send all the people to the inn: no guzzling, if you please, in the servants' hall."" Yes, my lady," answered the man; but they always take us in at the Castle, my lady." "That is their affair; do as I order. And remember, no sneaking round the shrubbery with ale, Mr. Potts."

"Now, my dears," said lady Cornwall, let us prepare for the enemy. Dora, my love, put out some of the embroidery your governess worked for you, and employ yourself in picking out some threads. Marcia, my dear, open your drawing things, and show the sketch from nature you copied from Mr. Easel.— Bella, put the chess-men in confusion: I dare say the stupid house-maid has set them all in order.-Flora, place the book lady Roxmere sent me to read two months ago, on my stand; and then sit down to your harp."-"The leaves are not cut of your book, and there are not ten strings left to the harp," replied Miss Flora. "Then fetch me a volume of sermons, or the last transactions of the Society for the conversion of the Esquimaux; and crack another string just as they come in; that will answer all the purpose

Lieutenant Cornwall, who had witnessed all that had passed, now ventured to say, "Why, what, in the name of Heaven-!""Do not take the name of Heaven in vain, George, I am shocked at your profaneness," said lady Cornwall, interrupting him. "I am sure, if lord Gambier was to hear you, you would never be promoted," added her ladyship, as she left the room.-"You are all bewitched, I believe," said the officer, "since poor Julia has left you. Why all this nonsensical preparation for that good old lady?""Oh !" said Miss Bella, " you know the horrid old woman is so dreadfully blue, so shockingly prosy, that we should be lost for ever if we were not caught doing something literary or domestic."

The carriage now approached the door, and lady Roxmere and Lucy were ushered into the drawing-groom, amidst the screams and well-feigned exclamations of the whole group. "What! is it possible;" exclaimed the hostess,-"lady Roxmere? dear lady Roxmere! how delighted I am to see you!-We were just talking of you. What an age since we have met!-How kind thus to take us by surprise!-How is the dear earl!-Girls, Bella, Marcia, take dear lady Roxmere's

cloak." "Permit me to present my particular friend, Miss Delmore, who is in future to reside with me," replied the countess, after the usual salutations. The young ladies all bowed formally, and whispered among themselves, "Some charity girl, I suppose,-some humble companion rather cool bringing her here."-"What?" said lady Cornwall,— "a daughter of that worthy man, Mr. Delmore, of Beverley, of whom we have heard so much?"-"The same," replied the countess; "he has had the kindness

to intrust his treasure to my care."-" So kind of you to take notice of her, my dear lady Roxmere," whined out the hostess;

so completely in that spirit of Christian benevolence which guides all your actions, always charitable."___“ Always grateful for the obligations I receive," answered lady Roxmere: " and it is impossible Mr. Delmore could have conferred a greater favour, or given me a more decided proof of his esteem and confidence, than by permitting this dear child to supply the void which is caused by the absence of my poor Arthur.—But I hope," continued the countess, pressing Lucy's hand, "that she will not find Beverley Castle, or St. James's Square, quite so dull as they have been of late years. I must now endeavour to rally: I have a daughter to present, for in that light lord Roxmere and I consider Miss Delmore." Lady Cornwall now exclaimed, “How enchanted I am to make her acquaintance! I hope we shall see a great deal of her.How strikingly handsome?” added she in a half-whisper to lady Roxmere; and then aloud, "Miss Delmore, I must introduce you, individually, to all my daughters. Lucy! what a pretty name! I like it so much, so unaffected.-Here, Dora! Bella! Marcia! Flora! Miss Delmore:-Miss Delmore, my daughters."

THE FIVE NIGHTS OF ST. ALBAN'S.

3 vols. Edinburgh. 1829.

Of the two divisions of romance, we are more inclined to approve that which, like Mrs. Radcliffe's wonders, may be reasonably explained, than that which is wildly fanciful, mysterious, and supernatural. The reason for our preference is this;-we consider a display of nature and common sense as more edifying than a detail of silly dreams and idle vagaries. We are therefore pleased to find that the latter mode of romance-writing is on the

decline: but, before it expires, we will give such a specimen of it as indicates talent, if not wisdom or judgement.

The present story is in some degree connected with the legend of the Wandering Jew. The wanderer appears as a black horseman, followed by an imp in the disguise of a page. He had formerly been a Christian knight; and, in an adventure with a votary of the black art, from whom he endeavours to rescue a sacred cross of Jerusalem, he brings himself under the enchantment that dooms him to a life of misery, until certain conditions shall have been fulfilled by some credulous victims.

The first scene of the mystery is the strange appearance of St. Alban's Abbey at midnight. The whole building resembles a heated furnace, but sends out neither flame nor smoke. This phænomenon is observed by two yeomen, who hasten into the town to learn the cause. Finding no one awake to explain it, they again look toward the abbey, but can no longer perceive the burning ruin-it is a "mere black void," undistinguishable amidst the darkness. Twelve of the inhabitants now resolve to keep watch in the interior of the building, in the hope of an éclaircissement. In the progress of the nocturnal watchings, the black horseman makes himself known, under the name of Fitz-Maurice, to the courageous party, who sit and carouse in the old abbey, night after night, and witness horrible sights of diablerie. The deliver. ance of the enthralled wanderer is to be effected partly through the act of Helen Lacy, a beautiful girl, the daughter of one of the watchers. Her part is thus performed.

"The chimes have ceased-the twelfth hour has tolled. A loud knock is given at the abbey-door, and the words 'Husband, come! the cross is mine!' in tones of silvery sweetness, are heard without. Another knock, and again that gentle invocation! A third time it is pronounced! The doors roll back their ponderous bulk, and Helen enters!

Behold!' exclaimed Fitz-Maurice.Peverell and Lacy look, and they see the figure of Helen, attired like a bride, advancing slowly along. They see only her! But, before their tongues can exclaim, "Where is De Clare?-where Walwyn?-where Mortimer?' their unasked questions are fearfully answered. Each grave they had passed is tenanted!

And, as the shuddering Helen walks toward the altar, each grave heaves to its surface, at her approach, the lifeless and disfigured form of its fresh inhabitant!

"Horror and consternation possess the minds of Lacy and Peverell. The former half doubts, half believes, that it is his daughter who silently and slowly paces along. He knows not her dress, and her veil conceals her features. He is in the grasp of a demon-like old man, at the entrance of the tomb; but his whole attention is elsewhere. His heart beats high-his mouth is parched-his straining eyes follow the movements of Helen! Fitz-Maurice, too, gazes upon her. Hope and despair alternately sustain and smite his agitated soul. The old man foams with agony and rage, the blackened froth gathering on his lips, as he glares at the spotless maiden, in whose purity of purpose he reads his own damnation! Peverell has his hand upon the arm of Fitz-Maurice, who, with a stern look, imposes silence upon his intrepid follower.

Helen remembered well, and performed nobly, the task enjoined her. She spoke not, she uttered no exclamation, though affrighted almost beyond mortal bearing by what she saw. With a majestic step and a lofty air, as if she felt the eye of Heaven was upon her, she advanced toward the altar, and when she stood beneath it, cast back her veil.Then, for the first time, she saw her father, and a smothered shriek died within her lips, as she beheld the angelic vision of her mother in the tomb beyond! Then, too, Lacy recognised his daughter, and consoling doubts yielded to paternal anguish. Helen looked at him with radiant eyes, with an ecstatic expression of bliss upon her features, which proclaimed the kindling consciousness of her heart, that she had done well in all she had done, and that now was to be the glad reward of all, in delivering him from his jeopardy. 'Oh that I might speak!' was her silent ejaculation; and abridge, by a single moment, the wretchedness that clings to thy noble spirit.' She caught one glimpse, too, of the dark penetrating eye of FitzMaurice, and read its language with a proud smile. She took off the signet, placed it on the altar, knelt-and with such fervid devotion as expiring saints might feel, while the yet struggling soul is preparing for its flight to realms of

everlasting bliss, already opening in bright glory to its view, she prayed, Forgive me! I know not what to do: but thy will be mine!' Choral voices catch her words, and hymning strains are heard above, chanting in solemn response, Forgive! Forgive! She rises, places the signet again upon her finger, and lifts her hand to heaven, as she looks toward her father. At that moment Lacy speaks.'Helen! cursed be the arts by which you work! See me perish, and abjure them!'See him perish, or abjure them!' screamed forth the old man.— I implore you!' added her father; begone, and let thy trust be in God alone!'

"Helen paused: her arm was still extended, her bosom heaved convulsively, her brain whirled, her knees smote each other; her countenance was awfully sublime; her eyes were fixed in the upraised expression of intense piety. Fitz-Maurice rushed toward her, knelt, and in the wildest agony of speech exclaimed, You deny me then! These words, that voice, that attitude, that mysterious being, subdued all fear and hesitation. The next moment, I command thee-obey!' fell from her lips. The old man, with a loud and terrific yell, quitted his grasp of Lacy, and the two spectral figures which had guarded the doors of the tomb, thrust him in. They close. The old man darts to where Helen stands, takes the cross from his bosom, and lays it on the altar. Instantly the lights vanish, and there is total darkness again. Fires flash around; the blue lightening, in forked wrath, darts through the windows; the volleying thunder bursts, and rebellows, till the deep foundations of the abbey seem to shake; and the fierce wind-storm raves round the walls, like the discordant howlings of the spirits of the abyss !

After the service and operations of Helen, Peverell becomes a more effective agent. "The communion table appeared covered with a pall, and on it was spread a splendid banquet. Black tapers were burning, held by skeleton hands, and gave forth a red dusky flame. Seated round this table, Peverell beheld his eleven friends--those who had all perished in the same habiliments as when living! They spoke not-they moved not. Their aspect was cold and stony! A death-like silence prevailed! Behind each chair, stood pale shadows, as if to wait upon the guests!

"At the head of the table was a vacant chair. At the other end sat a figure veiled, or rather covered to the feet with a sable drapery, so that neither form nor feature was discernible. Peverell draws nearer. His foot is on the first step. He pauses for a moment, and contemplates this spectral company. Is he awake! Or do they really bend their rayless eyes upon him, and, with a sepulchral smile, invite him to sit? His brain whirls-his sight grows dim! Again he looks, and again they smile a ghastly welcome. He cannot resist. He obeys. He rushes up the steps, and takes his seat. He hears a voice he has heard before, breathe in his ear, 'Welcome! Thou art the last!' He doubts the evidence of his own senses. Clayton sits beside him. He puts his hand upon his. It has a more than icy coldness; and a shivering tremor runs through his veins. He looks round the table. What stony eyes stare upon him!— what marble lips mock at him! He grows dizzy, and exclaims, Why, then I'll mock the mockers!' He rises, and in each cold hand places a crystal cup, into which he pours sparkling wine. He comes to the veiled figure, and laughs horribly as he places before it a goblet, mantling to the edge. He returns to his seat, pours out a flowing cup, and raises it to his lipsbut dashes it from him. It is filled with worms that crawl and cling to its golden brim ! theirs.

His guests smile, and point to The worms are heaving and rolling about! The pale shadows which stand behind, advance, and with their fleshless hands remove the loathsome vessels. This is brave fare!' exclaims the half-frantic Peverell. 'Come! Eat!'

He helps each to costly and delicate viands, and then himself. Toads, adders, lizards, beetles, and spiders, creep and crawl, and twine about the table, instead of the dainty food he had served. He is covered with them. He starts from his chair, and, as he brushes them off, addresses his spectral friends. Will you speak? You, De Clare-where are your biting taunts, your saucy gibes, and your ready scoff? Mortimer! swear by your manhood you will pledge me! Clayton! I am thy friend-hast thou no word for me? Wilkins! thy bags are stored to bursting; lend me, not on usance, but for the vanity of showing thou art rich. Vehan! breathe one sighor let me see thee weep, or fold thy arms, and dream of moonlight visions in the

silent grove? What? nor eat, nor drink, nor speak! Hence, grim shadows of Lis what you were!-hence, horrible visions! Aye!-now you obey, now you move! How is this? Is it thus you show me what you are?

"While he spoke, the seats on which they sat changed into the semblance of coffins. In each was a corpse. Their vestments had fallen from them; and they now stood round the table in their graveclothes-yea, in their shrouds and in their winding-sheets! The veiled figure still remained, and Peverell seemed to see only it. There was something even more terrible to his imagination in its silent mystery and hidden form, than in all the visible horror by which he was surrounded. He knew not what it might portend, or for what it tarried. He arose; and it stood up at the same time! He moved; and it moved toward him.- What art thou?' he exclaimed.-'Ask at the twelfth hour,' said a voice. What should I ask?' To close thine eyes in sleep till sunrise,' replied the voice.-Peverell slowly turned his head. The voice did not seem to issue from the veiled figure, but from lips that were near him. He looked, and there was no one!

He paused. His agitation was excessive. He felt that he could endure the conflict with himself no longer. All consciousness of where he was, and wherefore he had approached the altar, was fast departing from him. At that moment his eye fell upon the cross, and he saw a halo, or faint roseate light, encircling the image of the Redeemer, which it still bore. A sudden recollection flashed across his mind. The veiled figure is between him and the cross. He advances to take it.

The figure advances too, and stands before him. 'What art thou?' again exclaimed Peverell.-Its black drapery falls, and he beholds the pale likeness of Death! The grim anatomy brandishes his spear; the coffined spectres gibber, and their bones rattle; the attendant shadows glide about. Peverell presses forward; the upraised spear is leveled; he hesitates, and FitzMaurice is seen ascending the steps of the altar. The bones drop with a hideous clattering from the phantom, and the old man appears. His gleaming eyes are two flaming torches; his hot breath, the blasts from a furnace: his livid face, the speaking agonies of a tortured fiend; and in his hand he grasped a shining scimitar, which flickered like the nimble lightening that shoots athwart the heavens, swift harbinger of the gathering tempest.- Slave of thy fate! he roars, glaring fiercely at FitzMaurice, and shaking the massive walls of the abbey with his voice; Vassal of my power! What darest thou yet? Avaunt! Fitz-Maurice points to the cross, and Peverell, with collected strength, with all the energy of mind and body that yet remains to him, dashes forward, seises the cross, and staggers toward FitzMaurice, who snatches the holy symbol from his hand, exclaiming, as he clutches it, By this I triumph! perish, unclean spirit!"

A loud and dismal yell, and piercing shrieks that might have awakened the dead, were all that Peverell remembered after; for, as he felt the cross pass from his relaxing grasp to the eager gripe of Fitz-Maurice, his sight thickened, his limbs refused their office, and he sank to the earth, exhausted by the sharp trials he had undergone."

J. M. LACEY.