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Next day saw Darby on his way to Parkmount, true to his word. What thoughts were passing in his mind we know not. Our business is to chronicle events. By Lady Sally he was received most graciously. She told him he must vote for Mr. Arden, and complimented him very much on his good character and respectability. He was formally introduced, too, to Lady Caroline Arden wife to the candidate and own sister's daughter to Lord Rackrent-who, with the sweetest smile imaginable, hoped that he would vote for Mr. Arden.

Darby, however, said that he never gave a promise, but it would be hard to refuse two such ladies. Lady Sally insisted that he should dine that day at Parkmount, as Captain Wheeler wished particularly to see him; and Darby very politely accepted the invita

tion.

Captain Wheeler returned home to dinner at the close of the first day's polling; the two candidates had polled man for man throughout the day; and the result was, if possible, more doubtful than ever. Of course the anxiety of the canvassers to secure Darby's vote was proportionately increased. "Sykes," said the Captain, when he met him, "you are an honest and sensible fellow; you had better stay here tonight, and I will take you to-morrow to give your

vote.

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of arithmetic to know that twenty-one sovereigns make twenty guineas. He could not doubt that they were intended for him-and intended that he should take them away. He looked at them again. He remembered his promise to Mrs. Sykes, that if he was offered twenty guineas he would not refuse them; and he put them in his waistcoat pocket.

Captain Wheeler hurried Darby away, and placed him on the coach-box of his carriage. A short time sufficed to roll them to the hustings. Darby was first taken to the tally rooms of the Honourable Mr. Arden; and being placed with four others on a tally was conducted between Captain Wheeler and Mr. Arden to the polling place. The excitement was very great. Several mounted dragoons were patrolling in front; and the polling booth itself was crowded with the friends of both parties. It was early in the day, and the candidates were still equal. Captain Wheeler smiled approvingly upon Darby, as they went forward. Some of the opposite party pointed him out to each other with looks of indignant scorn, while curses not loud but deep were muttered by the Protestants of his own rank, who regarded his desertion with execration.

Darby was the last upon the tally; so that there was time for these exhibitions of feeling during the period he was obliged to wait. An incident in the meanDarby was overpowered with such kindness, and while occurred which excited some amusement. The expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the arrange-fourth person upon the tally being asked for whom he would vote, said Mr. Wilson; but immediately exclaimed that it was a mistake, and corrected himself by voting for Mr. Arden. After a good deal of dispute, as whether the correction was made in time, the vote was taken for Mr. Arden. The laughter at this incident had scarcely subsided when it came to Darby's turn. He came forward under the blandest smiles of Captain Wheeler and Mr. Arden, and the frowns of the opposite party. He preserved, however, most philosophical composure. 66 For whom do you vote?" said the poll clerk. Darby looked round with a knowing expression; something like a smile twinkled in the corner of his eye-“I vote," said he, "for Mr. Wilson AND NO MISTAKE."

At dinner, a side-table was laid for Darby in the room in which the family dined. Poor Darby was sorely puzzled by the viands that were set before him. Meats, of which he neither knew the name or the ingredients, were set upon his plate. Notwithstanding his ignorance, however, he contrived to regale himself with very tolerable satisfaction; he was sometimes puzzled as to whether he should apply his knife and fork or spoon in eating some of the meats; but he very easily solved the difficulty by using in all doubt ful cases his fingers and his teeth.

During the progress of dinner, both the ladies asked him to take wine with them. "A servant," as he himself afterwards described it, "poured white porter out of a long thin bottle; it frothed up just like beer; but was far sweeter and went faster to the head."

I regret that I cannot now procure Darby's own account of this entertainment; but the story of his blunders and his wonders would be spoiled unless given in his own words. Darby, however, did not dislike his new mode of living; and after dinner and some more glasses of wine, Darby went to make merry a little while in the servants' hall, and then retired to bed.

Next morning at breakfast he was placed in the same situation as at dinner on the preceding day. Lady Caroline made tea for him. Darby made a hearty breakfast on cold meat, eggs, and buttered toast. Before he had finished, the rest of the party had left the room. A fresh plate of toast had just been placed upon the table before him. Darby did not exactly perceive by whom; he, however, proceeded to demolish it, when the first piece he removed, discovered underneath, to his admiring gaze, a heap of round pieces of real glittering gold.

Darby's curiosity was excited. He took up the pieces one by one; and as he laid the last upon the table, he had counted twenty-one. He knew enough

The effect was irresistible; a peal of laughter and cheering rung through the court-house. "Bravo, Fermanagh," resounded from some of the voices that a little while ago were disposed to curse poor Darby. Mr. Arden and the Captain both had the most black expressions. "Good morning to you, gentlemen," said Darby, most politely, as he bowed to them both, and retired to receive the congratulations of his Protestant friends.

That evening Lady Sally Wheeler received a most polite note with Mr. Syke's compliments, thanking her for her hospitality, and saying he had been s well treated the day before, he would be happy to dine with her again. What notice was taken of this we cannot say.

Rumour stated that twenty guineas were added by Darby Sykes to the subscription which was made to aid a petition against the return of the Honourable Mr. Arden.

Youghal, 6th Jan. 1838.

S. A.

A FAMILY STORY.

The Lady Robesia lay on her death-bed! So said the coctor,and doctors are generally allow ed to be judges in these matters; besides, Doctor Butts was the Coup Physician; he carried a crutch handled staff, with his cross of the blackest ebony, raison de plus!

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From Bentley's Miscellany. with all his might.-It was a capital contrivance the same Passing-Bell,-which of the Urbans or Ins cents invented it, is a query; but whoever it was be deserved well of his country and of Christendom. Ah! our ancestors were not such fools, after all, we their degenerate children, conceit them to hate been. The Passing Bell! a most solemn warning imps of every description, is not to be regarded w impunity: the most impudent Succubus of them dare as well dip his claws in holy water as c within the verge of its sound. Old Nick himse he sets any value at all upon his tail, had best conve himself clean out of hearing, and leave the way op to Paradise.-Little Hubert continued pulling w all his might, and St. Peter began to look out f customer.

"Is there no hope, doctor ?" said Beatrice Grey. "Is there no hope ?" said Everard Ingoldsby. Is there no hope ?" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri. -He was the lady Rohesia's husband; he spoke

the last.

The doctor shook his head he looked at the disconsolate widower in posse, then at the hour-glass; -its waning sand seemed sadly to shadow forth the sinking pulse of his patient. Dr. Butts was a very learned man. “Ars longa, vita brevis !" said Doctor Butts.

"I am very sorry to hear it," quoth Sir Guy de Montgomeri.

Sir Guy was a brave knight, and a tall; but he

was no scholar.

"Alas! my poor sister!" sighed Ingoldsby. "Alas! my poor mistress!" sobbed Beatrice. Sir Guy neither sighed nor sobbed ;—his grief was too deep-seated for outward manifestation.

"And how long, doctor,-?" The afflicted husband could not finish the sentence.

The knell seemed to have some effect even p

the Lady Rohesia: she raised her head slightly;
articulate sounds issued from her lips,-inartie.
that is, to the profane ears of the laity. Those
Father Francis indeed were sharper; nothing, as
averred, could be more distinct than the words
thousand marks to the priory of St. Mary Rouncia
Now the Lady Rohesia Ingoldsby had brought
husband broad lands and large possessions: mus
her ample dowry, too, was at her own disposal,
nuncupative wills had not yet been abolished by
of Parliament.

"Pious soul!" ejaculated Father Francis. thousand marks, she said—”

"If she did, I'll be shot!" said Sir Guy de M gomeri.

Doctor Butts withdrew his hand from the wrist of the dying lady; he pointed to the horologe; scarce a "-A thousand marks!" continued the confess quarter of its sand remained in the upper moiety. fixing his cold grey eye upon the knight, as he Again he shook his head; the eye of the patient wax-on, heedless of the interruption;-" a thousand mis ed dimmer, the rattling in the throat increased. "What's become of Father Francis ?"-whimpered Beatrice.

"The last consolations of the church"-suggested Everard.

A darker shade came over the brow of Sir Guy. "Where is the Confessor?" continued his grieving brother-in-law.

"In the pantry," cried Marion Hacket pertly, as she tripped down stairs in search of that venerable ecclesiastic;"in the pantry, I warrant me."-The bower-woman was not wont to be in the wrong ;-in the pantry was the holy man discovered,-at his de

votions.

"Pax vobiscum!" said Father Francis, as he entered the chamber of death.

"Vita brevis!" returned Doctor Butts: he was not a man to be browbeat out of his Latin,-and by a paltry friar Minim, too. Had it been a Bishop indeed, or even a mitred Abbot;-but a miserable Franciscan!

"Benedicite!" said the friar.

"Ars longa!" retorted the leech.

Doctor Butts adjusted the tassels of his falling band, drew his short sad-coloured cloak closer around him, and, grasping his cross-handled walking-staff, stalked majestically out of the apartment.-Father Francis had the field to himself.

and as many Aves and Paters shall be duly saidsoon as the money is paid."

Sir Guy shrank from the monk's gaze; he tr to the window, and muttered to himself some that sounded like "Don't you wish you may get.

The bell continued to toll. Father Francis : quitted the room, taking with him the remains of . holy oil he had been using for Extreme Unca Everard Ingoldsby waited on him down stairs. "A thousand thanks!" said the latter. "A thousand marks!" said the friar. "A thousand devils!" growled Sir Guy de Ma gomeri from the top of the landing place.

But his accents fell unheeded: his brother-in-l and the friar were gone; he was left alone with departing lady and Beatrice Grey.

Sir Guy de Montgomeri stood pensively at the fl of the bed: his arms were crossed upon his bos his chin was sunk upon his breast; his eyes were i led with tears; the dim rays of the fading watch-lig gave a darker shade to the furrows on his brow, a brighter tint to the little d patch on the top 4 his head,-for Sir Guy anged gentlema tall and portly withel nd in his ha ders, but that not what florid, especi was in extremis, was paler than us: "Bim bos

The worthy chaplain hastened to administer the last rites of the church. To all appearance he had le time to lose as he concluded, the dismal toll of audibly; Passing-Bell sounded from the belfry tower; lit-square ubert the bandy-legged Sacristan, was pulling ment's

100

it fall,-all but one corner, which remained between her finger and thumb--She looked at Sir Guy; drew the thumb and forefinger of her other hand slowly along its border, till it reached the opposite extremity -She sobbed aloud: "So kind a lady!" said Beatrice Grey." So excellent a wife!" responded Sir Guy." So good!" said the damsel.-"So dear!" said the knight." So pious!" said she.- "So humble!" said he." So good to the poor !"-" So capital a manager!"-" So punctual at matins !"-" Dinner dished to a moment!"_ "So devout!" said Beatrice." So fond of me!" said Sir Guy.-" And of Father Francis!"-"What do you mean by that?" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri.

*

*

There is no talking to a female when she does not look at you. Sir Guy turned round-he seated himself on the edge of the bed, and, placing his hand beneath the chin of the lady, turned up her face in an angle of fifteen degrees.

I don't think I shall take the vows, Beatrice; but what's to become of me? Poor, miserable, oldthat is, poor, middle-aged man that I am!-No one to comfort, no one to care for me!"-Beatrice's tears flowed afresh, but she opened not her lips. "Pon my life!" continued he, "I don't believe there is a creature now would care a button if I were hanged to-morrow."

"Pish!" cried Sir Guy, testily.

"And-and there's your favourite old bitch!" "I am not thinking of old bitches!" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri.

"Oh! don't say so, Sir Guy!" sighed Beatrice; The knight and the maiden had rung their antipho-"you know there's-there's Master Everard, andnic changes on the fine qualities of the departing lady and Father Francis-" like the Strophe and Antistrophe of a Greek play. The cardinal virtues once disposed of, her minor excellences came under review :-She would drown a witch, drink lambswool at Christmas, beg Dominie Dumps's boys a holiday, and dine upon sprats on Good Friday! A low moan from the subject of these eulogies would intimate that the enumeration of her good deeds was not altogether lost on her,—that the parting spirit felt and rejoiced in the testimony.

"She was too good for earth!" continued Sir Guy. "Ye-Ye-Yes!" sobbed Beatrice.

"I did not deserve her!" said the Knight. "No-0-0-0!" cried the damsel.

"Not but that I made her an excellent husband, and a kind; but she is going, and-and-where, or Gar when or how-shall I get such another?"

"Not in broad England, not in the whole wide theworld!" responded Beatrice Grey; "that is, not just , such another!"-Her voice still faltered, but her acScents on the whole were more articulate; she dropped d the corner of her apron, and had recourse to her handkerchief; in fact, her eyes were getting red,—and so e was the tip of her nose.

Sir Guy was silent; he gazed for a few moments steadfastly on the face of his lady. The single word "Another!" fell from his lips like a distant echo;Fit is not often that the viewless nymph repeats more than is absolutely necessary.

Bim! bome !" went the bell.-Bandy-legged Hubert had been tolling for half an hour;-he began to grow tired, and St. Peter fidgety.

"Beatrice Grey!" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri, "what's to be done? what's to become of Montgomeri Hall?—and the buttery-and the servants? and what's to become of me, Beatrice Grey ?"—There was a pathos in his tones; and a solemn pause succeeded. I'll turn monk myself!" said Sir Guy. "Monk!" said Beatrice.

66

Another pause ensued: the Knight had released her chin, and taken her hand;-it was a pretty little hand, with long taper fingers, and filbert-formed nails, and the softness of the palm said little for it's owner's industry.

"Sit down, my dear Beatrice," said the Knight, thoughtfully; "you must be fatigued with your long watching; take a seat, my child."-Sir Guy did not relinquish her hand; but he sidled along the counterpane, and made room for his companion between himself and the bed-post.

Now this is a very awkward position for two people to be placed in, especially when the right hand of the one holds the right hand of the other: in such an attitude, what can the gentleman do with his left? Sir Guy closed his till it became an absolute fist, and his knuckles rested on the bed a little in the rear of his companion.

I

"Another!" repeated Sir Guy, musing; "if indeed could find such another!" He was talking to his' thought, but Beatrice Grey auswered him. "There's Madam Fitzfoozle !" "A frump!" said Sir Guy. "Or the Lady Bumbarton." "With her hump!" muttered he. "There's the Dowager

66

Stop-stop!" said the Knight, 66 stop one moment!" He paused; he was all on the tremble; something seemed rising in his throat, but he gave a great gulp, and swallowed it. "Beatrice," said he,

what think you of-" his voice sank into a most seductive softness-" what think you of-Beatrice Grey?" The murder was out:-the Knight felt infinitely I'll be a Carthusian!" repeated the knight but in relieved; the knuckles of his left hand unclosed spona tone less a sured: he relapsed into a reverie.-taneously, and the arm he had felt such a difficulty Shave his head !-he did not so much mind that, he in disposing of, found itself, nobody knows how, all was getting rather bald already; but, beans for dinner, at once encircling the jimp waist of the pretty Beaand those without butter, and then a horse-hair shirt! The knight seemed undecided: his eye roamed nily round the apartment, paused upon different but as if it saw them not; its sense was shut, was no speculation in its glance: it rested the fair face of the sympathizing damsel yeautiful in her grief.

ad ceased; but her eyes were cast down
fixed upon her delicate little foot,
he devil's tattoo.
38.

13

trice.

The young lady's reply was expressed in three syllables. They were-"Oh, Sir Guy!" The words might be somewhat indefinite, but there was no mistaking the look. Their eyes met; Sir Guy's left arm contracted itself spasmodically: when the eyes meetat least, as theirs met-the lips are very apt to follow the example. The Knight had taken one long, loving kiss-nectar and ambrosia! He thought on Doctor Butts and his Repetatur haustus-a prescription Fa

From Bentley's Miscellany.

A FAMILY STORY.

The Lady Rohesia lay on her death-bed! So said the doctor, and doctors are generally allow ed to be judges in these matters; besides, Doctor Butts was the Court Physician; he carried a crutch handled staff, with its cross of the blackest ebony, raison de plus!

"Is there no hope, doctor ?" said Beatrice Grey. "Is there no hope?" said Everard Ingoldsby.

Is there no hope ?" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri. -He was the lady Rohesia's husband; he spoke

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was no scholar.

"Alas! my poor sister!" sighed Ingoldsby. "Alas! my poor mistress!" sobbed Beatrice. Sir Guy neither sighed nor sobbed ;-his grief was too deep-seated for outward manifestation. "And how long, doctor,-?" The afflicted husband could not finish the sentence.

Doctor Butts withdrew his hand from the wrist of the dying lady; he pointed to the horologe; scarce a quarter of its sand remained in the upper moiety. Again he shook his head; the eye of the patient waxed dimmer, the rattling in the throat increased.

"What's become of Father Francis ?"—whimpered Beatrice.

"The last consolations of the church"-suggested Everard.

A darker shade came over the brow of Sir Guy. "Where is the Confessor?" continued his grieving brother-in-law.

"In the pantry," cried Marion Hacket pertly, as she tripped down stairs in search of that venerable ecclesiastic;"in the pantry, 1 warrant me.”—The bower-woman was not wont to be in the wrong-in the pantry was the holy man discovered,-at his de

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with all his might. It was a capital contrivance that same Passing-Bell,-which of the Urbans or Innocents invented it, is a query; but whoever it was he deserved well of his country and of Christendom.

Ah! our ancestors were not such fools, after all, as we their degenerate children, conceit them to have been. The Passing Bell! a most solemn warning to imps of every description, is not to be regarded with impunity: the most impudent Succubus of them all dare as well dip his claws in holy water as come within the verge of its sound. Old Nick himself, if he sets any value at all upon his tail, had best convey himself clean out of hearing, and leave the way open to Paradise.-Little Hubert continued pulling with all his might, and St. Peter began to look out for a

customer.

The knell seemed to have some effect even upon the Lady Rohesia: she raised her head slightly; inarticulate sounds issued from her lips,-inarticulate, that is, to the profane ears of the laity. Those of Father Francis indeed were sharper; nothing, as he averred, could be more distinct than the words "A thousand marks to the priory of St. Mary Rouncival.” Now the Lady Rohesia Ingoldsby had brought her husband broad lands and large possessions: much of her ample dowry, too, was at her own disposal, and nuncupative wills had not yet been abolished by Act of Parliament.

"Pious soul!" ejaculated Father Francis. "A thousand marks, she said—”

"If she did, I'll be shot!" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri.

"A thousand marks!" continued the confessor, fixing his cold grey eye upon the knight, as he went on, heedless of the interruption ;-" a thousand marks! and as many Aves and Paters shall be duly said-as soon as the money is paid."

Sir Guy shrank from the monk's gaze; he turned to the window, and muttered to himself something that sounded like "Don't you wish you may get it?"

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The bell continued to toll. Father Francis had quitted the room, taking with him the remains of the holy oil he had been using for Extreme Unction. Everard Ingoldsby waited on him down stairs.

"A thousand thanks!" said the latter. "A thousand marks!" said the friar. "A thousand devils!" growled Sir Guy de Montgomeri from the top of the landing place.

But his accents fell unheeded: his brother-in-law and the friar were gone; he was left alone with his departing lady and Beatrice Grey.

Sir Guy de Montgomeri stood pensively at the foot of the bed: his arms were crossed upon his bosom, his chin was sunk upon his breast; his eyes were filled with tears; the dim rays of the fading watch-light gave a darker shade to the furrows on his brow, and a brighter tint to the little bald patch on the top of his head,-for Sir Guy was a middle aged gentleman, tall and portly withal, with a slight bend in his shoulders, but that not much his complexion was somewhat florid, especially about the nose; but his lady was in extremis, and at this particular moment he was paler than usual.

The worthy chaplain hastened to administer the last rites of the church. To all appearance he had "Bim bome!" went the bell,-the knight groaned little time to lose as he concluded, the dismal toll of audibly; Beatrice Grey wiped her eye with her little the Passing-Bell sounded from the belfry tower; lit-square apron of lace de Malines: there was a motle Hubert the bandy-legged Sacristan, was pulling ment's pause,-a moment of intense affliction; she let

it fall,-all but one corner, which remained between | her finger and thumb--She looked at Sir Guy; drew the thumb and forefinger of her other hand slowly along its border, till it reached the opposite extremity -She sobbed aloud: "So kind a lady!" said Beatrice Grey." So excellent a wife!" responded Sir Guy." So good!" said the damsel.-"So dear!" said the knight.-"So pious!" said she.- "So humble!" said he." So good to the poor!"-" So capital a manager!”- "So punctual at matins !"-" Dinner dished to a moment!"-"So devout!" said Beatrice." So fond of me!" said Sir Guy.-" And of Father Francis!"-"What do you mean by that ?" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri.

*

*

There is no talking to a female when she does not look at you. Sir Guy turned round-he seated himself on the edge of the bed, and, placing his hand beneath the chin of the lady, turned up her face in an angle of fifteen degrees.

I don't think I shall take the vows, Beatrice; but what's to become of me? Poor, miserable, old— that is, poor, middle-aged man that I am!-No one to comfort, no one to care for me!"-Beatrice's tears flowed afresh, but she opened not her lips. "Pon my life!" continued he, "I don't believe there is a creature now would care a button if I were hanged to-morrow."

"Pish!" cried Sir Guy, testily.

"And-and there's your favourite old bitch!" "I am not thinking of old bitches!" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri.

"Oh! don't say so, Sir Guy!" sighed Beatrice; The knight and the maiden had rung their antipho-"you know there's-there's Master Everard, andnic changes on the fine qualities of the departing lady and Father Francis-" like the Strophe and Antistrophe of a Greek play. The cardinal virtues once disposed of, her minor excellences came under review :-She would drown a witch, drink lambswool at Christmas, beg Dominie Dumps's boys a holiday, and dine upon sprats on Good Friday! A low moan from the subject of these eulogies would intimate that the enumeration of her good deeds was not altogether lost on her, that the parting spirit felt and rejoiced in the testimony.

"She was too good for earth!" continued Sir Guy.
66 Ye-Ye-Yes!" sobbed Beatrice.
"I did not deserve her!" said the Knight.
"No-0-0-0!" cried the damsel.

"Not but that I made her an excellent husband, and a kind; but she is going, and-and-where, or when or how-shall I get such another?"

Another pause ensued: the Knight had released her chin, and taken her hand;-it was a pretty little hand, with long taper fingers, and filbert-formed nails, and the softness of the palm said little for it's owner's industry.

"Sit down, my dear Beatrice," said the Knight, thoughtfully; "you must be fatigued with your long watching; take a seat, my child."-Sir Guy did not relinquish her hand; but he sidled along the counterpane, and made room for his companion between himself and the bed-post.

Now this is a very awkward position for two people "Not in broad England, not in the whole wide to be placed in, especially when the right hand of the world!" responded Beatrice Grey; "that is, not just one holds the right hand of the other: in such an atsuch another!"-Her voice still faltered, but her ac- titude, what can the gentleman do with his left? Sir cents on the whole were more articulate; she dropped Guy closed his till it became an absolute fist, and his the corner of her apron, and had recourse to her hand-knuckles rested on the bed a little in the rear of his kerchief; in fact, her eyes were getting red,—and so companion. was the tip of her nose.

Sir Guy was silent; he gazed for a few moments steadfastly on the face of his lady. The single word "Another!" fell from his lips like a distant echo;it is not often that the viewless nymph repeats more than is absolutely necessary.

"Bim! bome!" went the bell.-Bandy-legged Hubert had been tolling for half an hour;-he began to grow tired, and St. Peter fidgety.

"Beatrice Grey!" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri, "what's to be done? what's to become of Montgomeri Hall?-and the buttery-and the servants? and what's to become of me, Beatrice Grey ?"—There was a pathos in his tones; and a solemn pause succeeded. I'll turn monk myself!" said Sir Guy. "Monk!" said Beatrice.

"Another!" repeated Sir Guy, musing; "if indeed I could find such another!" He was talking to his thought, but Beatrice Grey auswered him. "There's Madam Fitzfoozle!" "A frump!" said Sir Guy. "Or the Lady Bumbarton." "With her hump!" muttered he. "There's the Dowager

"Stop-stop!" said the Knight, "stop one moment!" He paused; he was all on the tremble; something seemed rising in his throat, but he gave a great gulp, and swallowed it. "Beatrice," said he, what think you of-" his voice sank into a most seductive softness-" what think you of-Beatrice Grey?" The murder was out:-the Knight felt infinitely "I'll be a Carthusian!" repeated the knight but in relieved; the knuckles of his left hand unclosed spona tone less a sured: he relapsed into a reverie.-taneously, and the arm he had felt such a difficulty Shave his head!—he did not so much mind that, he in disposing of, found itself, nobody knows how, all was getting rather bald already; but, beans for dinner, at once encircling the jimp waist of the pretty Beaand those without butter,-and then a horse-hair shirt! trice. The knight seemed undecided: his eye roamed gloomily round the apartment, paused upon different objects, but as if it saw them not; its sense was shut, and there was no speculation in its glance: it rested at last upon the fair face of the sympathizing damsel at his side, beautiful in her grief.

Her tears had ceased; but her eyes were cast down and mournfully fixed upon her delicate little foot, which was beating the devil's tattoo. VOL. XXXIII. MAY, 1838.

13

The young lady's reply was expressed in three syllables. They were-"Oh, Sir Guy!" The words might be somewhat indefinite, but there was no mistaking the look. Their eyes met; Sir Guy's left arm contracted itself spasmodically: when the eyes meetat least, as theirs met-the lips are very apt to follow the example. The Knight had taken one long, loving kiss-nectar and ambrosia! He thought on Doctor Butts and his Repetatur haustus-a prescription Fa

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