is a piece of furniture more ornamental than useful; politicians do well enough without heads; physicians enact cures, lawyers argue very convincingly without them; ladies, as most of us know, despise them. altogether and surely apparitions may claim an act of dispensation. The story goes, that this spectre whip was a coachman on the high North road, whose head was cut off by an irritable Yorkshire Baronet; that on his decease, he was appointed driver of the Devil's coach; and that whenever a libertine was on the eve of death, this coach and coachman were seen rattling along the streets of Beverley, to take up the soul of the departed. That, moreover, voices were heard in the air, accompanied by the deep bass tones of a thunderclap, and that yells proceeded from the inside passengers, which is extremely natural, seeing that as the roads are rough, and the coach does not go upon springs, the jostling of so many dry bones must produce much inconvenience. But it is my duty to tell a plain tale :-so a truce to further explanations.

Once upon a time then, there dwelt in the good town of Beverley, a certain Cambridge student, by name Wharton. He was, if I may believe report, a learned, though a desperate character; for no vice was too daring, no virtue too impregnable, for his assaults. He never even by chance stumbled on

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a good action; never went to church on Sundays; never paid his debts; but when a tailor sued for money, would throw him out of the window, observing, by way of consolation, that as he formed only the ninth part of a man, the pain received from his bruise would of course be proportionably diminished. Now it happened that among the multiplicity of his other amours, this young man fell desperately in love with the daughter of a coachman at Beverley. He met her, it seems, as she was tripping along Westwood Common, and, being struck with her beautiful simplicity, resolved to attempt her seduction. With this view he proffered all that wealth could procure, or fashion devise, to ensnare her better reason. He succeeded to his wish; for where is the feminine phenomenon who can resist the seductive qualities of a handsome young man, or the bewitching attractions of a diamond ring? Our virgin, at least, was no philosopher; so homeward she went, casting ever and anon a glance of girlish vanity at her new present, and exclaiming, as she placed it at night in her bedchamber, "Well! he has given me a kiss, but he shall never do any thing more; no! I would rather die first." Whether she kept her word, remains to be told in the sequel.

After some little discreet manoeuvrings, young Wharton discovered her abode. She was peeping

out of the window as he passed by, and, with a beautifully blended air of simplicity and innocence, kissed her hand in token of recognition. Was this meant as a proof of complaisance, or of mere civility? in good sooth, I cannot say; I profess not to understand the freaks of womanhood; so my readers must form their own conjectures. One thing however is certain, that a few evenings afterwards she was detected walking arm in arm with him down North-Bar-street; a circumstance which gave infinite offence to the elect of the neighbourhood. Though dangerous to her repose, the prepossession of this poor girl had at least the merit of sincerity; her appearance too was well calculated to inspire passion, and in her manner there was a certain air of rustic artlessness, which lent an inexpressible charm to her person. A gang of virulent old spinsters, however, who sat in council upon the merits of her countenance, gave out that she was but so so; which convinced men of discernment that she was really beautiful.

Gentle reader! my tale now now begins to be pathetic, for the ruin of innocence is the text on which justice compels me to enlarge. Miss Louisa Shirley (I abhor familiarity) had been but a short time acquainted with Wharton, when one unlucky. evening a footman in a gold-laced hat slipped into her hand a note, requesting her to meet him on the

ensuing Sunday, as he had business of importance to communicate. She perused and re-perused the letter, dispatched an answer in the affirmative, and then sat down to consider. "He will perhaps kiss me," said she; "but, after all, what is there in a kiss? I kiss Papa every night before I go to bed, and he does not think the worse of me for it." She ascertained at length, that there was no harm in being kissed, that it was a proof of exceeding friendship, and in short that she could not well dispense with it. Having settled this point to her satisfaction, she went to bed.

Sunday at last arrived, the Minster bells had just tolled for evening service, and a few scattered individuals were seen trooping along Westwood Common, to the parish church of Saint Mary. The eight o'clock chimes had just finished as Louisa, punctual to her appointment, observed Wharton stealing towards her. A wordless recognition ensued, and they hastened in silence to a most wicked tuft of trees at the extremity of Westwood. I say wicked, for, notwithstanding the laudable exertions of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, this spot, to the scandal of all Beverley, is the scene of nightly, and even hourly iniquities. On approaching it, they seated themselves upon a reclining bank of moss, while the west wind among the trees above them murmured voluptuous music

to their souls. The hour-the scene-were sacred to love, for the last rays of the setting sun had but now mellowed into twilight, and a grey dimness over'spread the landscape.

Wharton first addressed his companion, who,

clad in the light garb of summer, inclined her sweet form towards him. Heaven only knows what he said, though, from the heightening bloom on her cheek, I suspect that among other misdemeanors he accused her of being a pretty girl. He appealed, in short, to her vanity with all the glozing softness of an accomplished libertine ; he spoke to her in the language most dear to a woman's heart; andbut it positively makes me blush to recapitulate at any further length his atrocious and triumphant machinations.

There is no wisdom below the waistcoat, said a late eminent lawyer, and Miss Swas doomed to verify this uncomfortable truth. Having gained his point, Wharton deserted his victim, and quitted Beverley for the gayer scenes of the metropolis. As for Louisa, every hour of the day was consumed in unavailing regret, blended with a tender sentiment for her seducer, whom yet she could not resolve to abhor. Her friends observed her melancholy, but, unconscious of the cause, attempted to offer consolation. Vain hope! is there aught can heal a broken heart? I say this from experience;