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"And why not, Tommy ?" asked the magistrate.

"Because his was all gold, and that's nothing but wood," replied Tommy Hicks; "I've seen his a many of times."

"But suppose I cover that all with gold, nose and all," said the persevering magistrate.

The idiot's eyes twinkled, but still he was too cunning for the snare ; and he answered,

"No, no, that won't do."

"And why not?" asked Sir Stephen. "I want that head of a stick very much, and you can do nothing with it."

"Oh yes I can," cried Tommy Hicks, thrown off his guard; "but what do you want it for ?"

"I want every thing of old Doctor Kenmore's that I can get," replied Sir Stephen, apparently not noticing the former part of this reply, "just out of spite, Tommy. I want to know what became of them all, and I'll give any man who tells me something very nice."

At the same time he beckoned to the constable, who came up, and a whispered conversation took place between the magistrate and the officer, which seemed to excite some uneasiness in the idiot, for he moved to and fro on his chair, and at length exclaimed,

"What is all that about?"

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Nothing to you, Tommy," replied Sir Stephen, "only I am going to give these gentlemen some marmalade."

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Orange marmalade ?" asked Tommy Hicks, with a very voracious expression of countenance.

"Yes," said Sir Stephen, "do you like it?-bring some, constable. Now, I'll tell you what, Tommy, I'll give you a whole pound of the most delicious orange marmalade, if you will tell me where you put all the things that were about the old doctor when you spited him on the

moor."

But the idiot only shook his head, and remained firm, till the constable returned with an immense large jar of sweetmeat, and Sir Stephen, dipping in a spoon, put some out on a plate, and sent it to Mr. Greensides.

"I'll tell," cried Tommy Hicks, at the sight of a temptation to him irresistible. "I'll tell if you promise not to hang me-for Jacob Halliday always says I ought to be hanged.”

"Oh dear, no," replied Sir Stephen, "Jacob's a fool. We'll not hang you at all, Tommy."

"Nor put me in the stocks, as old Jenkins did?" asked Tommy Hicks.

"No, nor put you in the stocks," replied the magistrate, and, at the same time, he dipped the spoon in the jar again.

"I'll tell!" cried the idiot. "Give it to me."

"No, no, Tommy. Tell first, and feast after," said Sir Stephen; but seeing a dull shade come over the unhappy man's face, he added quickly, "I'll give you a taste, just to get your tongue in order. Take him that spoonful, constable."

The order was immediately obeyed, but the quantity given was skilfully apportioned to stimulate rather than appease appetite; and after Tommy Hicks had swallowed the whole at one large mouthful, he cried, "Now, I'll tell. But you'll give me the whole pot?"

"The whole," replied Sir Stephen. "Nobody else shall have a spoonfull, unless you stop answering; then I'll give some to one, and some to another, till it is all gone. Now, tell me, Tommy, like a man, where did you put the notes and money?"

"The yellow ones in the thatch of Ben's cottage, and the silver in my pouch," replied Tommy Hicks; "the yellow's there now.. I counted it by the moon t' other night."

sty.

The magistrate looked at the notes of the coroner's inquest, and asked, "The head of the stick, what did you do with that?"

"It's at Mother Grimsditche's," said the idiot, "in a hole by the pigAy, that is what you are wanting, I know well enough." "And the buckles out of his shoes?" asked the magistrate.

But Tommy Hicks did not answer for a minute, leering at Fairfax with a sinister, sneering expression, by no means benevolent. Sir Stephen put the spoon in the jar again, and the idiot exclaimed eagerly, pointing at the young baronet,

"I poked them into his leather-box, through the chink, and then he came and took it away, and stole my buckles."

Fairfax had usually a good deal of command over himself, except where there was an immediate wound inflicted upon those prejudices, or long-nourished and morbidly acute sensations, of which most men have some; but now he started up off his chair, exclaiming,

"Good Heavens !"

He sat down again the next instant; and Sir Stephen, without noticing the little incident, went on with his examination of the idiot.

"Let me see. His watch; did you take his watch ?"

"No, no," answered Tommy Hicks, with a wonderfully cunning look. "I knew better than that. A watch talks. It goes tick, tick, tick. I will have no talking things."

"Thank you, Tommy; thank you," said the magistrate. "I think that will do. You may give him the pot, constable-but stay; did you take any thing else?"

"Nothing but the big key," replied the idiot; "and that I dropped down on Ben's floor that night; and when I saw it in Bella's hands the next day, I would not ask for it, because Jacob had said I should be hanged if it was found out how I had spited the old doctor. Ay, he hit me with a stick, and I hit him with a stone, and that is all fair."

"Give him the pot," said Sir Stephen. "I think we must commit him for trial, gentlemen; but, by your leave, we will say nothing about the marmalade."

"Without which we should have done no good," said Mr. Hankum. "The great moving powers are rarely seen," replied the knight in the chair, who was at bottom a man of sense; "but it is not only that: a scribe shows his good discretion always, in omitting every thing that does not give dignity to his narration. Every thing important in the world has something ludicrous in it—its marmalade, in fact; but history suppresses the ludicrous, and we will suppress the marmalade, lest some foolish writer should get hold of the record, Mr. Greensides, and held us up to posterity as The Marmalade Magistrates.' And now we want but one more testimony. Make out the warrant, Mr. Clerk: may I ask Sir Allan Fairfax, if he can confirm this poor creature's statement regarding the buckles ?"

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"So far as having found a pair of large silver buckles in my portmanteau which I had no knowledge of," replied Fairfax, "I can fully. I had left my portmanteau at Ben Halliday's cottage for several days, and just when I was on the eve of sailing for India, I called and took it away. I did not open it for some time, for I had things more fitted for sea; but when I did, I found the buckles. I put them in my writing-desk, and have them now; for I felt a curiosity to know how they came where I found them."

"Pray, were you aware of Doctor Kenmore's death, Sir Allan, at the time you took the portmanteau away?" demanded Mr. Greensides.

Certainly not," answered Fairfax, with the blood glowing warm in his cheek, from sensations difficult to define. "I never heard of his death till I returned to England, not four months ago."

"Or perhaps he would not have taken away the portmanteau at all,” whispered Sir Stephen to Mr. Hankum. "I think he ought to give the idiot something handsome; but we must give him room in the gaol.-Is the warrant ready? Now, Tommy, as a further reward for having told the whole truth, I have to tell you that you shall be removed from Mrs. Grimsditche's, which I know you hate, to a fine airy room in Brownswick, and be lodged, boarded, and clothed by your grateful country."

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Perhaps, with a hempen cravat," whispered Mr. Greensides.

"Oh dear, no," answered the worthy chairman, "every sort of folly is punished in England except the greatest. Tommy Hicks' wisdom is too well known for him to run any risk."

The warrant was placed before the chairman and signed, and Tommy Hicks was quietly removed from the justice-room, eating his marmalade all the way. Jacob Halliday was then recalled to sign his deposition, and an immediate search was ordered for the stolen property in the places which the idiot had indicated.

"I will send down the buckles immediately," said Sir Allan Fairfax, as he rose to depart; "if you are not sitting, I suppose my servant had better deliver them to the clerk?"

"To-morrow will be quite time enough," said Sir Stephen, "for I think we shall rise directly. Indeed, we might sit as long as a hen without hatching such a brood as has come forth to-day. We are really much obliged to you, Sir Allan, for having brought this dark affair to light. There can be nothing more disagreeable, I may say painful, in a little neighbourhood like this, than to have suspicions continually hovering about, like dark clouds, overshadowing from time to time very good sorts of people."

Fairfax cordially agreed with him, and went away musing. By some link he did not clearly see what the events which had just been brought to light connected themselves with the unhappy change which had taken place in his domestic life. He asked himself if Margaret could have seen the buckles in his desk, for he recollected that the alteration in her whole demeanour was to be dated from that day when he had sent her the key. But then he asked himself again, and the questions were most painful, "Could Margaret Graham have examined other parts of the desk besides that to which he had directed her attention? Even if she had, and had found the buckles there, and had recognised them, was it like her to suspect her husband-him whom she professed to love and honour above all men-from an accidental circumstance like that?" Thus he proceeded

to reason, without knowing all the facts-a course which men are sometimes obliged to pursue, but which they do pursue much more frequently than is needful-and thus he went on torturing his own heart with inquiries which he could not answer. Nevertheless, for Fairfax's character was a peculiar one in some respects, he drew a degree of relief from supposing an explanation of Margaret's conduct. That it should have a cause, though an insufficient one, was some comfort, and he said to himself as he entered the garden-gate,

"We must have a full explanation: frankness on both parts is the only thing which can save us from misery. I shall soon know whether I am to be wretched or happy for life.-Where is your mistress?" he demanded of the servant whom he found in the hall.

"She is in the back drawing-room, sir," replied the man, "and she told me to tell that she wished to see you as soon as you came in." "Very well," cried Fairfax, and walked on.

you

THE CHILD AND THE STARS.

BY J. E. CARPENTER, ESQ.

"THEY tell me, dear father, each gem in the sky
That sparkles at night is a star,

But why do they dwell in those regions so high,
And shed their cold lustre so far?

I know that the sun makes the blossoms to spring,
That it gives to the flow'rets their birth,
But what are the stars? do they nothing but fling
Their cold rays of light upon earth ?”

"My child, it is said, that yon stars in the sky,
Are worlds that are fashion'd like this,

Where the souls of the good and the gentle who die,
Assemble together in bliss ;

And the rays that they shed o'er the earth is the light
Of His glory whose throne is above,

That tell us, who dwell in these regions of night,

How great is His goodness and love."

"Then, father, why still press your hand to your brow,

Why still are your cheeks pale with care?

If all that was gentle be dwelling there now,

Dear mother, I know, must be there."

"Thou chidest me well," said the father, with pain,

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Thy wisdom is greater by far,

We may mourn for the lost, but we should not complain,
While we gaze on each beautiful star."

A GRAYBEARD'S GOSSIP ABOUT HIS LITERARY

ACQUAINTANCE.

No. V.

Forsan et hæc olim meminisse juvabit.

Anecdotes of the late Charles Mathews, the Comedian-The Poet Campbell; his Vanity as an Author rebuked by a pious Shoemaker; Malicious Pleasantry in Ridicule of his Slowness in Composition; his Philanthropic Exertions for Human Improvement; his deep Dejection at their occasional Failure; the Picture of the Gipsy Girl; a Fit of Hypochondria; his Library in Victoria-square; his Burial in Westminster Abbey.

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Or the late Charles Mathews, the comedian, one of the most entertaining members of Hill's Sydenham company, my memory retains few, if any, gleanings which have not already been given to the public, in the full and delightful Biography written by his widow. This lady, whom to know is to esteem, I am proud to reckon among my literary acquaintance, and gladly do I avail myself of this opportunity to waft to her all cordial good wishes from my "loopholes of retreat," as well as to express a hope that she may give to the world another volume of those "Anecdotes of Actors," and "Desultory Recollections," of which her store is so copious, and which none can narrate so pleasantly. The matchless power of mimicry possessed by Charles Mathews, far from being confined to mere vocal flexibility, extended to the mind, look, and manner of the original; so that the hearer was not less surprised by his intuition into character than by a copy of every external manifestation so faithful and minute, that you seemed to behold a temporary metempsychosis. He was, indeed,

Proteus for shape and mocking-bird for tongue.

To possess such an unfailing source of merriment is a perilous temptation to its abuse; but he was too polite and kind-hearted to give unnecessary pain to any one, and knowing his mirth-provoking weapon to be irresistible, wielded it charily and considerately. Properly jealous of his great conversational talent, in which few men exceeded him, I have known him resist every solicitation to mimetic display, especially in great houses, if he had any reason to suspect that he had been invited, like Samson, to make sport for the Philistine lords. So well was he aware that “ a jest's prosperity lies in the ear of him who hears it," that an evidently uncongenial company would seal his mouth for a whole evening; while to an audience that could appreciate and laugh heartily at his waggery, he would pour forth its inexhaustible stores without solicitation or stint.

This was eminently the case at our Noctes Sydenhamica, where every boon companion could salute his brother guest with "Hey, fellow, well met;" where all gravity was prohibited; where each guest was sure to understand a joke when he heard it; whither every one came with a full determination to laugh and drown care. Small was the chance of escape for the luckless wight who presented any peculiarity which Mathews could seize and parody; what then must have been the predicament of our host, who was all peculiarity; who was considered fair game by all his guests;

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