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Tiber, March 16th, 1824, caused universal regret at Rome. Never was sympathy more general than that shown by all classes of persons for this

“ Lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded ; A Rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded."

The author of “Transalpine Memoirs" thus affectingly narrates the dreadful catastrophe :

“As I was returning, on the 16th, from the walk on Monte Pincio, I perceived several persons running toward the Porta del Popolo; those I interrogated only knew that something had happened in that direction-what, they were unable to say. An hour afterwards, as we were sitting down to dinner, a servant entered, apparently horror-struck, saying that an English young lady had been drowned in the Tiber; that it was not yet certain who, but that she feared it was “la Rosina, quella bella, bella,' whom she had seen, a few hours before, mounting her horse in the Piazza di Spagan. Conceive our anxious uncertainty! Though not personally acquainted with Miss Rose Bathurst, I had, in every assembly, admired, in common with all Rome, the beauty and amiability of this bouton de, rose'-rose-bud-as she was universally called; and had witnessed proofs of the kindness and goodness of her disposition. Her misfortune could no longer be doubted: within one hour after it had taken place, all my quarter of the town knew of it, and was in confusion ; so general was the sympathy her fate excited."

Of the many different versions in which her catastrophe has been related, the following appears the most exact, and the most probable.

“Miss Bathurst, with the relations with whom she lived, and a party of ladies, after crossing, on horseback, the Ponte Molle, turned down on the right and followed the bank of the Tiber. The road was sufficiently safe until, arriving at an inclosure that reaches nearly to the edge of the stream, they found the gate, through which they had intended to pass, shut. One of the party proposed passing between the hedge of the field and the river, and, accordingly, led the way. The horse of Miss Bathurst, whether startled at an attempt made to lead it over the narrow pass, or slipping in the mud that covered the broken path, stumbled, and rolled down the slimy steep bank into the deep water below. The horse regained the path, but without its lovely rider! No sign appeard on the surface to point out whether she was carried down by the stream, or remained on the spot where the horse fell. None of the party could swim : the thoughtless despair of the relation urged him into the river, from which he himself was with difficulty saved.*

“Small casts of the beautiful girl were immediately made, and eagerly bought up, both by foreigners and Romans."

“In the month of September following, the body was seen floating directly over the spot where she first fell into the Tiber. On being brought to the shore it was found to be little altered. The dress was in the same state as at the time of the fatal catastrophe; the beautiful features were also unchanged, except by some bruises on the face. It was presumed that the weight of the horse had, in falling on it, pressed it deep into the mud, where it had remained buried, until the rains and current washing away the slime that covered it, it again rose to the surface."

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A NIGHT AT MY UNCLE'S.

In a certain part of this “gude countrie,” (county of Somerset,) lived a certain elderly gentleman who, for certain reasons, shall be nameless. Honesty, bluntness, and liberality were the qualities of which he boasted; and it is but just towards him to own, that the two former were distinguishing traits in his character; of the latter, however, I am not so sure, seeing that ever since I was an urchin of about two feet in height, he has been continually promising to “make a man ” of me; and yet, the only favours which I have received at his hands up to this very time, have been a book of sermons which belonged to my great grandfather, an occasional good dinner,-a rarity, by the way, to a poor “ child of genius ” like myself,—and a tolerable night's lodging.

Last Christmas twenty years—how well do I remember the time, ay, and shall remember it for twenty years to come, if I live so long; for it had like to have cost my uncle, the gentleman above alluded to, and myself, our lives—in my case, from excessive fright, in his, from immoderate laughter after a hearty meal)—twenty years ago last Christmas it was my fortune whether good or evil let the sequel declare—to be invited to spend a day at Brierly Hall, my uncle's “seat," as he used to call it, and which had been the pride of our family through some dozen generations.

Brierly Hall was a very extensive, and, of course, a very oldfashioned building. I had heard of the Vatican at Rome, with its thousands of apartments, but I never really knew what a large house was until I stood on the eminence which commanded that which my uncle would have refused to exchange for the palace of the Pope, ay, and with all his Holiness' honours to boot. It was two stories in height, with a frontage of nearly two hundred feet, and stood in what had formerly been a lawn, but which was now entirely covered with brambles and rank weeds, and colonized by rabbits. My uncle's household, consisting of four living creatures only—himself, Betty the cook, Tom the man of all work, and Cæsar the dog-he had contented himself with keeping one wing of the house only in tolerable repair, while the rest had been suffered to drop gradually into irremediable decay. It was indeed a mere heap of ruins, around which the ivy trailed its lazy length, and above which the owlet shrieked nightly in horrid concert with the moans of the blast as it swept through the wild, unfoliaged trees

by which the whole was surrounded. To myself, Brierly Hall, situated as it was in a valley at a distance of full two hours' good walking from the nearest residence of human beings, presented a very solitary appearance; and, stranger and stripling as I was, as the door, slowly opening to admit me, grated on its hinges, I entered its precincts with feelings something akin to “ fear and trembling.

The interior of the house was certainly of a character somewhat more attractive than the external aspect; albeit there was a wildness about the whole to which I could not at all reconcile myself; and, much as the invitation of my uncle at first delighted me, I now entertained a “secret dread and inward horror" of something to come, though I could not even guess what, and heartily wished that the time were arrived for my departure.

Ushered into the parlour, I discovered, seated before a large fire, two cozy-looking old gentlemen, each with a long pipe extending from his mouth, and a glass of brandy-and-water placed within convenient distance at his side. In one of the fumigators I recognized my worthy relative, who, grasping ny hand with a heartiness that did my heart good, ejaculated, “ My nephew, Mr. Scroggins ! ” Mr. Scroggins, the gentleman addressed, also shook my hand violently, remarked that it was a cold day, sipped his toddy, and puffed a volume of smoke in my face. I had then the satisfaction of knowing that I had arrived just too late for dinner, the table having been cleared (I don't mean swallowed) about ten minutes before I entered the room. This was a souice of considerable discomfort to me, and of as much mirth to my uncle, who, having indulged in two or thrc e jokes at my expense, turned towards the fire and whiffed away so eagerly at his pipe, that I began to entertain doubts whether anything in the shape of food was to be brought to the relief of my famished stomach. My apprehensions were, however, soon dispelled, by the appearance of Betty with the remnants of a joint of meat, and part of a plum-pudding, with sundry et ceteras; from which I managed to make a better meal than it has frequently fallen to my lot to meet with since.

Evening had now set in a cold, rainy, stormy December evening; and as the wind roared in the chimney and whistled through the crevices of the outer doors, and the rain pattered against the windows, I drew nearer to the fire, and endeavoured to persuade myself that I was comfortable.

My uncle and his friend had evidently made up their minds to enjoy themselves. Another bottle of brandy was placed upon the table, the bright kettle sang merrily over the fire, and the smoke curled playfully as it escaped from the bowls of their attenuated tubes, or writhed in fantastic folds from the pursy

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corners of their well-disciplined lips, and hid the sable ceiling from view. Our glasses being charged, the lord of Brierly Hall proceeded to deliver his annual “full, true,” (so he said) “ and particular account” of his ancestors, from the laying of the foundation stone of his habitation, to the period when it came, into his possession. For my own part, I felt but little interest in the narration, and amused myself with noting the peculiarities both in person and manners, of Mr. Scroggins.

He was a man of diminutive stature, but of immense substance ; his height about five feet nothing, and his width at the shoulders something less than four feet. Like Richard, he was

"Not famed for sportive tricks, " Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ;"

yet, if he was not handsome, he was not ugly; his countenance indexed a good heart; he had a full, ruddy cheek, a huge red nose, a rather wide mouth, and a pair of small, piercing black eyes. He listened, or affected to listen, to my uncle's story with great attention, laughed when he laughed, and nodded his head and gave a grunt as the latter delivered himself of such portions of the story as he wished should be clearly understood and made duly impressive.

My uncle having at length concluded his narration, the remainder of the evening passed as pleasantly away as such evenings pass in general, and at the “witching hour,” we retired to our dormitories.

The place prepared for Mr. Scroggins and myself—for we were under the necessity of occupying the same room—was situated at the back of the house. It was a snug little apartment enough, containing, amongst other articles, one ancient four-post bedstead, which Mr. Scroggins was given to understand was at his service; and for my accommodation, a temporary bed was made up in a corner, upon a broad-bottomed sofa, with the auxiliary aid of three capacious chairs. In less than five minutes (for both of us forgot to say our prayers) we had stretched ourselves between the sheets, and given ourselves up to “nature's soft nurse," as the poet says.

The strangeness of all around me, together with the whistling of the wind, and the trumpet tones, heard at distant and awful intervals, of the fiery proboscis that lay ensconced beneath some half-a-dozen of the best Witneys at the farther end of the room, convinced me that there was no hope of getting even a quarter of an hour's nap; and I determined to await with patience the arrival of morning, amusing myself, in the mean time, with such thoughts as might happen to find unbidden entrance into my brain. As I lay thus, philosophically making a virtue of necessity, a tremendous yell, which appeared to proceed from that

part of the house which was in ruins, burst upon my ear, making the hair upon my head stand erect

“Like quills upon the fretful porcupine."

while the blood froze in my rigid veins. I listened ; it died away upon the gale, and I began to chide myself for my foolish fears, when a similar frightful cry arose, and was followed by the heavy tread of footsteps, as of a person walking up the stairs. A third yell, louder and more alarming than either of the former, ascended, and I was at least glad to find that it had had the effect of disturbing the seeming imperturbable Mr. Scroggins, who had scarcely muttered – What the deuce is that?” when the door of the room flew open, and, as I could discern by the light of a lamp which faintly glimmered on the dressingtable, a tall, gaunt figure,

“ In pure white robes, like very sanctity,”

stalked slowly in, and stood near the bedside of the wonderstricken gentleman.

“Heavens!” cried Mr. Scroggins," who are ye?" And raising himself in the bed he gazed upon the spectre with a countenance in which fear and horror were ludicrously blended with the somnific effects of the unweakened potations of the preceding. evening.

I had previously heard (but never believed) that the spirits of the dead may walk again ; but that this was a real ghost, I had now not the least doubt. I essayed to scream, but could not ; a cold sweat overspread my frame, my limbs were paralysed; and I lay, my eyes fixed intently upon the horrifying object before me, trembling and speechless.

For some few moments the figure stood motionless; it then drew still nearer to the agonized Mr. Scroggins, who was now wound up to the highest pitch of excitement.

Speak, speak! for Heaven's sake speak!” he shouted; ye man or devil ?”

The figure slowly recoiled, uttered a shriek which entered into my very soul, and fell to the ground.

Mr. Scroggins called lustily for assistance, and the next moment my uncle and his man Tom rushed into the room.

Surrender, or you are dead men !” exclaimed the former, as himself and Tom, both almost in a state of nudity, presented two immense pistols, ready to deal death to the first living object that came in their way. “My dear Mr. Scroggins, what's the matter? what does all this mean?

“ Look there! look on the floor! there! there! there!" re

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