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Hyacinth raised his arm towards the houses, and looked full in the working, withered face of the owner. May desolation hang upon their walls-may they become the haunt of wretches as vile and worthless as the wretch who owns them-may they become the miser's curse-his torment-his remorse!" And with this hearty wish, uttered in a tone of thrilling earnestness, the nephew left his ancient uncle.

After some time, Peppercorn came to a sense of his loneliness. He stood, his feet grown to the earth: at length he looked from side to side for his vehement companion, and breathed more freely, finding him gone. He turned towards the houses-his heart sank, but in pulling forth a bunch of keys, each labelled with the number of the dwelling, he pulled out his tavern-bill. In an instant he shrank from the tales of horror he had listened to; but a glimpse at the tavern document called back his errant spirits. He was beset by ghosts; but he thought of the charge for bed; and, like a wise, worldly man, he triumphed over the assault of superstition by the force of a shilling.

Peppercorn selected his lodging-with much labour turned the lockand forced open the unmusical door. As the hinge squeaked, the rats within squeaked in answer, a welcome to a long-absent landlord. Here the passenger-for it was growing dusk-might have fancied, at two or three of the casements, odd, grotesque heads peeping forth, wondering at the aspect of the mysterious visitor. However, Isaac Peppercorn is "at home."

(To be continued.)

TOM SMITH RETURNED.

HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

UNLIKE most persons who write their own biographies, I recollect nothing that occurred before memory commenced. At its earliest dawn, I remember seeing a spot called Smithfield, so designated, I believe, from the number of people named Smith who were burned there in the reign of Queen Mary. This scene must have presented itself on my way to a celebrated school in that neighbourhood, of which the Rev. Cicero Smith was then the ruling power.

The scholars were numerous, and most of the boys, so it appears to me, were of that name too. They might be relations of the master. I certainly was not; and yet there is a vague half-notion, or semi-idea, clinging to my memory-it may be, to my imagination-that, for some years, that is, from seven to ten, I also went by the name of Smith. How it was, I can't say with certainty; but it has always impressed itself on my mind, that I went to bed one night answering (had I been asked) to that name, and that I was awakened the next morning by somebody calling out, "Clay, if you don't get up, you'll be too late for the boat." Upon being thus roused from sleep, and by another name, as it seemed, I was somewhat puzzled; but as the master in a few minutes summoned me by this new cognomen to his room, I became satisfied that such was my name, and that the idea of my being a Smith was the illusion of a romantic dream. There is no accounting for the wildness of a youthful imagination. Still the point was one of frequent perplexity, both then and afterwards; and I could only conclude that

it was from the almost universal prevalence of that name among the boys that I had confused myself, and forgotten whether it was mine

or not.

The only other recollection of my school-days is, that we were all taught that homo was Latin for Smith, and that in going through the adjectives we used to say, bonus Smith, a good boy-malus Smith, a bad boy.

The interview with my schoolmaster was short, as I was simply warned that there was no time to lose, and that it only wanted ten minutes to six. I rubbed my eyes, and then opened them very wide; but all I know is, that in a few minutes I lost sight of school, and was very soon afterwards shivering and snivelling amongst a crowd of tubs and packages, with what seemed to my eyes a ship ready to sail, into which somebody unceremoniously jerked me-I being, as it turned out," consigned to the care" of Captain Smith, in company with a trunk, on which was written, " Master Clay, passenger."

All this was so sudden, unexpected, and mysterious, that it might well have passed for a combination of the romantic vision of the previous night, in which childish ambition had fondly caught at the glory of a popular name. That I asked many questions is certain, and that I got no answer is likely; for I learned nothing whatever explanatory of this change in my fortunes. All I remember is, that somebody desired me to be damned; and that, habitually obedient, but ignorant at that time how to become so, I cried myself asleep.

It was not until we had made our way so far into salt-water as to render any tears of mine ridiculously superfluous, that I ascertained we were voyaging to the West Indies. Boys' hearts are tougher than salt beef, and Sorrow vainly fastens its teeth in them. Hope in youth is too strong to be broken, like a ship-biscuit, with a sledge-hammer. I soon began talking instead of crying, and one day elicited from Captain Smith that my mother had died at Stratsmith, in Ireland,-that my father was killed defending Acre under Sir Sydney Smith, and that his own acres had been successfully besieged by a detachment of creditors,-that my schoolmaster had been instructed to ship me without a moment's delay for the West Indies,-and that when I got there, I should be as happy as new nankeens could make me.

"I

I could not avoid seeing how strangely my fortunes were, at every turn, influenced by, or connected with, the family of the Smiths. The family!" Ah," I exclaimed; "if it had but the instinct to keep and act together, it might govern the world, as it has governed me." I had not then read Cowper, and was not aware who the "first Smith " really was; but having heard of Adam Smith, I concluded that he was our first parent, and author, not merely of the Wealth of Nations, but of the Nations also. Happening, one afternoon, to express some reflection of this kind aloud, I was roughly rebuked by a sailor, who told me to mind what I said about Smiths in that ship. I replied that I meant no harm, and that neither the captain nor the mates (who were so named) could hear me, as they were at dinner. "No," said the man significantly; "but the crew might, and you had better not quiz us."

Until we arrived at Jamaica, I continued to form all kinds of surmises respecting the past, and speculations as to the future. The first offered the most attractive theme; but not a feature of my infancy could I trace.

I tried to recollect my christening, in order to remember my name. Thomas Clay! uo; I had been called Tom Smith; that seemed certain. I kept saying that I was sure of it, until I felt sure. And why could not I still be called so? why go by another name in the world? To be called otherwise, could only denote affectation, and ridiculous singularity. I couldn't bear to be so eccentric. Why separate myself, as it were, by a mere name, from the majority of my fellow creatures? The word "Clay," however, as meaning the material of which human nature is composed, was, I reflected, an excellent substitute, and, in fact, differed only in sound.

On landing, I was made over in a regular way, with sundry commercial stores, to the firm of Smithson, Smithers, and Co., merchants, with whom Captain Smith had sufficient influence to procure me a post-or rather a stool-in a sort of apprenticeship to the business of clerk. Here fate let me alone for a long time. I grew out of my new nankeens; my sum-totals and percontras improved, and I became arithmetician enough to count two years of life on each of my ten fingers. Still my thoughts would fly backward, and try to unravel the mysteries of my infancy. My character took a tinge of melancholy, my habits, a lonely turn. My fellow clerks found gayer acquaintances, until, as regards companionship, I had, in the language of the Rev. Sydney Smith, "preached myself down to the bare sexton." This sexton saved me, by conducting me to the clergyman-not the one just mentioned-but it happened to be one of the same name, who joined Lucy's hand to mine, as love had joined our hearts. Lucy was the "Sexton " I spoke of. She was a distant relation of the junior partner of the firm, and being dependent, was not thought so beautiful as his daughters. But Lucy Smith was interesting in my eyes; she listened to my history-to its romance, to its realities-to my sad and unsilenced suspicions regarding my real name. At last she laughed at my anxiety to prove myself a Smith, and then lamented the difference of taste between us; for whereas I was bent on acquiring that name, while she (she said) was hoping to get rid of it. We married upon this; and a witty writer in the "Molasses Gazette and Guide to Mirth" felicitously remarked on the occasion, that there was one Smith who was not a-miss, since she had been turned to Clay." The joke created quite a sensation in Jamaica.

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I was not happy, in spite of a little advance of salary, when marriage bore its first fruit. My boy only served to remind me of my boyhood. Sometimes a dreadful notion would flash across me-" Good Heavens ! perhaps I have married my sister." I was more terrified by the idea than ever were the negroes by Three-fingered Jack, whom we used to hear of as delineated by Obi Smith. At times I was more cheerful, and was wont to take great delight in reading the "New Monthly" when it came from England, in which I was always sure to find some exquisite whimsicality, or stroke of humane humour, by one of the two Smiths, Horace or James. But on one occasion, turning my eye to the advertising sheet, my sensations may be guessed. As Addison, I think it is, remarks, they may be more easily conceived than described. It here saw an advertisement to the effect that "if Thomas Smith, who at such an age was at such a school (naming my identical time and place) and was supposed to have been mysteriously smuggled over to

the West Indies, would apply to, &c., he would hear something, &c." I read with suspended breath, but with swimming eyes. Thomas Smith -time-place-West Indies-everything agreed. I was Tom Smith! I was delirious with delight. The object of my fondest visions, my highest ambition, was to be realized. I broke the news to my wife in a burst of ecstacy. Alas! what shook my soul only caused her to shake her head. There were ten thousand Tom Smiths scattered over the West Indies. The name might belong to every man, in every island that could be mentioned; from the President of Bermuda, so entitled, to Sir C. Felix Smith, the Governor of Antigua ; and from him again to the Governor of British Guiana, Sir James Carmichael Smith. The chance was too slight-the hope too ridiculous. If I were to write, I might have to endure months of anxiety, crowned with a cutting disappointment. "Ask your friend," she advised; this was my fellow-clerk. He laughed at the notion, and seemed shocked at the vulgarity of figuring among a crowd of eager miscellaneous applicants. I forgot at the moment his finical and fastidious character, displayed particularly in the weak and idle conceit of spelling his name thus-Smythe! But they prevailed; I gave up my brilliant hope of distinction, and relapsed into my settled obscurity.

A few years rolled on, and again, in a stray journal, the same advertisement met my eye. The sight of it rekindled in me the old sensations. I now knew that I was Tom Smith! My excitement was at the full→ I resolved to write. The dispatch of my letter was prevented by the receipt of one from an English agent, inquiring respectfully concerning my origin and early history, and half claiming me as the long-lost Tom. It was answered! so was mine in turn; and this inclosed a remittance heavy enough to weigh down all my wife's doubts, and eloquent enough to convert her to my creed. We sold off, packed up, got on board, and made our way to the Irish home of my fathers. I presented myself as a specimen of the Smiths. I stood erect to be recognized. Curiosity with its peering eyes read me through; Doubt awarded me a shifting side-long glance; love Looked beamingly in my face, and a sisterly confidence admitted my claim. I was Tom Smith, heir to a handsome estate and a round sum down. But "the mystery, the mystery." That cannot just yet be fully explained. I had been reported to have died at school, and my funeral had been witnessed. The parish-books proved the burial of a little Smith at that time, who was probably a little Clay about to be shipped for Jamaica; only the parish-clerk, accustomed to write down Smith, wrote down Smith from sheer habit. But my sister had a presentiment that one Smith there was in the world more than the world wot of, and she never ceased to advertise till she found me. She has been a real blessing to newspapers.

All I shall say further is, that having written to consult Sir Lionel Smith, the present Governor of Jamaica, and shaping my course accordingly, I have just been re-married. Thus, my wife's name is what it was when I first whispered my suspicions to her-Lucy Smith, the lovely wife of Tom the Lucky, and the happy mother of a boy whose re-christening is to be celebrated at a county festival, to which all the Smith families in the three kingdoms, rich and poor, illustrious or obscure, are invited joyously as friends and kinsfolk. To defray the costs, I have just issued an unlimited order upon Smith, Payne, and Smith. It sounds like an ill-assorted firm, nevertheless. Ah! never, never may Pain come between the Smiths!

L. B.

THE BLUE KNIGHT.

A CONCENTRATED ROMANCE.-BY ALFRED CROWQUILL.

CHAP. I.-An Arrival.

On the summit of the loftiest tower of the castle of Altenberg gaily flaunted in the evening breeze the flag of the redoubtable and right valiant Baron Ulric. His only daughter, the incomparably beautiful Elvina, was the sole object of his love and fear; her filial tenderness was the cause of the first, her wit and beauty, of the latter; for, as the fairest flowers attract the bees, and the dazzling flame the moth, so did he dread lest some adventurous and unworthy knight might be attracted by the charms, and win the affections of his child. The Baroness of his early love had long since yielded to the arms of death, and the barrenness of his domains was alone left for his enjoyment. Secluded from the world, the Baron trusted that his daughter would remain unscathed by the random arrows of love, until he could select some stalwart knight of wealth and valour on whom he should be proud to bestow her hand.

Compelled to take the field to repel the invasion of an enemy of one of his distant allies, he left the castle of Altenberg in the care and custody of his warder, and two or three vassals.

The moon had just risen, and the inmates of the castle retired for the night, when a Knight, attended by his faithful esquire, approached the borders of the castle-moat.

Seest thou that moat ?" inquired the Knight.

"Ay, truly, your Worship," replied the esquire, "for do not the wise ones say that we sooner see the mote in our neighbour's eye than the beam in our own."

"We must crave a lodging there, Grummel," continued the Knight; "blow me yonder horn."

"With what breath I have," said Grummel; " for I'm blown myself, as well as the steeds, with our long journey."

The horn was sounded, and the warder appeared at the wicket.

"In the name of St. Grimbald," cried Grummel, "give shelter to the valiant Knight, Sir Wilhelm of Dusseldorf and his trusty esquire." "The Baron Altenberg is abroad," said the warder, in an excusatory

tone.

"And so are we," replied Grummel; "for we have lost our way." "Tarry awhile," answered the warder, after a moment's consideration, and, closing the wicket, departed.

"A discourteous knave," grumbled Grummel, "kceping us here like a couple of dogs."

"How, sirrah?"

"Why, did he not bid us tarry here; and therefore are we not in better condition than a couple of tarriers!"

"We cannot bite, and therefore bark not," answered the Knight. The warder again made his appearance; the drawbridge was lowered, and the Knight and his esquire crossed the moat.

"The lady Elvina welcomes the stranger Knight to her father's castle," said the warder, obligingly.

"I kiss her hands," replied the Knight, "and thank her for her courtesy."