ing confessions were extracted from an accom pice in the robbery, who was admitted King's evidence:

Q. How many robberies have you been at altogether?-A. Together [laughing]? Why, sure I could not be at more than one at a time.

Q. You certainly have knocked me down by that answer [loud laughing in Court]. Come, now, tell us how many you have been at ?-A. I never put them down: for I never thought it would come to my turn to give an account of

them.

Q. By virtue of your oath, Sir, will you swear you have not been at fifteen ?-A. I would not [witness laughing).

Q. Would you swear you have not been at twenty?-A.I would not [still laughing]!

Q. Do you recollect robbing the Widow Byrne in the County of Wicklow?-A. The Widow Byrne-who is she? May be it is big Nell you mean? Oh! I only took a trifle of whiskey from her, that's all.

Q. Was it day or night?-A. [Laughing] Why it was night to be sure.

Q. Did you not rob the poor woman of every article in the house; even her bed-clothes, and the clothes off her back?--A. I took clothes, but they were not on her back.

Q. Do you recollect stealing two flitches of bacon from Doran, the Wexford carman?—A. Faith I do, and a pig's head beside! [loud laughing in Court.]

Q. Do you recollect robbing John Keogh, in the County of Wicklow, and taking every article in his house?-A. You are wrong there; I did not take every thing: I only took his money and a few other things! [witness and the auditory laughing immoderately].

Q. Why, you're a mighty good humoured fellow?" There is not a better humoured fellow in the county-there may be honester.

Narrative.

THE GREAT MONTESQUIEU.

A young man, whose name was Roberts, posted himself at the ferry of Marseilles, till some one should enter his boat that he might but earry him over. A person presently came, as Roberts had not the air of a boatman, was going again, saying, since the boatman was not there, he would find another. "I am the boatman (said Roberts) where do you wish to go?" "I would be rowed round the harbour said the passenger) to enjoy the fresh air of this fine evening; but you have neither the manners nor the air of a mariner," "I am not a mariner (replied Roberts) and only employ my time this way on Sundays and holidays, to get money." What, are you avari

66

66

cious at your age?". -“Ah, Sir (said Roberts)
if you knew my reason for this employing
myself, you would not suspect me of so mean
a vice.' Well, row me where I have de
sired, and be so good as to tell your reasons."
"I have only one, but that is a dreadful one:
my father is in slavery."-"In slavery!"
"Yes, Sir; he was a broker in Marseilles, and
with the money which he and my mother, who
is a milliner, had in many years been able to
save, he purchased a part in a vessel that
traded to Smyrna: his desire to enrich and
make his children and his family happy was
so strong, that he would go in the ship him-
self, to dispose of his property to the best ad-
vantage: they were met and attacked by a
Corsair, and my father, amongst the rest, was
carried a slave to Tetuan. His ransom is a
thousand crowns, but as he has exhausted
almost his whole wealth in this unfortunate
adventure, we are very far from possessing
such a sum. My mother and my sisters work
day and night, and I do the same; I am an
apprentice to a jeweller, and I endeavour, as
you see, to profit likewise by the Sundays and
holidays, when my master's shop is shut. I
intended to have gone and freed my father, by
exchanging myself for him, and was just about
putting my project in execution, when my
mother coming to the knowledge of it, as-
sured me it was impracticable, and dangerous,
and forbade all the Levant captains to take
me on board."-" And do you ever receive
news of your father? do you know who is his
master at Tetuan, and what treatment he
meets with?"-" His master is intendant of
the King's gardens, he is treated with huma
nity, and his labour is not beyond his strength,
as he writes: but, alas, where are the comforts
he used to find in the society of his dear wife
and three beloved children?"-" What name
does he go by at Tetuan?"-" Ilis naine is
Roberts, he has never changed his name, for
he has no reason to be ashamed of it."-" Ro-
berts; and his master is intendant of the
King's gardens?"-" Yes, sir."-“ I am af-
fected by your misfortune, and I find your
sentiments so noble and so virtuous, that I
think I dare predict a happier fate to you
hereafter; and I assure you, I wish you all
the happiness you deserve: at present I am a
little thoughtful, and I hope you will not
think me proud, because I am inclined to be
silent: I would not be, nor be thought proud
to such men as you." When it was dark, the
passenger desired to be rowed to the shore, and
as he stepped out of the boat he threw a purse
into it, and ran off with precipitation. The
purse contained eight double Louis d'ors and
ten crowns in silver. This generosity made
the most lively impression upon Roberts, and
it was with grief he Leheld him run from him
so swiftly, without staying to receive his
thanks. Encouraged by this assistance, the
virtuous family of Roberts redoubled their

eforts to relieve their common parent, and
almost denied themselves a sufficiency of the
most ordinary food, Six weeks after, as the
Thother and the two daughters were sat at din-
ner over a few chesnuts, bread, and water,
they saw Roberts, the father, enter. Imagine
their joy, their transports, their astonishment.
The good old man threw himself into their
arms, and thanked and kissed them ten thou
sand times for the fifty guineas which he had
received after the purchase of his freedom, for
the payment of his passage in the vessel, for
the clothes they had sent him, and for all the
exactness and care they had taken in every
thing that had related to his safe return; he
knew not how to repay so much zeal, so much
love. The mother and the daughters listened,
and looked with immoveable surprise at each
other; at last the mother broke silence; her
son had done it all, she said, though she knew
not by what means: and related how, from the
first inoment of his slavery, young Roberts
would, had she not prevented him, have
and taken his father's place; how the family
had actually in the house above five hundred
crowns towards his ransom, which had most of
it been earned by young Roberts, &c. The
father, on hearing this account, was instantly
seized with a most painful suspicion, that his
son had taken some dishonest method to re-
lease him; he could no way else account for
it: he sent for his son. 66
Unhappy young
man (said he) what hast thou done, wouldst

gone

of his family, and to beg of him to come and see the happiness he was the author of, and receive the blessings of those whom he had greatly blessed. The stranger, however, pretended not to understand him, and the multitude becoming great, by their contention, found an opportunity of mixing with them, and escaping from the importunities of Roberts.— He was never seen nor heard of afterwards by his grateful debtors; and yet the story was so extraordinary that it soon made its way through France. He was, not, however, known till after his death, by his papers, when the famous and immortal Montesquieu was found to be the person. The note for 7,500 livres was found, and Mr. Mayn, banker of Cadiz, said he had received it of Montesquieu, for the release of a slave at Tetuan, of the name of

Roberts.

When splendid abilities are united with goodness of heart, the actions of the possessor cannot too frequently be held up as objects of public attention: on this account, the preceding story merits preservation.

Satire.

THE MANCHESTER YEOMAN.

Harry Brown.

I am, d'ye see, a Yeoman,

thou have me owe my deliverance to crimes Indignatione et rhythmis cxuberans, Skeltonizat and disho our? thon wouldst not have kept thy proceedings secret from thy mother, had they been upright; I tremble to think that so virtuons an affection as parental love should render thee guilty."-"Be calm, my father, (answered the young man) your son, I hope, is not unworthy of you, nor is he happy enough to have procured your deliverance, and to prove how dear to him his father is: no, it is not me, it is, it must be a generous benefactor, whom I met in my boat; he, my mother, who gave us his purse: I will search through the world but I will find him; he shall come and see the happiness he is the author of." He then told his father the anecdote before related.

The elder Roberts having so good a foundation to begin again, soon became rich enough to be at ease, and settle his children to his satisfaction, while the younger made every possible effort to discover their benefactor. After two years of fruitless search, he at last met him walking alone on the beach of Marseilles. He fled to throw himself at his feet, but his sensations were so strong he fainted: the stranger gave him every assistance, and a crowd of people presently gathered around them. As soon as Roberts came to himself, he began to thank him, to call him the saviour

All fine from top to toe, man;
And make my mare to go, man;
And draw my sword out so, man;
And frown, and fume, and blow, man;
And mutter Pshaw! and Poh! man;
And to the rich bow low, man;
And say to the poor, Ho! ho! man;
And should they saucy grow, man,
And meet to pick a crow, man,
With Castlereagh and Co. man,
All things in statu quɔ man,
I make the goblet flow, man,
And beef and port, I stow, man,
Within my bow-window, man;
And then like any Roman,
I take on me, I trow, man,
Power ex officio, man,

And ride to meet the foe, man,
And prove that there is no man
Such more than man" can show, man,
By cutting down—A WOMAN.

THE CHARY MANCHESTER CHAIRMAN, of being more at case, I placed soune chairs

BENCH'S LOYAL BURDEN: Shewing how to protect a Short-hand Writer and Crown Witness with a long and stretchedout arm.

Says Hunt-For the press? or to please yourself spoke, as if its lips were in contact with my by't?

Songs.

THE KISS.

Air," Drink to me only." Why, love, deny this little boon,

Which I so fondly seek?
T'will leave no sorrow in thy breast;

No taint upon thy cheek.

The sun-beams kiss, but do not stain
The purest stream that flows;-
And in the warm embrace of morn

The rose unsullied glows.

And sure these lovely lips of thine,

By mine though warmly press'd, Will still be stor'd with sweets divine, And I be truly bless'd.

Then why deny this little boon,

Which I so fondly seek?

T'will leave no sorrow in thy breast;

No taint upon thy cheek.

M. (Banks of the Tneed.)

+

THE TRYSTIN' TREE.*

When winds are still, and silent eve
Comes stealing slowly o'er the lea,
O, then, dear maid, thy cottage leave,
And meet me at the Trystin' Tree.

For 'neath its shade, in days gone by,
Have lovers breath'd their hopes and fears;
Its leaves have trembled in their sigh,
Its roots have fed upon their tears.

And fear not though the star of night
In envy should forget to shine,
Perchance the wand'ring glow-worm's light
May lead thee to these arms of mine.

But if no light from earth or sky

To guide a lover's path you see,—
Then use the lustre of thine eye,
And bright as noon the eve will be.

When thou art there,-far, far away

Shall each unruly passion flee;
And Teviot's stream will ling'ring stay,
To hear my vows of love to thee.

The winds are still, and silent eve

Comes stealing slowly o'er the lea; O then, dear maid, thy cottage leave, And meet me at the Trystin' Tree.

H. (Banks of the Tweed.)

"The Trysting Tree is a large and very ancient elm, growing on the banks of the Teviot, close to its influx into the Tweed.

Hard by,

stood, in former times, a convent of Franciscans;
and the extensive ruins of Roxburgh Castie crown
an eminence at the distance of about three-quarters
of a mile. The Tree is celebrated in traditionery
stories, founded on events, which are said to have
happened during the ancient border wars."
(M.S. Hist. of Roxburghshire.)

Sonnets.

Written at Tynemouth, Northumberland, after
a tempestuous Voyage.

As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,
Much musing on the track of terror past,
When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast,
Pleas'd I look back, and view the tranquil tide
That laves the pebbled shore. And now the beam
Of ev'ning siniles on the grey battlement,
And yon forsaken tower that time has rent:-
The lifted oar far off, with silver gleam
Is touch'd, and hush'd is all the billowy deep!
Sooth'd by the scene, thus on tir'd nature's
breast

A stillness slowly steals, and kindred rest;
While sea sounds lull her, as she sinks to sleep,
Like melodies which mourn upon the lyre,
Wak'd by the breeze, and, as they mourn, expire,

To THE TWEED.

O Tweed! a stranger, that with wand'ring feet,
O'er hill and dale has journey'd many a mile,
(If so his weary thoughts he might beguile,)
Delighted, turns thy beauteous scenes to greet.
The waving branches that romantic bend

O'er thy tall banks, a soothing charm bestow;
The murmurs of thy wand'ring wave below
Seem to his ear the pity of a friend.
Delightful stream! though now along thy shore,

When Spring returns with all her wonted pride,
The Shepherd's distant pipe is heard no more;
Yet here with pensive peace could I abide,
Far from the stormy world's tumultuous roar,
To muse upon thy banks at eventide.

AT A CONVENT.

If chance some pensive stranger, hither led,
(His bosom glowing from majestic views,
The gorgeous dome, or the proud landscape's
hues,)

Should ask who sleeps beneath this lonely bed-
"Tis poor Matilda! to the cloister'd scene

A mourner, beauteous and unknown, she came, To shed her tears unmark'd, and quench the flame

1:2

Of fruitless love: yet was her look serene
As the pale moonlight in the midnight isle;—
Her voice was soft, which yet a charm could

lend,

Like that which spoke of a departed friend,
And a meek sadness sat upon her smile:--
Be the rude spot by passing pity blest,
Where, hush'd to long repose, the wretched rost.

Calcs.

THE MAID OF SWITZERLAND.

BY MISS ANNE BLOWER.

(Concluded from page 157.) By means of that singular incident which Introduced me to you, I became sensible of the trual sacrifice I had made of my liberty to the contemptible motives of interested ambition.On the first sight of my lovely cousin, my Whole soul was devoted to her. Enchanted with the irresistible and unaffected simplicity of her character, and that air of ingenuousness and candour she possesses, the artless and bewitching graces of her person, as far removed from the coarseness of the rustic as from the affected delicacy and false refinement of the fine lady. Thus charmed, I involunta rily gave myself up to a passion as pure as it was tender. Lost in the pleasing labyrinth of love, I was not sensible of my error till I had inadvertently betrayed myself to Julia, and that knowledge, instead of displeasing, seened to inspire her with favourable sentiments for me. I could not, however, conquer myself so far as to disclose to Julia immediately my situation: my heart, fondly enamoured, impru-. dently indulged itself in the rapturous pleasure of a reciprocal assurance of love. Too late my heart smote me for the perfidy I had unwit-, tingly committed. In a paroxysm of anguish and despair, I hastened to communicate to you my unfortunate situation, and the resolution I have formed of flying for ever from the presence of my too lovely cousin. Neither could I leave you, dear madam, without first deprecating your just resentment for the injury I have done you, though unintentionally. Impressed with contrition, I intreat your forgiveness of an involuntary fault, and if the sense of my misery can soften your resentment, be assured it is as great as my passion is hopeless."

Surprised and perplexed, Madame de Clemengis, on Valmont's, ceasing, remained for some moments silent; recovering, how ever, "Valmont," said she, "I can sooner pardon your promising to love my daughter, So circumstanced, than your disingenuity in concealing it thus long. Though both are defensible, the ane is certainly more excusable than the other, inasmuch as our passions

are not always in our own power, but honour ought ever to controul our conduct. And-” "I see," cried Valmont, despondingly interrupting her "I see it is in vain to hope for your pardon; farewell, then, madam, and believe me, the thought of having given you pain, is as afflictive as the severity of that fate which deprives me of happiness forever."

Affected by his last words, and the grief expressed in his countenance, Madame de Clemengis recalled him as he was leaving her, with the most earnest assurances of her. total forgetfulness of every thing that had passed, with one condition only, "Never to attempt a clandestine correspondence with his cousin;* to which he solemnly consenting, she embraced him tenderly, and having already taken leave of Julia, he instantly left the house in a state of mind better imagined than described.

How strong were the emotions of Julia on being made acquainted with Valmont's situa

tion? Wounded to the soul, she endeavoured to appear composed and indifferent. Madame de Clemengis saw through, but pardoned the natural finesse, and perceived with concern how deeply she was affected by the intelligence. The truth was, she felt it as a disappointment herself. Finding a disorder she had from her youth increase daily to an alarmng height, so as to threaten a speedy disshlution, she felt a thousand anxieties for the fate of her daughter when death should dprive her of her only protection. Having fondly flattered herself the predilection Valmont had discovered might have produced a union which would have relieved her of part of the solicitude she felt at the thought of leaving her. But now the image of Julia's unprotected and friendless state perpetually presented itself— She ardently wished to secure to her some protector when that should happen, which every day rendered more probable. Her confidence in the honour of Valmont remained unshaken, yet he, in the eye of the world, did not seem so proper a guardian to youth and beauty as one of maturer years. His father, the Marquis, she recollected, though of a cold and haughty character, had ever expressed the greatest regard for his brother, and for several years in his letters continually solicited him to return to the world. But the constancy with which Mons. de Clemengis adhered to his solitude caused a coolness which time rather increased than diminished, and at his death all connection seemed lost. Madame de Clemengis imagined, however, the orphan remains of one so nearly related must interest him, in spite of any former pique he might still retain. And who could more properly become the guardian of Julia than her uncle, a man of rank and honour? Convinced of this, she hesitated not, but instantly wrote to Valmont, requesting him to inform his father of the uncertain state

of her health, and to interest him to honour