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The author has felt justly that the effect of Count Horace's and Nadeshta's first declaration of love while in hopeless immersion to the neck in a cold moss, although well told, causes a feeling of the ludicrous to creep involuntary upon the reader; and the highly wrought scene of the dice, reminds one in an equally involuntary manner, of a celebrated etching; but we are neither so discontented nor hypocritical as to wish to change a word in either; indeed, we doubt if any romance of the season will command a larger class of readers than the "White Slave."

THE PRISONER OF AHLDEN.*

SPACE does not remain this month to do justice to a remarkable defence, just published, of the life and character of Sophia Dorothea, who was Consort to George I. before he ascended the British throne, and the mother of George II. It is one of those extraordinary and tragic histories which were once common in the domestic events of palace life, and which, never perhaps thoroughly understood, except by the principal actors themselves, and afterwards purposely shrouded in an impervious mystery, present features of so striking and terrible a character, as to leave the impressions of a drama or a romance, rather than of a carefully and philosophically compiled historical narrative.

The exact coincidence between the "Memoirs," derived from a variety of sources, and the "Diary" of the royal prisoner herself, in the details which concern the plot of the embroidered glove, and the murder of Count Königsmark, is remarkable. The queen could not have had information of the circumstance attendant upon the last of these sad occurrences but at second-hand. They are not contained in "Mademoiselle Knesebeck's Memoir," a translation of which is given in the appendix, and she could scarcely have been acquainted with the death-bed confession of the Countess Platen, which is preserved at Vienna. We are therefore led to deduce that the author modelled his narrative of these two important features in the case, from the “Diary ;" or that the queen obtained her information from one of the witnesses, whose depositions are still preserved among the MSS. archives at Han

over.

It fills one with wonder to think that such dark events as are here recorded, should have occurred little more than a century back. From the impenetrable cloud which was purposely made to veil the history of the unfortunate Sophia Dorothea, the author justly remarks that that illustrious lady has been the "Iron Mask" of the court of Hanover and the explanation of the mystery now given to the public, will be undoubtedly eagerly read, not only as a matter of curiosity, or even in the stronger impulse of awakened sympathy, and a still existing chivalrous abhorrence of unjust persecution, but as an indispensable fragment in the completion of a national history, which is by no means spotless.

The notice of the Baroness Calabrella's "Evenings at Haddon Hall," referred to at page 303, is unavoidably delayed.

Memoirs of Sophia Dorothea, Consort of George I. Chiefly from the secret archives of Hanover, Brunswick, Berlin, and Vienna; including a Diary of the Conversations of Illustrious Personages of those Courts, illustrative of her History, with Letters and other Documents. Now first published from the originals. 2 vols., 8vo.

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THE

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

[GRATUITOUS SUPPLEMENT.]

Revelations of London.

BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ.

FIRST SERIES.

AURIOL; OR, THE ELIXIR OF LIFE.

PROLOGUE-1599.

DOCTOR LAMB.

THE sixteenth century drew to a close. It was the last day of the last year, and two hours only were wanting to the birth of another year and of another century.

The night was solemn and beautiful. Myriads of stars paved the deep vault of heaven; the crescent moon hung like a silver lamp in the midst of them; a stream of rosy and quivering light issuing from the north-traversed sky, like the tail of some stupendous comet; while from its point of effluence broke forth, ever and anon, coruscations rivalling in splendour and variety of hue the most brilliant discharge of fireworks.

A sharp frost prevailed; but the atmosphere was clear and dry, and neither wind nor snow aggravated the wholesome rigour of the season. The water lay in thick congealed masses around the conduits and wells, and the buckets were frozen on their stands. The thoroughfares were sheeted with ice, and dangerous to horsemen and vehicles; but the footways were firm and pleasant to the tread.

Here and there, a fire was lighted in the streets, round which ragged urchins and mendicants were collected, roasting fragments of meat stuck upon iron prongs; or quaffing deep draughts of metheglin and ale, out of leathern cups. Crowds were collected in the open places, watching the wonders in the heavens, and drawing auguries from them, chiefly sinister, for most of the beholders thought the signs portended the speedy July.-VOL. LXXIV. No. CCXCV.

2 F

death of the queen, and the advent of a new monarch from the northa safe and easy interpretation, considering the advanced age and declining health of the illustrious Elizabeth, together with the known appointment of her successor, James of Scotland.

Notwithstanding the early habits of the times, few persons had retired to rest, an universal wish prevailing among the citizens to see the new year in, and welcome the century accompanying it. Lights glimmered in most windows, revealing the holly-sprigs and laurel-leaves stuck thickly in their diamond panes; while, whenever a door was opened, a ruddy gleam burst across the street; and a glance inside the dwelling showed its inmates either gathered round the glowing hearth, occupied in mirthful sports-fox-i'th'-hole, blind-man's-buff, or shoe-the-mare-or seated at the ample board groaning with Christmas cheer.

Music and singing were heard at every corner, and bands of comely damsels, escorted by their sweethearts, went from house to house, bearing huge brown bowls dressed with ribbons and rosemary, and filled with a drink called "lamb's-wool," composed of sturdy ale, sweetened with sugar, spiced with nutmeg, and having toasts and burnt crabs floating within it, a draught from which seldom brought its pretty bearers less than a groat, and occasionally a more valuable coin.

Such was the vigil of the year Sixteen Hundred.

On this night, and at the tenth hour, a man of striking and venerable appearance was seen to emerge upon a small wooden balcony, projecting from a bay-window near the top of a picturesque structure situated at the southern extremity of London Bridge.

The old man's beard and hair were as white as snow-the former descending almost to his girdle; so were the thick over-hanging brows that shaded his still piercing eyes. His forehead was high, bald, and ploughed by innumerable wrinkles. His countenance, despite its deathlike paleness, had a noble and majestic cast, and his figure, though worn to the bone by a life of the severest study, and bent by the weight of years, must have been once lofty and commanding. His dress consisted of a doublet and hose of sad-coloured cloth, over which he wore a loose gown of black silk. His head was covered by a square black cap, from beneath which his silver locks strayed over his shoulders.

Known by the name of Doctor Lamb, and addicted to alchemical and philosophical pursuits, this venerable personage was esteemed by the vulgar as little better than a wizard. Strange tales were reported and believed of him. Amongst others, it was said that he possessed a familiar, because he chanced to employ a deformed, crack-brained dwarf, who assisted him in his operations, and whom he appropriately enough denominated Flapdragon.

Doctor Lamb's gaze was fixed intently upon the heavens, and he seemed to be noting the position of the moon with reference to some particular star.

After remaining in this posture for a few minutes, he was about to retire, when a loud crash arrested him, and he turned to see whence it proceeded.

Immediately before him stood the Southwark gateway-a square stone building, with a round, embattled turret at each corner, and a flat, leaden roof, planted with a forest of poles, fifteen or sixteen feet high, garnished

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