tuesday last, according to intimation by placards on the walls, a party of four, having previously put on their bathing dresses in the Floating Bath, proceeded in a boat considerably beyond the north point of the Prince's Dock, where, after putting on their collar jackets, they entered the river, and floated up past the Floating Bath. One of the party could not swim a yard; but previous experiments had given him entire confidence in the jacket. When he had proceeded about half-way, his trowsers, which were not kept up by braces, or ligatures, slipped down, and he got into the boat in order to have them adjusted, after which he plunged in again as fearlessly as if he could swim. The party drifted up considerably beyond the Floating Bath in about twenty-three minutes, sometimes raising both hands and their hats completely out of the water, sometimes carrying umbrellas, and sometimes floating on their backs, with their arms entirely out

of the water, and their hats held in their hands.

On Wednesday afternoon, at three o'clock, a party, accoutred as on the preceding day, drifted and swam from the north end of the Prince's Dock to the Floating Bath, in about a quarter of an hour. They went through the same evolutions as on the preceding day, with some additions, such as floating hand in hand in a line, and in a circle. The gentlemen were all provided with dresses, and Mr. E. Smith wore an under waistcoat, a pair of thick drawers, a pair of trowsers, an upper jacket, neckerchief, stockings, shoes, and a hat.

In consequence of numerous inquiries respecting the day when the experiment will be repeated, we take this opportunity of stating, that if it do not rain, which will prevent company from attending, a party will enter the river next one and awit, endt enake a short excursion from the Float Friday, a little after one o'clock, and on Saturday between ing Bath towards the Prince's Dock.

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III. of this piece. It is reserved for next week.

MR. CANNING.-It was our intention to publish a mem the late Premier, when it occurred to us that we ha recently given copious and interesting sketches gentleman, which render any further notice super The memoirs to which we allude are to be found volume of the Kaleidoscope which has just been bro a close. See vol. 7, pp. 355 and 365, published Mayla our correspondent W. R., of Manchester, will call upen Wheeler, our agent, he will find his request complied We shall be happy to receive the promised "Visit Tomb of the late F. D. Astley, Esq." and shall take greatest care of the engraving, not neglecting to fu our correspondent with the copies he requires. GERMAN LITERATURE. The original translation of the of Baron de Ripperda will appear in our next, or the ceeding number.

THE CHASE. Before we insert the conclusion of the C

we await the direction of the author respecting the foll ing passages which appear in the original :—« For ks pride, for human woe,"ought, we presume, to be

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OR,

Literary and Scientific Mirror.

"UTILE DULCI."

als familiar Miscellany, from which all religious and political matters are excluded, contains a variety of original and selected Articles; comprehending Literature, CritiCISM, MEN and MANNERS, AMUSEMENT, elegant EXTRACTS, POETRY, Anecdotes, Biography, Meteorology, the DRAMA, ARTS and SCIENCES, WIT and SATIRE, FASHIONS, NATURAL HISTORY, &c. forming a handsome ANNUAL VOLUMs, with an INDEX and TITLE-PAGE. Persons in any part of the Kingdom may obtain this Work from London through their respective Booksellers.

o. 374.-Vol. VIII.

The Bouquet.

brought nothing of my own but the thread that ties them."

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liberties with the narrative; but the murder was commouth, it was well formed, but constantly turned down at the corners in the expression of malice, while the forehead bitual as if imprinted there by the hand of nature. Such was corrugated into a frown, which soon became as hawas my appearance in my younger days, and I am thus particular in mentioning it, as sorrow and years have effected no small change.

12 have here only made a nosegay of culled flowers, and have mitted, the murderer was tried, and he escaped, as related, by his servants swearing an alibi. From these outlines a narrative has been produced, respecting the merits of which there will be considerable difference of opinion. "De gustibus non disputandum.”

MONTAIGNE.

following extraordinary narrative, which was Även entire in the last Liverpool Mercury, is here epeated, for the gratification of our friends, who, if they be readers of both our publications, shall e amply remunerated for the repetition, by an xtra supplemental sheet, which shall be delivered >them gratuitously next week, or this day fortight.

Extract from the last Will and Testament of the late WILLIAM
M**R, Esq. of - in the county of Stirling, Scotland.

*

Further. It is my express wish, that the MS. In the lower drawer of my escritoir, entitled, "THE CONFESSIONS OF AN UNBXECUTED FEMICIDE," be published to the world, within three months after my body is laid in the earth, to the effect that others may be deterred from the comE CONFESSIONS OF AN UNEXECUTED FEMICIDE. mission of a similar sin, by the thought, that if they escape the punishment of the law, they are sure to meet with that of a racked and harrowed conscience. It is further my wish, that the said publication do take place in Edinburgh, Glasor Stirling; and for seeing the same carried into effect, I hereby bequeath to my second cousin, ALEXANDER L, the sum of pounds, sterling money. And may the blessing of God rest on all who read my book, even as it latterly descended upon my benighted soul!

"NO FICTION."

gow,

I lost my mother before my sixteenth, and my father before my twentieth year, and was left in possession of considerable property in the county of Stirling. I had ever been a harsh and undutiful son, and from my childhood gave them inconceivable distress. I was disobedient, careless, insolent, and tyrannical. The domestics hated me, and I believe I was the cause of almost the whole of them leaving the family. None, except an old housekeeper, who had served us from the time of my grandfather, ever remained with us above twelve months. My mother was a woman of a high order of intellect. Her feelings were delicate, and her sentiments of the most virtuous and upright kind. She might, in fact, have been almost considered an authority in matters of taste. She was not made for this world, either in frame or mind. She was beautifully but most delicately formed; and all who looked at her and then on me, could not help thinking what bitter fruit had sprung from so goodly a stem. I wish to extenuate nothing, but to unveil the whole of my guilt with an unsparing hand, that others may avoid the rock on which I split-and I must make the dreadful avowal that broke her heart. I broke the heart of this best of parents, and she died, blessing me with her latest breath. But I cared nothing about it. I never had a soul for affection, and I saw her borne to the grave with an indifference which shocked all, but astonished none, for my depraved and heartless character was universally known.

Under this title a most extraordinary work has en recently published by Mr. M'Phun, bookseller, Glasgow. As many of our readers, after perusal, y be apt to conclude, as we at first did, that The Confessions of a Femicide" is a work of pure Twenty years and the vision still haunts me!-yes, on, it is incumbent upon us to explain the rea- it is twenty years since I perpetrated that crime which has I swhich have induced us to arrive at a different poisoned my existence, and thrown over it a cloud of unutterable sorrow. All other crimes may sleep, but iniquity clusion. Mr. M'Phun is a gentleman of great like mine never can. The worm that dies not preys upon pectability, and we felt convinced that he would my heart: I am the victim of remorse. t have deliberately palmed upon the public, as cumstances, and that the evil or the good qualities he There are those who say that man is the child of cirMy father-but why need I speak of him? When I se, a horrid and appalling story, which had no possesses are attributable to external events, and are not recal from other years his noble and manly virtues, I andation in fact. There would have been no ex- implanted in him by nature at his birth. There are those shrink at the sense of my own worthlessness. He did not se for such conduct, as he possessed the means who impute all these things to education, and make the long survive his wife. He loved her with deep affection. human mind an impassive machine, fit only for receiving Indeed who, with the heart of a man, but would have detecting the imposture, by ascertaining whether impressions, and having no positive agency of its own. loved such a woman? and when she was taken away, he ཅ murder had taken place in Scotland, twenty If there ever was a being whose progress through life gave found that he had parted with that which tied him most ars ago, under the extraordinary circumstances contradiction to such ideas, it is the writer of these "Con- powerfully to the earth. I was going to say that he died fessions." I was brought up by the hands of virtue, and broken-spirited for her departure but no; the soul of man scribed in Mr. M'Phun's narrative. He might, its heavenly precepts were early instilled into my mind is not so easily bowed down. It sustains such losses with Iso, with very little trouble, have traced out the-and what has been the result of such cultivation? De- triumphant force, while the sensitive heart of woman sinks gister of the alleged trial. These were the reasons beneath them. Man's spirit is not less feeling than that at led us to conclude that the story, shocking and of the other sex, but it is more vigorous and abler to rise above calamity. That of woman is like the dew of heaven anatural as it is, could not be wholly destitute of upon the flower, and is melted away by the breath of misundation in fact. We also thought, that if the fortune. My father did not pine, and weep, and die, like a love-sick girl. He triumphed apparently over his loss, ary had been entirely a romance, the author would and entered into life anew, but his heart, though not st have ventured to make his principal character so crushed, was blighted-and a sad melancholy hung over gorough-paced a villain; for, however strange the him which he never got rid of, till death released him from ssertion may appear, it is a melancholy truth, that the world and all its cares. more unnatural crimes have been perpetrated in sality than any writer of fiction has had the hardiod to introduce into romance. If any author were found a story upon the circumstance of a father atting off his own child's head, his readers would turn with disgust from so gratuitous an outrage upon feeling and probability. Sheen, however, did in reality cut off the head of his own child; and did that act, too, in a sane state of mind, if we may so conclude from the Judge suffering him, after his acittal, to go at large.

In conclusion, we can assure our readers, that the main incident related in the "Confessions" is true. Motives of delicacy have induced the writer to sub#tatute Stirling for Glasgow, and to take some other

spair and sorrow to my parents-shame and misery to
myself. Yes; vice sprang from a stock which ought to
have yielded virtue; and I who was educated so as to be-
come an honour to human nature and my family, now
stand forlorn upon the earth-a monument of desolation
and of crime!

I am ashamed to confess it, but my heart was ever pecu-
liarly wicked. I remember that, even while a boy, I pos-
sessed none of the amiable qualities which are apt to shine
forth at this early age. I was vindictive, and jealous, and
sordid, and, above all, gloomy. Alas! that this had been
the effect of a sedate and feeling heart; but it was the
result of a dark malignity, which hung like a cloud of hell
over my imagination.

My stature and appearance were good, better indeed than those of the generality of men. I was well formed, strongly knit, and altogether a person who might be denominated handsome. But then my face! Had a countenance been sought for in which all the evil passions were portrayed, one would have been found in mine. And yet it was not positively an ill-formed face. On the contrary, it had not a bad feature; at least not above one, and that was the brow, which was too narrow and too low to indicate any thing intellectual or noble. It was the sullen expression with which these features were inspired, that rendered them so repulsive. My eyes were black, and deeply sunk in the forehead, and they were shaded over by bushy eyebrows of the same colour. My complexion was always naturally dark, and on my cheeks there existed, as now, a patch of sullen and baleful red. As to my

This, it may be supposed, melted my heart to something like sorrow; but it was likewise unavailing, and I beheld my father expire with the same indifference. I rather felt glad on the occasion, for it put into my possession that which was the deity of my worship-wealth. Nor was it for the purpose of enjoying these riches that I rejoiced in their acquisition, but for accumulating them to satisfy my inordinate and uncontrollable avarice. My house stood in the midst of a plantation of elm and pine. Its situation was considered romantic by those who had an eye for the beauties of nature, but such I never had. It was a large, isolated building, white and airy in its appearance, and decorated in front with a portico of four Ionic pillars. Before the door was a plot of green ground, bordered with flowers, and in the centre of this a fountain of clear water. Behind the mansion-house there was a spacious garden, and about fifty yards to the right flowed the little river of

bowers of the birch and chesnut tree. Few places were so -, murmuring among rocks, and shaded over by retired and beautiful, and here, if my miserable tone of

mind had permitted, I must have been happy. I had no companion but an only sister, and Heaven assuredly never formed two beings so completely different as we. Poor Eliza! she was every thing that was amiable in woman. Fair, beautifully proportioned, and graceful in her movements, beyond even the most gifted of her sex-her light and airy form-her blue, deep blue eye-her lip ever crossed with smiles, and her complexion clear as heaven itself. Of all these things I could speak, but it avails not. They are gone, and nothing save their remembrance remains behind. Memory may do much to hallow even the divinest beauty, and imagination may touch with more delicate hues what the former brings up from the depths of time, but their fairy power were useless here. My sister had a form and a mind which fancy never excelled, even in her brightest dreams.

Strange to say, she loved me. I say strange; for what heart but that of an angel could bear affection towards a being so malignant-so horribly wicked as I? I can now recal how harshly I returned all her little acts of kindness. She would try, by every art, to bring from me some deed of tenderness. She would smile, and come out with some mirthful story. She would sit down beside me, and throw her delicate arms around my neck in a mood of gaiety and love. She would flatter me, and watch over my concerns, and anticipate my wishes, but all in vain. My ungrateful heart refused to acknowledge her attentions: her fondness became painful to me, and I repulsed her. Nor when I was stretched on a bed of sickness did her tenderness abate. When the burning fever rioted in my veins, and but a step lay between me and eternity, she attended me with more than a mother's care. Night after night she sat watching over my couch. I have seen her, when she little thought I so remarked, weeping in my dimly illumined chamber, and raising her fair hands to heaven in supplication for my recovery. And when I did recover, who can paint the joy that lighted up her beautiful countenance! All saw it with delight save one, and that was her wretched and ungrateful brother. She had a friend named Mary Elliston, also a beautiful girl. Their friendship had commenced in childhood, and their souls were knit closer together by succeeding years. Mary lived with us, for she was an orphan; and being originally of a respectable but unfortunate family, my father gladly adopted her as a companion to his daughter. She was tall and exquisitely made, and all her movements were full of female dignity. Her form wanted the richness and voluptuous swell of Eliza's, but it was more airy, and, if possible, more graceful. My sister's complexion had the brightness and bloom of northern beauty. Her yellow hair waved like streaks of sunshine over her temples, and her blue eyes, deep and lucid as the sapphire, were full of animation and mirth of soul. Mary had more of the Italian cast in her countenance, which was of a darker and warmer hue. Her hair was black and shining, and her eyes, of the same complexion, were full of melancholy. Never were two lovelier beings associated together under the same roof. Eliza was all affection, and smiles, and innocence, and she showed them on every occasion. If she loved, she expressed in bright and undisguised language the emotions of her soul. Mary was not more lovely, for that was impossible, but she was evidently a being of profounder and intenser feelings. Her spirit was more full of pathos. Her fervour was not so easily excited, but, when once aroused, it flowed in deeper channels, and its influence upon all the passions was more striking and irresistible.

I know not how it was, but this pure-minded and intellectual girl conceived for me a strong affection. God knows there was little in my society to attract the love of any one, and, above all, of such as she. I never did her an act of kindness. I scarcely ever spoke to her with common civility; yet, strange to say, I unknowingly gained her heart, and she loved me at last as if I had been the most deserving object upon earth. How my grovelling soul came to be invested with such power, remains a problem which I have never been able to solve. In all other respects, the mind of Mary was pure and heavenly. That spirit, so full of poetry and romance-that mild enthusiastic spirit, conversant only with lofty thoughts, and whose existence had passed in a world of fancy and feeling -how did it descend from its high estate to seek companionship with a base earth-born heart like mine! In this only she erred in this only she showed that tinge of hu manity which clings to all below. Perhaps she might have been influenced by her affection for my sister. Be that as it may, I saw her feelings, and, with the true villany of my nature, resolved to take advantage of them. It would be sickening to relate all the schemes I put in practice to ruin the virtue of this unfortunate girl. She loved me to distraction, and I but too well succeeded. But how was my poor, hard conquest gained? By a proceeding, the

iniquity of which no language can characterize. I invoked the Most High to witness that my future intentions were honourable; and swore, in the name of all that is sacred, to make her my own. I never intended to keep my promise. What were oaths to me! What were broken hearts and ruined hopes to one who looked upon virtue and honour as baubles, and whose polluted soul seemed born for the atmosphere of the blackest iniquity! Time rolled on, and the state of Mary became apparent; but still I never felt remorse. I looked on, unmoved, at the ruin I had effected; and, when the unsuspecting victim required the performance of my vows, she was answered with a contemptuous sneer. Her spirit, from this moment, faded utterly away. She felt that she had been betrayed, and saw the dreadful precipice on which she stood. Had I been any thing else than a villain, had one spark of generous feeling still animated my bosom, I must have pitied the miserable girl: but compassion was unhappily a feeling to which I had ever been a stranger; and I looked on the wreck of youth and beauty with savage indifference.

what? to ruin me-to blast my dearest prospects with benefiting herself." The evil passions were stirred within me-hell boiled in my bosom, and I was wro to an ecstasy of madness. For half a day I remaine this tumult of passion. Towards evening it ceased to hibit itself on the outer man, but raged within more tensely than ever.

The evening was fair, beautifully fair. The sun sinking down gloriously, and mellowing nature over his last departing beams; but I remarked it not. Is nothing-I heard nothing. A tumult was in my bet my ears were stunned, and I hurried over the earth reckless fury. Night came down, and I found mys Mary's door. I entered, but she was not within Shel gone out to walk by the banks of the Forth.

Yes, I remember it well. This day and twenty y have rolled away,-I sat by the fire moody and distrad and meditating, apparently, some violent deed. My sat opposite to me. She was employed at her needle, while she sewed, her blue eyes streamed with tears, ever and again she cast at me looks of the deepest tion. "My dear brother, has any thing occurred to tress you?" I thundered out" Silence! distract not," in a voice which made her start backward with ten and striking my hand violently against my burning head, I left the room and mounted up stairs to my chamber. A small Highland dirk hung over the man piece. It had been in the family for ages. I put it in pocket, almost unknowing what I did, and descent Eliza's tender heart was moved, and she saw her com- with portentous speed. Eliza met me as I was going panion with other eyes. She did not, with the prude-like She put her slender arm in mine, and requested me, wi barbarity of many of her sex, cast off this erring sister.a voice of melting tenderness, to stay at home, for that She saw that she had been led astray, and knew, that was evidently very unwell. With brutal violence I push although in the eyes of the world she was a lost and a her aside and rushed into the open air. worthless thing, yet she was not to be abandoned to misery and neglect. So far from turning away from this object of distress, she pressed her to her bosom; nor did she consider herself dishonoured in so doing. Her pure heart told her that Mary was innocent, and that what had occurred was a misfortune rather than a crime. She solaced her in the midst of her misery, and tried to sustain her broken heart with the hope that I might one day repair the injury I had done, and restore her, blameless and unblemished, to society. Nor did she stop here; for, on her knees she conjured me, as I valued the welfare of a wretched creature, as I valued the honour of our house, as I valued my own eternal happiness, to render that tardy justice which uprightness and virtue demanded. The appeal was as eloquent as beauty and affliction could make it: but it was in vain; I heard it with contempt. About this time a young lady of considerable fortune came to reside in our part of the country. She was rich; and I considered that now or never an opportunity had occurred of gratifying my passion for money. My situation in life was well known, and I was cordially received as a visitor into her mother's house. I endeavoured to make myself as agreeable as possible, and in a short time had the satisfaction of thinking that I was listened to with not an unfavourable ear. There was only one bar that stood in the way, and this was Mary Elliston. My faith was plighted to her in the most solemn manner; and I well knew that if this reached the ears of my new mistress, my prospects in that quarter were at an end. Besides, Mary was now in that state which rendered her misfortune palpable to all eyes. No one, as yet, knew the author of her misery, but he could not remain concealed much longer; and his name once mentioned, would sink him to infamy and degradation. I cared little for exposure, on the score of honour or virtue, but I dreaded it on that of self-interest. Let me get possession of my object, let her wealth be once fairly secured in my iron hand, and my shame, for aught I cared, might be trumpeted to the utter most ends of the earth: but till then, till that decisive, that irrevocable moment, it behoved that all should wear the aspect of integrity, that all should run smooth as the unruffled sea. I covered my hypocrisy with the semblance of virtue, as the ashes of the dead are covered with flowers, and crawled, like the viper, under cover, the better to entrap my prey.

That no evil report might injure my reputation till that time, I had Mary sent off about ten miles, to a small country house, on the banks of the Forth. There the sorrows of that unhappy girl only became more pungent she felt the misery of loneliness. Deprived of my sister's society and mine-and this last, strange to say, she prized above all other-her heart became more desolate and broken. She wrote me a letter: the paper was stained with tears, and every word breathed unutterable affliction. It implored me to take compassion on her wretched state, and fulfil the promises I had so solemnly made:-"I know you are addressing another, but if she has the spirit of a woman, never will she listen to you after what you have done to me."

Such were the concluding lines of her letter, and they fired me to revenge. Suspicion lowered upon my heart, and the thought came across me that they were but the prelude of a discovery. And must my plans be thus thwarted by that wretched girl? Must a fortune be torn away from my grasp ? Shall she unveil to my affianced bride what for a time must rest in darkness and for

I went to find her. Her lovely and interesting was seated upon a rock which overlooked the str When I came up, she was in tears; but she threw arms around me, and kissed me with unspeakable is ness. How romantic was the scene! O how unfit deed of villany! The moon was up in the vaul heaven. The firmament was silvered over with her the beams, and the light of the planets dissolved and let 1. flood of pale and celestial glory. One solitary star twinki by her side. And how beautifully were the rayer by the stream that murmured amid its rocky channel, a gave forth a melancholy music, which was the only su that disturbed the unbroken calm of nature! Ce crime linger here? Could vice pollute such a stere its accursed presence? Base, cruel, treacherous wast deed. Was there no bolt of heaven to consume my co heart? While she clung to my bosom, and called her own-while her deep melting eyes were thrown expressively on my savage countenance,-yes, the was then done-done at a moment when any heart but of a demon would have been disarmed. I drew slowly dagger from my pocket, and my spirit shudders wh relate it-stabbed her in the back! A shriek, and fell to the earth. "Oh! do not destroy me! Will William, that was a cruel stroke. Spare me; do not my poor unborn babe!" She clung to my knees, b spurned her away, and she again fell exhausted. T was no time to be lost. I laid violent hands upon het, pitched her over the rock. I heard her rustling a the branches which opposed a feeble resistance to fall; and then a dash among the waters, and a feeble and all was silent.

I stood for a moment petrified at the deed I had de but every instant was hazardous; and, throwing bloody weapon into the stream, I rushed with bead violence through the plantation, and gained the pu road. From that moment horror seized upon me. night, which had been hitherto calm and clear, bec suddenly overeast with clouds. A vapour passed be the moon, as if to hide from the face of nature such summate wickedness: the silence of creation was distur and a sullen moan, like that of the angel of death, se to fill the air. The winds began to swell on every s while the trees nodded mournfully to the blast that s through them with low and melancholy murmur. A of thunder burst above my head like the sound of the trumpet, and a flash of lightning followed. As I hur distractedly along, a thousand phantoms and forms darkness seemed to dance before my eyes. I was purs with unutterable despair, while a voice like that of murdered victim rung incessantly in my ears, Spare

spare my unborn babe!-pity, pity, pity," I stop them, but in vain: the same sound, the same agoni voice pursued my footsteps wherever I went.

I reached, at last, my door: it was closed, and all inmates had gone to rest. I knocked, and the old he keeper opened; but, on seeing me, she started back affright. "Goodness, Mr. William, what have you b

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ing? You are deadly pale, and there is blood on your convulsed, no less at the thought of my guilt, than at nds and forehead." I mustered strength to tell her the loss of her friend, and the ruined honour of our I had been attacked on the highway, and knocked family. She faded away like a flower beneath some wn. She brought me water, and I washed myself; but pestilential vapour. She felt that she was kin and blood en the signs of my recent guilt were cleansed away, to a murderer, and shuddered at the thought. Still she re was no mark of injury; I thought then I could did not hate me nor shun me; but as she herself drew tceive suspicion settle upon her countenance. nearer to the grave, she seemed to cling with greater I went to bed, but for my eyes there was no rest. The ardour to the last and worthless remnant of our line. ght was horrible-inexpressibly horrible. The torments She died, and her last words to me were to seek for repenthell took possession of me, and I rolled and tossed ance. eut in delirious agony. A vision came before me-it Years have rolled away since that fatal parting; but it is the pale spirit of Mary-the same which has nightly is yet fresh in my memory, and will remain uneffaced till anted me since that awful hour. She did not come in life is extinguished within me. I sat by night in the room ith, or like an angel of vengeance to punish. No; where her corpse was laid out in its last mournful dress. er never had its abode in that gentle bosom. She still The smile which crossed her lips when the angel of heaven è the beauty and mild melancholy of her living hours. bore her better portion away, still lingered there. A halo eye was soft, and rolled upon me with a look of of immortality seemed to float around her. Never to my passion and love; and had her face been less pale, and eyes did death appear clothed in such beauty. I thought garments unstained with blood, I should have sup- the expression of living nature was lurking within; but, that she inherited life. 66 Repent!" was the only alas! the cold lip, the icy cheek, and the soulless eye, proIshe uttered. It came from her lips with an aerial claimed that the flame of existence was quenched, and that jess, such as we may suppose to clothe the language of the grave had triumphed. Several flowers, such as she 18. Though scarcely audible, it thrilled through my was wont to love, were laid upon her bosom: I plucked and overcame it. I uttered a loud cry, and fell into them with my own hands and laid them there. It was the only kind action I ever did towards poor Eliza; but How long I remained in this swoon I know not. When my heart was now broken down, and I felt at last some woke from it, I beheld a lovely female hanging over sympathies with humanity. I never knew my sister's in an attitude of pity and affection-it was my sister. value till I had lost her: I never loved her till now. As had heard my voice, and risen to give me assistance. I looked on her form, beautiful even in death, I remems streamed from her beautiful eyes; but there was a bered what she had been to me, and recalled from other der over her frame. I had, unknown to myself, mut-years the image of my mother. "Yes, poor Eliza! I I something of the dreadful truth, and she had heard shall do my last sad duty to thee at least with a sincere heart. I shall perform thy mournful wake alone. I shall ext day the body of Mary Elliston was found, and the weep in atonement and repentance for what I have done s spread like a whirlwind over the country. It reached to thy gentle bosom.-None shall hear me, unless, perra's ears, confirming the awful ideas she began to enter- chance, thy spirit, hovering nigh, may catch the tones of I passed the time in a state of mind which no lan- remorse and affliction from thy wretched brother." age can depict. It was not fear of punishment which Such were my thoughts, and I burst into tears the first tressed me so bitterly, but the terrors of an awakened that had watered my eyes since childhood. I felt desolate, science. Two days passed on, but nothing was elicited companionless, and hated upon earth; and the fountains hrow light on the transaction. On the third day my of sorrow now broke forth at this sad spectacle of the only se was entered by the officers of justice, and I was one who loved me being so bitterly taken away. stied to the prison of Stirling. It were vain to attempt It was the fatal hour, and I remarked it not, so utterly elate my state of mind during my confinement in the was I occupied with my own meditations, but it passed s' cell. I had no consolation, no comfort; I saw an not by undistinguished. It was the hour of ten, to me so minious death before me. I saw the gallows with all full of sorrow and of crime. I heard it strike, and when readful accompaniments. I already heard, in dreams, looking intently on the body of my sister, I saw-no, it sentence of the judge pronounced upon my guilty was not a phantom of imagination-I saw the pale and d. I felt myself led out to execution amid the exe- bleeding form of Mary. She was still the same as she had tions of the multitude. In perspective I beheld my hitherto appeared to my eyes; but her visit seemed not to hung in chains, like the pirate's upon the shore, and be for me, but for the corpse of her friend. She looked the passers-by point frightfully at my withered bones, with unspeakable affection over it, and kissed it again and ng, "Behold the murderer!" And to increase my again. I was transfixed with fear and astonishment. I rors, the phantom would not stay away. Nightly tried to weep; but I could not. I tried to speak; but my came before me as at first, and gazed upon me with tongue was tied. I tried to move; but I remained stupified dark and melancholy eyes. It was in vain to try and bound to my seat, as if by enchantment. Then the orget her. That dreadful monitor refreshed my me- form threw her arms around my sister, who got up to ty with tenfold force, and drew up anew what I would receive her embraces. The pale cheeks of the latter begiven the universe to plunge into eternal forgetful- came flushed with primeval beauty-her eyes were re"Repent! repent! repent!"-the same words animated, and sparkled as bright as ever-her lips burst ept for ever over my imagination. They were the only the silence which had enchained them-she spoke and unds that came from her lips, and a thousand echoes smiled delighted, while she returned with ardour the emTe them back upto my heart. braces of her friend. I could endure it no longer: my heart was overwhelmed with joy, and I started up to clasp Eliza to my bosom. I threw my arms around her, and kissed her; but, horror-struck, I shrunk back. My lips were laid upon her frozen cheeks I had laid hold of her corpse. She lay stretched out in the shroud. The candle was fading in its socket, and the chamber of death, faintly illumined by its expiring glow, was more ghastly than ever. Where was the phantom? She had fled, and left no token of her presence behind, save the cry of "Repent,' the echo of which, like a knell of the dead, still rung in my ears!

My trial came on, and the evidence adduced was most vincing. My housekeeper and one of my servants ad my life. They swore an alibi in my favour, deing, in the face of irresistible facts, that I was in bed the time the murder was alleged to have taken place. er was perjury so grossly criminal. Poor wretches! love to my sister which made them guilty of so adful a step, and they risked their eternal souls to save whose crimes deserved a thousand deaths!

was discharged, but never did criminal come out of art with a blacker character. By the verdict of the 7, and the admonition of the judge, the mark of was virtually set upon my forehead. The Scottish ry consists of fifteen. Of these, seven voted for a lict of Guilty," and eight for a verdict of "Not e." I thus escaped the gallows by one solitary vote; and even those who saved me from that last punisht of the law, did not acquit me of the crime. They issed me to the world, to be pointed at by mankind the finger of scorn; and the judge, from the seat of stice, denounced me in no equivocal language as a murrer, and plainly hinted, that, had he sat on the box of men, his verdict would have been widely different from delivered.

ly life has been marked with desolation; and another ng was soon doomed to feel the effects of its fatal career was my sister. My crime, discharged as I was by laws of the country, was too evident to admit of in any mind. She knew this, and her heart was

99

assemble around it; and many a tale had they to relate of the lovely being whose ashes slept beneath. My house was not far off; and they would point to it, embosomed among its trees; and tell how I had broken her hearthow I had destroyed her friend-and how, as a memento to her worth, I had caused this sepulchral column to be raised. I have perhaps spoken of these things as events which had once existence; but they exist still." The tomb is yet visible from my parlour window, and I do nothing but sit there from morning till night, gazing upon it. Sometimes, at midnight, I have ventured out to Eliza's grave, and walked around it, and whispered her name. Sometimes I have even tried to pray; and if my heart is anywhere filled with the Divine Spirit of repentance, it is there.

But the spirit of Mary haunts me still. Wherever I go, she comes at the fatal hour-at all seasons, and in all places. To get rid of this nightly visitor, I have tried every scheme. I have gone to foreign lands, and plunged headlong into society. I have joined in the dance and the masquerade; but it is the same. As the destined hour appproaches, lo! she appears, and the unvarying word comes from her mouth" Repent!" I have remarked, however, that her aspect changes in proportion as my soul is gay or melancholy. When I mingle with mirth, and try to drown my sorrow in forgetfulness, she seems more sad and afflicted, and stands longer by me, and utters her admonition in more impassioned language. When, however, my heart is subdued with a sense of its crime, and calmly awaits the trial that attends upon it, her melancholy is tinged with a sort of placid delighther black eye rolls more softly upon me she lingers but a moment and the warning, as it flows from her lips, comes upon my ear like a strain of not unpleasant music!

But lately, and I went to my sister's tomb. I threw myself on my knees before it, and wept at the recollection of former days, and the deeds I had done. My heart was melted. I felt the bitterness of remorse, and raised my hands to heaven, while I entreated forgiveness in the language of agony. Suddenly the clock of the church struck ten, and Mary stood before me. I never saw her look so beautiful. She was melancholy; but a smile sat upon her lips, and she regarded me with a look of divine satisfaction. My heart leapt with joy, for I found that what I had done was good. She vanished away in the darkness of night; but the admonition with which she had hitherto charged me, followed not, and I drew from it an omen that my repentance had truly begun.

I need not pursue this subject farther. I am an altered man. The blood of a fellow-creature still cries against me; but a contrite heart may do much to silence its voice. The appearance of Mary is no longer terrible-now that the change has commenced within me. She has been my good angel since the moment of my crime till the present day. She has hovered around me; and, by appearing at short intervals, has terrified me from a commission of iniquity. She has kept my conscience awake, and at last melted its stubborn nature to virtue and repentance. Heaven did not send her to be my punishment, but to be my guide. For years I regarded her as a demon come to torment me; but this was only while I was hardened in sin. Without her warning voice, I had travelled on in my former ways, and perished unforgiven. Even now, I feel I could not do without her. I cannot trust my own strength, and nothing but her nocturnal visits could keep my spirit in the true path to wisdom and happiness.

A ROASTING SPIT.

The most singular spit in the world is that of the Count de Castel Maria, one of the most opulent Lords of Ireviso. This spit turns 130 different roasts at once, and plays 24 tunes,-and wherever it plays corresponds to a certain degree of cooking, which perfectly understood by the cook. Thus, a leg of mutton à l'Anglaise, will be excellent at the twelfth air; a fowl à l'Flamande, will be juicy at the eighteenth, and so on. It would be difficult, perhaps, to carry further the love of music and gormandizing.

My sister was interred by the side of her parents in the cemetery of the parish church. I invited all with whom we had previously been on the footing of friends to the funeral, and they all attended. I did not expect this, and flattered myself that I would not be utterly deserted by the-Foret de Londres. world. I was disappointed. They came to honour and pay their last respects to her ashes; but not to favour me. When the coffin was deposited in the earth, and the turf laid over it, each separated in silence and in sadness. None spoke to me. I was shunned like a scorpion, and returned alone and unpited to my desolate mansion.

I raised, in the burying-ground, a monument to Eliza's memory. It was of marble and of virgin whiteness-an emblem of her own purity. I had it encircled with a railing, and planted within with flowers. It stood in the centre of the church-yard, and was altogether a beautiful and affecting object. On the Sabbath, the congregated multitudes who came to worship the Lord, would

Days.

Tide Table.

Morn. Even. Height.
h. m. h. m. ft. in.

Tuesday..28 2 17 2 40 16
Wednesday29 3 2 3 28 15
Thursday..30 3 57 4 29 13
Friday 31 5 6 5 49 12
Saturday.. 1 6 38 7 1712
Sunday.... 2 7 57 8 33 13
Monday 39 59 34 15
Tuesday .. 410 010 2516

Festivals, &c.

3 St. Augustine.

1 St. John Baptist beheaded. 9 [Moon's first quarter.

9

10 Giles.

8 12th Sunday after Trinity. 3 [London búrnt, 1666, O.Š. 11

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Poetry.

HAPPINESS.

I had a dream-'twas but a dream-
Of happiness below;

And thought, amid the desert scene,

The rose, perchance, might blow;
But thorns and briars the path o'erspread,

And the nightshade reared its poisonous head.

I sought of youth, but from its cheek
The conscious rose withdrew;
And Pity veil'd her forehead meek,
For why it fled she knew;
And Pleasure, with deriding smile,

And mocking Love stood by the while!

I sought of manhood, if confest

In science, arts, or arms;

If enterprise her spirit nurs'd,

Or loved she "war's alarms;"

Or if, with gently fav'ring breeze,

Might Commerce waft her o'er the seas!

I sought, oh, Genius! if 'twere thine
With Happiness to rest;
But ah, upon thy brow divine

Stood characters confest
Of such sad import, that to see,
The heart was wrung to agony !

I sought of Solitude repose,

And deem'd the hermit blest;
But there, e'en there, the tempest rose,
For Memory banish'd rest;
And then it seem'd, on earthly ground,
Had Joy no habitation found!

And then I paused beside the grave—
Sure Happiness is here?

But Silence dreary answer gave,

And all was chaos there;
And fearful on the heart-strings rung
Despair's lamentings, loud and long!
Amazed, perplexed, from earth to heaven
I turn'd my wearied gaze,

When lo! a seraph form was given,
Circled with hallowed rays;

And Happiness, no death that fears,
There stood confest, and banished tears!
Liverpool.

LOVERS' EYES.

Oh! I will ask thee not, to say
That I am dear to thee;

The glances from thine eyes that play,
Express enough for me.

Ever should maiden's lips conceal
What lover's long to know;
And let the eyes, alone, reveal
The bosom's cherish'd glow.
The tongue can never truly tell
The feelings of the heart ;-
The love that is unspeakable

Must from the eyes depart.
Beloved one! avert thou not

From me those stars of light, Bereft of whose bright rays, my lot Would be but cheerless night.

G.

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DESCRIPTION OF ELYSIUM.

A Paradise on earth is found,
Though far from vulgar sight,

With which those pleasures doth abound
That make Elysium bright;
Where, in delights that never fade,

The Muses lulled be,

And sit at pleasure in the shade

Of many a stately tree,

Which no rough tempest makes to reel,
Nor their straight bodies bows,
Their lofty tops do never feel

The weight of winter's snows.
In groves that evermore are green,
No falling leaf is there,
But philomel, of birds the queen,
In music spends the year.
The merl upon her myrtle perch

There to the mavis sings,

Who from the top of some curl'd birch
Those notes redoubled rings.
There daisies damask every place,
Ner once their beauties lose,
That when proud Phoebus hides his face
Themselves they scorn to close.

The pansy and the violet here,
As seeming to descend,
Both form one root, a very pair,
For sweetness do contend.
The winter here a summer is,

No waste is made by time;
Nor doth the autumn ever miss

The blossoms of the prime.

The flower that July forth doth bring,
In April here is seen;

The primrose that puts on the spring,
In July decks each green.

Oft spreading vines climb up the cleeves,
Whose ripen'd cluster there
Their liquid purple drops, which drives
A vintage through the year.
Those cleeves, whose craggy sides are clad
With trees of sundry suits,
Which make continual summer glad,
Even bending with their fruits.

GREECE AND THE FINE ARTS.

On the 12th of August, 1811, the members and patrons of the Liverpool Academy of Arts had a public dinner in the Exhibition-room, in the Union News-room, Dukestreet The following original song was written for the

occasion :

1.

What Greece was of old, we need not be told,
Her name is eternal in story;

But her fame would be fled, as ber heroes are dead,
If the arts had not sanctioned her glory.

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4.

Those fruits are the arts, and their homage imparts
To its lovers a pleasure unbounded;
Then fill the bowl high, and let us enjoy

The prospect by which we're surrounded. The theme of this song brings to our recollection t following passage from Young's Athens, in evidence the extraordinary encouragement given to the fine arts b the Athenians.

"Phidias, the Statuary.-Public edifices of the riches and grandest structure were everywhere raised; what the magnificence of these buildings was, may be sur mised from the sum of 1000 talents, or £180,000, being expended solely on the Temple of Minerva, and that a time when, from the multitude of slaves, labour w almost gratuitous, and the finest marbles were the tural produce of the country. In this temple, called th Parthenion, and built by the architect Setinus, stood statue of the tutelary goddess, wrought in ivory by th hand of Phidias, and profusely decorated with gold. this figure is taken as the criterion of the arts at th era of the Athenian republic, the idea of general exce lence transcends all that every other country and eve other age can boast. Precious as were the material Phidias formed this statue twenty-six cubits high; from Pliny's description it appears to have been in eve part as elaborately touched as the most exquisite minster The reliefs were chosen from great and complete st jects, and were severally a work that requires the first a tist, his greatest exertion of genius, and his utmost care execution. On the area of the shield was sculpten the battle of the Amazons; within its concave, the co flict of the gods and giants; on the pedestal was rep sented the birth of Pandora, and the deities; even th sandals of the goddess' feet were ornamented with gra ing of the Lapitha and the Centaurs; and a Victory, weighing forty talents of gold, was held forth in t hand. This statue, of which the total effect riveted th attention in amazement and rapture, was in each detail finished and perfect, that the most intelligent eye con with pleasure contemplate even the serpent, the sphi and other ornaments of the armour."— page 193.

MADAME PASTA.

-Young's Alle

The following notice of this accomplished singer actress, copied from a Dublin paper, may be acceptable our readers, who will soon have the opportunity of heari Madame Pasta in Liverpool :

"The enterprise of the manager must, at all events! applauded. He has now exhibiting on our boards a la at about five-and-thirty pounds per song!-Every notes sings absolutely costs a coin of the United Kingdoms Great Britain and Ireland! Madame Pasta is certainly wonder in her way. With a most extraordinary comp of voice, there is a richness and volume of note, to whe we suppose, there is nothing now to be compared any stage in Europe. Of what are termed executi powers, we had little opportunity of judging last nigh The few, however, that were exhibited in Di Tanti På pili, justified the highest expectations. The transitions emphasis as well as of note, were in all instances managi with the most admirable skill and dexterity.-Int upper part of her voice Madame Pasta unites the greate brilliancy with the most extraordinary tenderness delicacy, and nothing that she effects seems to cost her effort. The sweetness and pathos which she threw in the Cavatina "O Patasi," exceeded any thing we e heard. She was here evidently most successful in ca vating the majority of her auditory, though there we persons who would rest her claims for the honours of th night chiefly on the inimitable recitative in the Gra Scena from the Opera of Didone. Taking her performance altogether, they were most extraordinary, and truly de lightful. The plaudits of all parts of the house were cessant and most unqualified, and it is already manifes that her career at this theatre will win her new renown and prove most profitable to the Theatrical Exchequer."

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