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shade was induced to be present. widow was decked in the habiliments of sorrow, appropriate to her bereaved state, with a countenance to correspond; and Jeremiah thought that he had never before seen a woman of such a grave and comely aspect. Moreover, on that eventful evening, the widow happened to have a severe twinge of the tooth-ache, which imparted to her face, a woe-begone expression, that rendered it perfectly irresistible in the eyes of Mr. Nightshade; and in the course of the evening, she sighed and groaned almost as much as he did himself.

That night, Jeremiah went to bed very considerably in love. "Ah!" cried he, as he pulled on his night-cap, "if I had only such a being to partake my sorrows with me!"

Now Mrs. Starling was one of those singular women, that have no objection to a second husband; and being apprised by Mrs. Phillips, of Jeremiah's 5000l. in the funds, and ten shares in the "Cemetery Company," she consulted the state of her heart, and found that she had no earthly objections whatever to becoming Mrs. Nightshade. Having made up her mind, she next set to work, to study the peculiarities of her intended victim, and being a shrewd madam, she was not long in finding out his weak side. She saw

that the least manifestation of cheerfulness disconcerted him amazingly;-that a smile made him shuffle on his seat, and that he was as much startled and alarmed at a laugh, as a shy nervous horse at a vigorous performance on the bag-pipes. Accordingly, in his company, she was sorrowful exceedingly, and her remarks on matters in general (weather inclusive) were almost as dolorous as his own. Jeremiah felt that he had found a congenial spirit. Ah!" said he to himself, "how happy (he meant unhappy) we might be together!"

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Things were not long in coming to a climax. One evening, she succeeded in inveigling him into a tete-a-tete, the result of which was, that he groaned forth a declaration of his passion, and she sobbed and sighed an unreluctant

consent.

They were married, and a change speedily ensued. The lady's gravity vanished into thin air; and language is inadequate, to paint the grief, horror, and amazement of the deceived Jeremiah, when he awoke, as from a delusive dream, and found himself irrevocably fastened to a decidedly cheerful woman!—a brisk, bustling, vivacious little body, with an

A woman

illimitable range of tongue! that preferred Liston and the last new farce to "Blair's Grave;" and actually laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks, at a Punchienello exhibition! A woman too, fond of company, and blessed with an infinite quantity of relatives, many of them of a facetious turn, and all of whom came to wish the new married couple joy, and crack the jokes, usual on such occasions. Nay, more than this; Mrs. Nightshade, though she had never read Mary Wol stonecroft, was a zealous advocate for "the rights of women,"—that is, she had made up her mind to have her own way in all things; and accordingly, insisted upon her husband doing just as she pleased, even to the extent of being gay, merry, and sociable. She protested against being "moped up," and made Jeremiah go along with her to balls, plays, concerts, and other places of amusement; she kept up a running fire of parties, and had some of the women people of the neighbourhood sipping tea and chatting scandal with her five days out of the seven; nay, she actually (my spirit is exceeding sorrowful for thee, Jeremiah!) instead of allowing him his morning stroll among the tombs, took him a shopping with her! This was too much; for of all the impertinences that a grave, reserved man can be subjected to, that of going "a shopping" (as they call it) with a fantastical woman, is the most grievous and unbearable.

This unnatural state of things could not last long. It was not to be expected. Such a total change of system was sure to be highly prejudicial, and Mr. Nightshade's health evidently declined a-pace.

One day she took it into her head to give a party on an "uncommon genteel" scale. The company however, was more numerous than select, and their mirth was of that hearty, hilarious character, which among certain classes, generally accompanies good cheer and no reckoning. A fat cousin of hers—“a devilish droll fellow," who told marvellous stories, and sang a good comic song, sat next the unfortunate Nightshade. He was one of those gentlemen that do not need any pressing, to make themselves "quite at home," and at the end of every joke, he kept clapping Jeremiah on the shoulder with the familiarity of an old acquaintance, and inquiring "why the deuce he did not laugh?" Laugh! Jeremiah was well aware of the danger of such a course of conduct, but he was of a complying disposition, and he tried; the

unnatural exertion, as might have been expected, proved too much for him; a blood-vessel burst in the middle of the attempt, and he was immediately carried to bed; although he was thought (by those who did not care much about him), not to be much worse. In the morning, however, when Mrs. Nightshade desired him to get up to breakfast, she received no response and on examination, found that during the night, his gentle spirit had evaporated, and that she was once more a disconsolate woman. Of course, as might have been looked for, from a lady of her experience, she conducted herself in the most approved manner; that is, she first called in the neighbours, and then went into hysterics, which did not, however, prove fatal.

Though the end of Mr. Nightshade was sudden, no inquest was held on the body; it being the general opinion, (whatever might be said about the bloodvessel) that he had made a very natural termination; having like many a worthy fellow beside, "come by his death, in consequence of matrimony." C.

SIR JAMES TYRREL.

(For the Parterre).

[The following paragraph, copied from the Leipsic Gazette, has been, as the phrase is, going the round of the newspapers:]

THE DESCENDANTS OF THE MURDERER OF

EDWARD V.

"When Theodore Hildebrand painted his picture, The Sons of Edward,' which is at this moment the ornament of the Berlin exhibition, he deemed it necessary, in order to be correct in the details

of his work, to cover his model with the silk tissue which the eldest prince wears in the picture. Hildebrand selected and ordered that tissue in a shop of Dusseldorf, known by the name of Tyrrel. The vendor was surprised, and inquired why the painter was so particular about the article. When the explanation he demanded was afforded him, and he was told of the historical subject which Hildebrand had chosen, he seemed much perplexed in presence of the buyer, and declared that it was most extraordinary that he (Tyrrel) should be selected to supply the tissue. The motive of his astonishment was soon accounted for; the murderer who, by command of Richard the Third, put the princes to death in the Tower of London, was compelled to leave England and

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settle on the Continent. The present proprietor of the commercial house at Dusseldorf, so far as genealogy can be credited, descends in a direct line from the nocturnal assassin of Edward's sons!"

It is quite impossible that the marvellous part of this narrative can be correct; as it is quite impossible that the Tyrrel connected with the murder of the young princes in the Tower can ever have kept a shop at Dusseldorf. The Sir James Tyrrel who was governor of the Tower on the night of the assassination, was, it is well known, publicly executed twenty years after, for being concerned in the Suffolk treason. He confessed the circumstance of the murder at his execution; namely, that he had employed Dighton his groom, and Forest a know assassin, to perpetrate the deed.

MISCELLANIES.

EUROPEAN TACTICS.

The peculiar characteristics of the French soldiery are happily hit off in a work on the military operations of the war in Germany in 1813:

most.

"Napoleon's manoeuvres exhibited all his customary scorn of human life. He everywhere threw his conscripts full into fire. Yet this exposure may have been from the well-known military maximthan to stand still. that with young troops anything is better And, of all troops, the French require this tactique the They will for ever move from morning till night in the face of the enemy, run under or over batteries; but Lord Stair said, 'that the British were stand still they cannot. The famous the only troops he ever saw who could go into fire, and out of fire, at the sound of the drum! " The latter point was the perfection, and it still remains with the British. But no troops can go into fire in higher style than the French. Their advance is proverbially one of the finest things imaginable."

-

ACTIVE AND PASSIVE VERBS.

A teacher, one day, endeavouring to make a pupil understand the nature and application of a passive verb, said—“ A passive verb is expressive of the nature of receiving an action, as, Peter is beaten. Now, what did Peter do?" The boy, pausing a moment, with the gravest countenance imaginable, replied "Well, I don't know, without he hollered."

LONDON:

Published by Effingham Wilson, Junior, 16, King William Street, London Bridge, Where communications for the Editor (post paid) will be received.

[Printed by Manning and Smithsou, Ivy Lane.]

OF FICTION, POETRY, HISTORY, AND GENERAL LITERATURE.

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thou matchless treasure, to this, my native London. Did I not bestow my fortune on thee, as if thou hadst been my own? Have I not ever watched over thee, with unselfish affection, marked thy opening beauties as the budding of a rose, admired, cherished, loved thee; and now, that time and duty require me to speak, come I not, to thee, Kate, as tenderly as if it were some exquisite nerve of my own, that shrunk from these painful words? Answer me, thou naughty girl, with thy wet lashes and flushed cheek; and, after all, what have I said, but only that thou shouldest be cautious lest this youth-this Morton-"

"Anna," replied the child, for Kate was but sixteen, "I feel that I am ungrateful. I ought to receive thy slightest intimation as a law, and dismiss Dudley Morton for ever. Were it anything but only Dudley-were it any plan of life-were it wealth, jewels, rank, the pleasures of travel-anything-anything, but Dudley Morton, I would abandon all dream of it for ever, for my love of thee. But-"

"Ay, ay," replied Anna, with a grave

smile, "thou art even like the rest of them, Kate, ever ready to do anything' -but just what I ask. Thou wilt not then dismiss this Morton?"

"No, my friend," said Kate, with a dignity more serene and self-possessed than had ever before been observed in her; "I know that to thee I owe everything but my very being. All except that, I would yield at thy command. But should I strive to suspect the innocent, because some erring chance has caused thee to suspect him, I should but undertake a fruitless and unworthy task, and be a hypocrite to thee-a traitress to him."

"And thus then, in the bosom of a girl," said Anna, musingly, "the smooth locks and artful voice of a gallant, outweigh a life of sisterly truth and love, and show friendship, that seemed built on adamant, only raised on sand. But, Kate, in me thou hast a protector, whom not even thy own waywardness can move. Go on, till sad experience teach thee, to thy cost, that which now thou mightest learn for nothing. Wherever and whatever thou mayest be, know me for thy friend. If there be others more attractive, seek them, Kate, and try them. When thou hast discovered their valuelessness, and wouldst return to those who have known thy youth, and who love thy happiness and virtue better even than thyself, I shall welcome thee with open hand and warm heart, and furnish that counsel which now thou wilt not receive. As a matron, however, who knows more of mankind than ever entered into thy girlish imagination, let me, ere I leave this subject, once more whisper a farewell admonition. May it strike thy yet unsoiled heart with the force of truth, and the solemnity of parental love and wisdom. Kate, beware of Dudley Morton! I have watched him, his occupations, his mind, his companions. He is light, false, selfish, artful, and base. Whatever he may once have been, he is now corrupted; and I have reasons to believe him other than he seems. Dudley Morton is a villain, Kate. Mark me, warn thee."

I

With a stern look, and a threatening motion of the finger, the stately admonitress slowly disappeared.

It was a sunshiny afternoon in June. They had stood in a little garden adjoining the comfortable mansion of the gentle lady, who, while in reality, she performed all the assiduous duties of a mother, still usurped over the innocent creature whom she had undertaken to

educate, only the tender authority of sisterly persuasion. The sun was setting, and sent back a warm, mild radiance over earth and sky; the rich masses of foliage threw their long, silent shadows upon the turf; the birds were warbling as lightheartedly as if never faithful lover had met aught of difficulty or obstruction; an old wall, reared ages ago, a part of the grounds of a magnificent adjoining seat, the property of a great noble, lay soft and rich in the mellow sunlight, breathing forth from its gorgeous drapery of moss, vines and flowers, a thousand sweet and soothing odours. Here and there the butterfly came fluttering on the zephyr, with his great, golden wings and happy, truant disposition; and the hum of the bee, that epicurean philosopher, ever bent on his sweet duty, rose to her half-unconscious ear, blended with the softened sound of a waterfall, and the distant voices of some happy children, pursuing their sports upon the grass.

Poor Kate! she stood motionless as her preceptress withdrew, her eyes fixed on vacancy, her mind lost in tender thoughts and dim apprehensions; her hands clasped abstractedly under her apron, and a single rose upon her bosom, placed there by that gentle and loved hand, whose lightest touch was heaven to her trusting heart. As she stood, abandoned to the new ideas which came rolling through her mind, she scarce knew whether most to yield to regret for the unaccountable dislike of Anna against her lover, or to indignation, that one so noble and dear should be exposed to suspicions so unfounded and absurd. Even while she lingered in the same attitude, a slight noise broke in upon her reflections, and a youth of apparently three or four and twenty, extremely handsome and graceful in face, form and manner, sprang down from the hall, and, in another instant, knelt at her feet.

"Katrine, my bird of love," he exclaimed, "my queen of beauty, my very angel of light-"

"Dearest dearest Dudley! what opportune spirit hath sent thee at this moment? Welcome! Oh, ever, ever welcome!"

"Knew I not as much, Kate, Dudley Morton would no more visit his woodland dove. In some rude war he would push his fortune, and leave his useless form on the battle field."

"Battle field, Dudley? Why, what hath thy peaceful and silent art to do

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Why, thou impudent angel, what ails thee? What hath frightened thy timid heart? thou tremblest; thou art pale; thine eyes fill with tears! what, Kate, my treasure, my gem, my sweet, sweet dove-"

And he passed his arm round her waist, and drew her forehead, and then her half-reluctant mouth to his lips.

"I would not have thee, Dudley, think me a foolish girl for these caprices. Something has occurred to distress me. Something respecting thee."

“Me, dear cherub?" and the gentle youth again pressed her to his bosom, and kissed off the glittering drops from her soft lids.

"Dost thou really love me, Dudley ?" "Look I like a deceiver, Kate?" "Yes, thou dost, even as deceivers are painted. Beautiful and winning, with thy silken and wavy hair, thy smooth large brow, thine eyes of light, thy cheek so round and pure, thy dazzling teeth, and still more dazzling smile, thy voice that leads me where thou wilt. Yes, Dudley thou art very like a deceiver."

"Kate," said Dudley, "I have somewhat to say to thee. In carrying on our sweet attachment, we need a friend." "A friend, dear Dudley ?"

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"So do not I; and so shalt not thou, when hereafter, I shall have told thee all. But, at present, mark what I say. I know, Kate, that thou lovest me utterly."

"And if I do!"

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"And if thou dost, my own,-No!" cried the youth, abruptly, and in a totally changed tone and manner, as if with a sudden shoot of pain. By the heaven that made me !-never-never-" The startled girl almost shrieked as the flash of his withering eye fell upon her innocent face, and yet more innocent heart.

"What ails thee, Dudley? what terrible fi is on thee?"

A slight noise in the adjoining garden, as of a hasty footstep, seemed to recall the youth to calmness.

"Forgive me, Kate, my blessed, guardian angel," he said; "I inherit this nervous malady from my father. It has gone, dearest. Think of it no

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Ay, for in fond love to me, thou thou deemest best, must be best, and hast no confidant."

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My sister, Anna—”

Nay, she likes me not. I see it in her cold air and lofty bearing. Perhaps she deems the obscure painter too lowly a companion for her lovely Kate. What! no reply? Behold now, how I read the truth in thy artless eyes."

what opinion can I have against thine ?"

"And wilt thou be that true and faithful wife to me, Kate? Remember, in marrying me, thou marryest penury, privation, obscurity and gloom. I have no friends, no rank, no wealth. Thou must yield this fair abode and all thy careless joy, to be the wife of a beggar,

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