complaisance you can show me. In reality, there is less danger with pistols, as the shot seldom takes effect; and if mine misses, I give you my word we will fight with swords, as long as ever you wish. Will you then do me this favour?"

"You speak so eloquently, I quite delight in listening to you, and I really am happy to be able to afford you this barbarous enjoyment, in which, after all, I perhaps may somewhat participate myself. I there fore agree to the change you propose, but only on these conditions: You shall bring two pistols, both of which must be loaded in my presence, and I must take my choice. If we miss our aim, we will then fight with swords till one of us bleeds, but no longer. If this satisfies you, all is settled, as I am prepared for every thing, even for death. Come and fetch me at three o'clock, and we will choose a place where the arm of justice cannot reach us."

Very good," said he; "you are really a man worth knowing. You

must allow me to embrace you, but give me your word of honour not to say a syllable of this to any one. Should it transpire, we are inevitably arrested."

"How can you imagine I would incur such a risk, when I would willingly walk ten miles to acquire the honour you are going to confer upon me?"

"So much the better-the thing is then settled. We meet again at three o'clock."

As soon as he had left me, I sealed up all the King's papers, and sent for Campioni, the opera dancer, a man in whom I knew I might confide. "You will give me back this packet in the evening," said I, " if I am then alive; if not, carry it to the King, and explain the circumstances of the case; but bear in mind, that I am for ever dishonoured, if a word of this transpires beforehand, and that any indiscretion on your part would make me your most inveterate enemy."

(To be concluded in our next.)

CHARACTERS OMITTED IN CRABBE'S PARISH REGISTER.

No. II.

Register of Births-The Surgeon's Apprentice.
SOME say my pen on woe delights to dwell,
The crimes and sufferings of mankind to tell :
More light, I own-more pleasing were the theme,
To paint the world as youthful lovers dream;
But truth requires, that, with impartial hand,
I take my facts as they recorded stand:
My present extracts I with grief relate,
The truth confirm, that Folly makes our Fate.
With giddy head, light heart, and wayward mind,
We plunging sink, and call our stars unkind.
Again I dip my warning pen, to shew
What sad misfortunes from our follies flow.

John Marshall was a sprightly, thoughtless boy;
His days were pleasure, and his nights were joy;
In Fashion's train a sprucely-scented fool,
He squir'd the ladies ere he left the school;
In dress a fop-to fiddle, dance, and sing-
To run the round in fluttering Pleasure's ring-
To smile, and prattle nonsense with the fair-
For these he liv'd, and had no other care:
From what the world calls vice, the lad was free,
Was not licentious, nor a debauchee;
But he in trifling pass'd his time away,

For ever thoughtless, and for ever gay;

Behind a surgeon's counter, novels read

Shut shop-went out-at two, came home to bed.

Kate Logan bloom'd-a beauty of sixteen, And was what girls in nonage oft are seen. In short, the maiden was John's counterpart, Her head as empty, and as light her heart; She dress'd, she flirted, flutter'd on the wing, A gaudy butterfly, in early spring;

Unapprehensive of the April storm,

That yet might come, to spoil her slender form.
Her father's house was just across the street;
And from the window oft their eyes would meet;
He gaz'd delighted on the lovely fair,
And she admir'd his gait and graceful air:
He sent a ticket to an annual ball,
Her heart exulted at the welcome call:
How slowly pass'd the lingering hours away,
Till came the dear, the long-expected day!"
She gaz'd around her in the crowded room,
On every side a blaze of youthful bloom;
Delight and envy whirl'd her teeming brain;
But John's attentions sooth'd her mental pain;
He led her out, to join a country-dance,

They pair'd and cross'd, exchanging glance for glance;
With fairy lightness, gliding o'er the floor,
She ne'er had felt such dear delight before;
Beaux ogled, smil'd, and bow'd on every side,

She simper'd, blush'd, and spread her triumphs wide;
Well did her cheek and sparkling eyes impart

The foolish fluttering of her little heart.

John led her home-next morning made his call-
Discuss'd the pleasures of the festive ball;
The mother soon invited him to tea,
Next daily visits follow'd, frank and free;
He in the parlour chatted, laugh'd and talk'd,
And then, with Kate, alone in twilight walk'd.
With fond romantic girls, and giddy boys,
Love seems a paradise of fairy joys;
And, to secure a lease of bliss for life,
They blindly hasten to be man and wife:
So thought and felt, so acted John and Kate,
Resolv❜d to wed, and rush upon their fate.
Both parents tried their ardour to restrain,
But found all counsel and remonstrance vain ;
For when the fond impatient lovers felt,

That nought the stubborn parents' hearts would melt,
To reach the promis'd land they changed the scene,
And tied the mystic knot at Gretna Green!
The sun of love ne'er shed a brighter noon,
Than the rich splendour of their honey-moon;
Entranced the pair in necromantic bower,
Without a thought beyond the present hour,
They home return'd, and, kneeling, were forgiven;
That cloud dispell'd from their connubial heaven,
Another came they could not turn aside,
How they should for their future wants provide.
The parents tried to make the best of bad,
And took a shop, therein to fix the lad;
Above the door a gilded mortar placed,
The window shelves with colour'd water graced,

Invited all, who held their lives in care,

To purchase physic, health, and safety there.
The field was narrow-John, unknown to fame,
His rival thriving, and had gain'd a name ;
John's custom little, and his practice less,
Kate kill'd his languor in a game at chess;
Then they would fondle, trifle, flirt, and toy;
But sweets too luscious still the soonest cloy :
And daily groping in an empty till,
Was not the way life's growing cares to kill;
Yet Love, intent his drooping mind to cheer,
Gave hopes a father's name would glad his ear;
These hopes fulfill'd, with joyous heart he saw,
He kiss'd his son and Katherine, in the straw;
"His lovely cherub, with his mother's smile,"
He cried, "will now life's languid hours beguile."
A month or two both parents hugg'd the boy,
As Miss her doll, or any darling toy;

But soon they found him turn'd a squalling brat,
Whose cries and clamour spoil'd their fondling chat.

If mortals laugh, or cry, or wake, or sleep, The wheels of time their constant motion keep: Slow o'er their heads another year has pass'd, And Poverty's dark shades were thickening fast. John found that Katherine's cheek had lost its bloom; And on his brow she mark'd the low'ring gloom; On love they once could breakfast, dine, and sup, But found it now an almost empty cup.

She sigh'd and wept; John frown'd and rail'd at fate, His sidelong glance accusing hapless Kate;

And both deplor'd their folly, when too late.

While they with want, and growing coldness strove,
A daughter came, a second pledge of love;
But credit gone-accounts and bills unpaid,
Their ruin could no longer be delay'd,

What could he do? or whither steer his course?
A Greenland whale-ship seem'd his best resource.
He sail'd to lasting day, and polar frost;
By icebergs crush'd, the hapless ship was lost!
On board a vessel bound for Aberdeen,

The shipwreck'd crew forsook the dreary scene:
O'ercome with travel, hunger, care, and pain,
And cloth'd in rags, John found his home again;
And came in time an infant boy to bring,
For holy unction, from the sacred spring:
Before the font he stood, with aspect wild;
I mourn'd the parents, while I bless'd the child!
Ah! how unlike the giddy, thoughtless pair,
When John was gay, and Kate a blooming fair!
His mirth forgot, her blushing beauty fled,
They hide their sorrows in an humble shed.

Such are the woes by childish folly wrought;
Such is experience-Ah! too dearly bought!
To cool the fever of the youthful brain,

Ye fond and thoughtless, read-let me not sing in vain.

Register of Marriages.-Widow Wilmot. THE prudent surgeon, with a tender heart, In danger's hour performs a painful part;