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many years' standing; and then to see, the moment they came in, the care with which my fellow-traveller put her bonnet straight, and pulled her tippet round her, and put her bag in order, just as if she were before company! The contrast was very flattering to me, and so might have been much more of her conversation, but that she maintained it in a low tone, so as not to be heard by the strangers, forgetting, I conclude, that the pitch of voice which rendered it inaudible to them, left me equally ill-in-that I endeavoured gently to force her delicate formed. "Pray, sir," said the big lady, "when does this here coach git to the Olephant and Castle?" "At a little past eight," said I. "We goes through Kinnington, I believe," said the | lady. "We do." "If it is quite agreeable, sir," continued the awful dame, "to your good lady to have that 'ere window up, I should be uncommon oblegated, because my little Emily Failing in the main point of my inquiries, Lawinia is jist out of the scarlet-fever, and II endeavoured to ascertain what part of Lonam afeard of her taking could." don she resided in, and tried every street, square, row, and corner, from Grove Road, Paddington, to Dog Row, Whitechapel, in order to excite an affirmative nod, and one of those bewitching smiles which I began to love

ized road, that I endeavoured to induce her to tell me her name. This she positively refused. Then I looked about for the superscription of a letter, which sometimes very inflexible ladies, under similar circumstances, will considerately let slip-and thus, one gets in a moment accidentally what worlds would not tempt them deliberately to disclose-but no-it was too dark to read writing; yet, I was so convinced that she actually held a card ready to give me,

The combination of blunders in this little speech set the late weeping Fanny into a laugh; for there was in the corner of her eye that playful sparkle which no grief can quite subdue. She was as readily alive to fun as assailable by sorrow; and so it is with all people who feel strongly; for, as Moore says in one of his Melodies,

"The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,

Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns." The plump lady, however, found that she had made some mistake; and not at all taking into the account that people in general do not very much approve of shutting themselves up in a coach, hermetically sealed, with patients in the scarlet-fever, set me and my "good lady" down as two proud, conceited upstarts, and revenged herself, to our utter dismay, by dissipating the sorrows of silence, in enjoying the solace of peppermint lozenges, one of which she herself took, and administered another to her darling pet on the opposite seat; so that, while my companion was gratified by the redo lence of the fragrant herb through the medium of the old lady, I was indulged by the more active and efficient exertions of the living anatomy next her.

The coach rattled on, and I beheld my opposite neighbour no longer as a stranger. She leaned forward just as we passed Kennington turnpike, and asked me whether I went on to Charing Cross, or left the coach at the Elephant and Castle. I told her that I stuck by the ship to the last, and hoped she would permit me to assist her in securing her luggage. It was at this period, in the midst of the jangle of the vehicle and the clatter of the macadam

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right hand open, in order to obtain the desired information. But I found I was wrong; she seemed determined, either that I should know nothing more of her, or, if I did, that I should at least have the trouble, or pleasure, as the case might be, of hunting after my intelligence.

but no. Well, thought I, the time must come when you must go, and then I shall follow; and so, if you choose to be silent and uncommunicative, and dignified and disagreeable, I can be revenged upon you; not that I could believe a woman who would generously confide the sorrows of her heart to a man, could be ill-natured enough to withhold the trifling addition of telling him where that heart was doomed to beat.

The moment arrived, and we reached the Elephant and Castle. The sudden check of Goodman's team took my poor Fanny by surprise, and threw her forward, so as to bring her somewhat in contact with myself; but the lamps of the coach had been lighted at Smithers Bottom, and we were in the dark compared with objects without; and never shall I forget the hurried scramble into which she "righted herself," as her eye glanced on a countenance outside the carriage, brightly illuminated by the lamp on that side-she seemed thunderstruck. "Gracious!" said she, "here's Charles!" "Who the deuce is Charles?" said I. "Hush!

my husband,” replied the lady; "he's coming;-I'm so glad these people are in the coach." The door opened, and a hand was introduced. "Fanny!" said the master of that hand, in a soft tone of endearment. "Here I am, love," said my companion. "Alone!what-quite full!" said the husband. "Yes, dear," said the wife, "and so tired. I never was so glad to get out of a coach in my life."

In a moment I thought I recognized the voice of the husband. I coiled myself into the corner. She would have got out without my being betrayed, if she had not dropped her glove. Why the deuce had she taken it off?-A light was sent for, and the moment it came I beheld in the object of all my indignation, and the cause of all her sorrow-the oldest friend of my life-Charles Franklin. "Why," exclaimed he, the moment he recognized me, "is that you!-fellow-traveller with my wife, and not known to each other?-this is curious!" "Franklin!" said I, in a sort of tremor. "Do you know my husband, sir?" said the lady "how very strange!" Yes, thought I, I wish it were impossible. "I have not seen you these ten years," said Franklin. "Come home with us you must and shall-I- "Indeed," said I-"I" "Oh, come, come,' said Franklin; "you can have no engagement -you shall have no engagement to supersede this. I rejoice in having found you after so long a separation," and then Mr. Franklin introduced me to his wife in due form, much to the astonishment of our fellow-travellers at the other side of the coach, who concluded by what they had seen, as indeed they had shown by what they had said, that we were, if actually not man and wife, two of the oldest and most intimate possible friends.

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I have a melting heart in the way of a proposition from a friend, especially when it is made under extraordinary circumstances, like those which accompanied and preceded Franklin's; but altogether I sincerely declare that I never was more embarrassed in my existence. I still wished to see the adventure through, and behold my Niobe in her own domicile. I looked to my charming companion for a telegraphic signal. If she had frowned a negative, I should have repeated the signal, and strenuously declined going; but by the glare of the lamp at the inn door I thought I saw affirmative in the glance of her eye, which induced me to believe that my visit would not annoy her; and so, really, rather than doom her to a tête-à-tête with her tyrant-though he was my friend I consented to put myself in a position as irksome almost as position could be.

We left the coach-my trips from Brighton being periodical and frequent, I had no luggage, and we proceeded, with the maid and the bandboxes, to my friend's house-of course I shall be excused mentioning the locality-but it was one of the prettiest bijoux I ever saw; good taste predominated in every part of its decorations, and I soon discovered, by certain drawings which were pendent on the walls, that my

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| fair companion was an artist, while the pianoforte and harp bespoke her (as she had herself, indeed, informed me she was) accomplished in other sciences.

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After a suitable delay of preparation, such as taking off things, and refreshing, and all that, our dinner was served-nothing could be nicer or neater. "Fanny, dearest," said Franklin, "let me give you this wing; I know, my life, you like it." "No, Charles, dear, not a bit more, thank you," said Fanny. 'Come, love, a glass of wine with me," said Charles; 't is an old fashion, but we have been apart some weeks, so our friend will excuse it." "To be sure he will," said Fanny, and they drank to each other with looks admirably suited to the action. 'How strange it is," said Franklin, "that after so long a separation we should meet in this extraordinary manner, and that Fanny should not have found you out, or that you should not have discovered her!" "Why, my dear Charles," said Mrs. Franklin, "strangers do not talk to each other in stage-coaches." "Very true, my angel," said Mr. Franklin; "but some accident might have brought your name to his ears, or his to yours."

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While all this was going on I sat in a state of perfect amazement. Charles Franklin and I had been schoolfellows, and continued friends to a certain period of life; he was all that his wife had described him to be, in the earlier part of his life, but I confess I saw none of the heartlessness, the suspicion, the neglect, the violence, the inattention of which she also spoke; nor did I perceive, in the bright animated look of pleasure which beamed over her intelligent countenance, the slightest remains of the grief and sorrow by which she had been weighed down on the journey. "Do you feel tired, my Fanny?" said Franklin. "No, dear," replied the lady, "not very, now; but those coaches are so small when there are four people in them, that one gets cramped."

Here I felt a sort of tingling sensation behind my ears, anticipatory of what appeared to me to be a very natural question on the part of Franklin, as to whether we had been full during the whole journey; Mrs. Franklin, however, saw in a moment the false move she had made, and therefore directed the thoughts of her barbarous husband from the subject by telling him she had a letter for him from dear mamma-meaning his mother, under whose surveillance she had been forcibly immured at Brighton.

About this period Fanny retired, and proceeded to the drawing-room, cautioning us, as

she departed, "not to be long." Charles flew to the door, and opened it for his departing fair-he accompanied her beyond its threshold, and I thought I heard a sound of something very like a kiss as they parted.

"How strange it is," said he, resuming his seat and pushing the wine towards me, "that you should have thus accidentally fallen in with Fanny!-she is very pretty; don't you think so?" "More than pretty, surely," said I; "there is an intelligence, an expression, a manner about her, to me quite captivating." "If you were present when she is animated," said her husband, "you would see that playfulness of countenance, or rather the variety of expression to advantage; her mind lights up her features wonderfully; there is no want of spirit about her, I can assure you." "I was quite surprised when I heard of your elopement," said I. "Her mother," said Charles, "an old woman as proud as Lucifer, was mad after a title for her, and some old broken-down lord had been wheedled, or coaxed, or cajoled, or flattered into making her an offer, which she would not accept; and then the old lady led her such a life, that she made up her mind to the step which made her mine." "And insured you happiness," said I. "Why, yes," said Franklin, " 'upon my word, taking all things into the scale, I see no cause to repent the step. Between ourselves—of course I speak as an old friend-Fanny has not the very best temper in the world, and of late has taken it into her head to be jealous. An old acquaintance of mine, whom I knew long before I was married, has been over here from France, and I have been a good deal about with her during her stay; and as I did not think her quite a person to introduce to Fanny, she took huff at my frequent absence from home, and began to play off a sort of retaliation, as she fancied it, with a young lieutenant of lancers of our acquaintance. I cut that matter very short; I proposed an excursion to Brighton to visit my mother, to which she acceded, and when I had settled her out of reach of her young hero, and under the eye of my mamma, I returned to fulfil my engagements in London. And now that this fair obstacle to her happiness has returned to the Continent, I have recalled my better half." "You seem, however, to understand each other pretty well," said I. "To be sure," replied Charles, "the only point is to keep her in a good humour, for, entre nous, her temper is the very devil-once know how to manage that, and all goes well, and I flatter myself I have ascertained the mode of doing that to a nicety."

Whether it was that Fanny was apprehensive that, under the genial influence of her husband's wine, or upon the score of old friendship, I might let slip some part of the day's adventure, I know not, but we were very early summoned to coffee, and I confess I was by no means displeased at the termination of a conversation which every moment I expected would take some turn that would inevitably produce a recurrence to the journey, and perhaps eventually tend to betray the confidence which the oppressed wife had reposed in me.

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We repaired to the drawing-room.-Fanny was reclining on the sofa, looking as fascinating as ever I saw a lady look. "Charles, dearest,' said she, "I thought you would never come up; you and your friend must have had something very interesting to talk about to detain you so long.' "We didn't think it long, Fan," said Charles, "because we really were talking on a very interesting subject-we were discussing you." "Oh, my dear Charles!" exclaimed the lady, "you flatter me; and what did he say of me?" said she, addressing me. "That," said I, "I cannot tell you: I never betray anything that is told me in confidence."

Her looks explained that she was particularly glad to hear me say so, and the smile which followed was gracious in the extreme.

"Now," said Charles, "that you have thus strangely found your way here, I hope we shall see you often." "And I hope so, too," said Mrs. Franklin: "I really believe sometimes that things which we blind mortals call chance are pre-ordained. I was not coming by the coach in which I met you, nor should I have been in it, if the other coach had not been full, and then"I should have lost the pleasure," said I, "of seeing an old friend enjoying the delights of domestic happiness."

Here Fanny gave me a look expressive of the perfect misery of her condition; and Charles, whose back was turned towards us at the instant, in coming up the room again, while her back was turned to him, made a sort of face, something between the sorrowful and the grotesque, which I shall never forget, but which indicated most unequivocally what his feelings on the subject were.

Shortly after this the happy pair began to be so excessively kind and tender to each other, that I thought it was quite time to beat a retreat, and accordingly took my leave, earnestly pressed by both parties to repeat my visit as often as I could, and to let them see as much of me as possible. I returned them my warmest thanks for their kindness, but named no day for my return, and wished them good-night.

whenever I see a picture of perfect happiness presented to my eyes, affection on one side and devotion on the other, assiduity met by kindness, and solicitude repaid with smiles, instead of feeling my heart glow with rapture at the beautiful scene before me, I instantly recollect that I once travelled to London in the BRIGHTON COACH.

I have not been there since. I called, in- | light in my path through the world, and now, deed, once, and Charles called on me, but I have been little in London during the last season, and they have been much in the country. I could not have equitably maintained an intimacy with them, for I felt neutrality would be quite out of the question: thus, although the recurrence of my old friendship with Charles Franklin has been productive of no very satisfactory results as relate to ourselves personally, it has given me an additional

THEODORE HOOK.

ZARA'S EAR-RINGS.

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they've dropt into the well,
And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell."

"Twas thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter.
"The well is deep; far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water.
To me did Muça give them, when he spake his sad farewell;
And what to say, when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell.

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set,

That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget;
That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale,
But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings pale.
When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well,
Oh! what will Muça think of me, I cannot, cannot tell!

"My ear-rings! my ear-rings! he'll say they should have been,
Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen,
Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear,
Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere;
That changeful mind unchangeful gems are not befitting well,
Thus will he think:-and what to say, alas! I cannot tell!

"He'll think, when I to market went, I loitered by the way;
He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say;
He'll think some other lover's hand among my tresses noosed
From the ears where he had placed them my rings of pearl unloosed.
He'll think, when I was sporting so beside this marble well,

My pearls fell in :-and what to say, alas! I cannot tell!

"He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same;
He'll say I loved, when he was here, to whisper of his flame;
But when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth had broken,
And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token.
My ear-rings! my ear-rings! Oh! luckless, luckless well!
For what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell!

"I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe

That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve!
That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone,
His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone;
And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell,
And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well!"

J. G. LOCKHART.

THE CITY OF THE DEMONS.

[William Maginn, born at Cork, 1793; died in London, 20th August, 1842. He was known as the modern Rabelais, for he was equally distinguished, according to Jerdan, the editor of the once famous Literary Gazette, as "romancist, parodist, politician, satirist, linguist, poet, critic, scholar. . . . Were even the approach to a considerable collection of his productions accomplished, I am convinced that the world would be more than ever astonished by the originality, learning, fancy, wit, and beauty with which he illuminated the widest circle of periodical literature." From 1813 till 1823 he conducted a school at Cork; he then removed to London, and became one of the chief contributors to Blackwood's

Magazine and one of the founders of Fraser's Magazine. His life was unfortunately one of continual struggle

An

with poverty, which he bore with much good humour and apparent insensibility to its humiliations. anecdote is told of him that, having signed a bill to satisfy a creditor, he exclaimed with perfect satisfaction, "Thank Heaven, that account is settled." It is remarkable that whilst we have no collective edition

of his works in England, an admirable one was issued in New York in five vols. in 1855-57, edited by Dr. R. S. Mackenzie.]

In days of yore there lived in the flourishing city of Cairo a Hebrew rabbi, by name Jochonan, who was the most learned of his nation. His fame went over the East, and the most distant people sent their young men to imbibe wisdom from his lips. He was deeply skilled in the traditions of the fathers, and his word on a disputed point was decisive. He was pious, just, temperate, and strict; but he had one vice-a love of gold had seized upon his heart, and he opened not his hand to the poor. Yet he was wealthy above most, his wisdom being to him the source of riches. The Hebrews of the city were grieved at this blemish on the wisest of their people; but though the elders of the tribes continued to reverence him for his fame, the women and children of Cairo called him by no other name than that of Rabbi Jochonan the miser.

None knew so well as he the ceremonies necessary for initiation into the religion of Moses; and consequently the exercise of those solemn offices was to him another source of gain. One day, as he walked in the fields about Cairo, conversing with a youth on the interpretation of the law, it so happened that the angel of death smote the young man suddenly, and he fell dead before the feet of the Rabbi, even while he was yet speaking. When the Rabbi found that the youth was dead, he rent his garments and glorified the Lord. But his heart was touched, and the thoughts of

death troubled him in the visions of the night. He felt uneasy when he reflected on his hardness to the poor, and he said, "Blessed be the name of the Lord! The first good thing that I am asked to do, in that holy name, will I perform;" but he sighed, for he feared that some one might ask of him a portion of his gold.

While yet he thought upon these things, there came a loud cry at his gate.

"Awake, thou sleeper!" said the voice, "awake! A child is in danger of death, and the mother hath sent me for thee, that thou mayst do thine office."

"The night is dark and gloomy," said the Rabbi, coming to his casement, "and mine age is great; are there not younger men than I in Cairo?"

"For thee only, Rabbi Jochonan, whom some call the wise, but whom others call Rabbi Jochonan the miser, was I sent. Here is gold," said he, taking out a purse of sequins, "I want not thy labour for nothing. I adjure thee to

come, in the name of the living God."

So the Rabbi thought upon the vow he had just made, and he groaned in spirit, for the purse sounded heavy.

"As thou hast adjured me by that name, I go with thee," said he to the man, "but I hope the distance is not far. Put up thy gold.'

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"The place is at hand," said the stranger, who was a gallant youth in magnificent attire. "Be speedy, for time presses." Jochonan arose, dressed himself, and accompanied the stranger, after having carefully locked up all the doors of his house, and deposited his keys in a secret place at which the stranger smiled.

"I never remember," said the Rabbi, "so dark a night. Be thou to me as a guide, for I can hardly see the way."

"I know it well," replied the stranger with a sigh, "it is a way much frequented, and travelled hourly by many; lean upon mine arm, and fear not."

They journeyed on; and though the darkness was great, yet the Rabbi could see when it occasionally brightened that he was in a place strange to him. "I thought," said he, "I knew all the country for leagues about Cairo, yet I know not where I am. I hope, young man," said he to his companion, "that thou hast not missed the way;" and his heart misgave him.

"Fear not," returned the stranger. "Your journey is even now done," and, as he spoke, the feet of the Rabbi slipped from under him,

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