enced that vague feeling of terror which possesses us on awakening from some weird dream. The house was already opened, and from the window I beheld the landlady herself crossing the yard, with a basket of barley to feed her fowls and pigeons. The sight of her, although I now firmly believed the whole affair to be a dream, caused me to spring out of bed, rush to the clock, and press the flooring as I had seen her do in my supposed dream. The plank flew up; and, merciful Providence, it was no dream! There there, in the room in which I had passed that horrible night, was the skeleton, bearing mute evidence of a crime committed! With a perfect yell of horror I burst open the door, and rushed, all in my night apparel as I was, into the midst of the astounded drovers and Wagoners, who were taking their morning drams at the bar. The men recoiled as if they had seen a ghost as well, indeed, they might; but in my frenzied excitement I cared little for that. "Secure her! Seize her!" I shouted out, pointing to the woman, who was re-entering the porch in amazement. "She is a murderess!" For a moment, I verily believe that all present, save the guilty criminal herself, thought I had gone suddenly mad. One minute she stood motionless, as if paralysed, and then, as if conscience, long tormented, had at last gained the mastery, she advanced towards me, saying, in a low tone, but sufficiently distinct for all present to hear-" It is true!" I quite despair of conveying to my readers the remotest notion of the horror which came upon the assembled customers as the confession of the miserable landlady fell on their ears. Providence had, after the lapse of two years, caused to be revealed in the dead of the night, and to a chance traveller, a crime successfully kept secret by its perpetrator, who was herself now doubtless struck by the conviction that the hand of Heaven was upon her. For a few seconds no one stirred; then half-a-dozen sturdy fellows rushed forward to secure the murderess, but she made no effort to escape. My tale was soon told; and, after all present had satisfied themselves of its truth, by visitin the room in which I passed that fearful night, the police were called in, and Zora Solomons given into custody. She was shortly afterwards tried at Reading, the principal witnesses against her being myself and her son. The evidence of her guilt-which, moreover, she never attempted to deny-was so conclusive, that she was found guilty, and suffered the extreme penalty of th law. The poor unfortunate boy, her son-from tho disters of mind occasioned by his secret cognisance of the awful deed; the struggle between natural affection for his mother and his repugnance to be thought an accomplice in so great a crime; combined with the knowledge of the presence in the house of so farful an object; and, finally, his being called on to give evidence against his mother-lost his reason. He was removed to an asylum, where everything possible was done for him. He lingered about six months, perfectly harmless; but the young frame succumbed to the severity of the trial, and the poor lad is buried in the churchyard of his native town. His was, indeed a sad lot-the one parent cruelly murdered, the other condemned to expiate that murder on the scaffold. I will conclude with the details of this cause célèbre, as taken from the confession of the criminal herself. It appeared that her husband, who was many years older than herself, had been a valetudinarian, and being in constant apprehension of death from the most trifling ailment, had made his will. He was possessed of considerable property, accumulated by saving habits and a thriving business. The whole of the property was left to his wife absolutely-a tact of which she was aware. As she had never entertained any great affection for her husband, who had, besides, always been very miserly in his ways and of an irritable temperament, she determined to make away with him, in order to enjoy the immediate possession of his money. This fearful design was so skilfully carried out that, but for the criminal's habit of somnambulism, the murder would in all probability never have been discovered. It was thus accomplished :The old man, on the occasion of a county cattle. market, had stayed out until after the public-house had been closed by his wife and son. On his return home, he was let in at the back door by the latterwho, of course, poor lad! was ignorant of his mother's diabolical intentions. The landlord having, as he conceived, "taken a chill," and becoming very fussy and alarmed, was easily persuaded by his wife to take a basin of gruel with some brandy in it before retiring to rest. The brandy she drugged with laudanum, and the poor old man woke no more. It was then easy to dispose of the body beneath the flooring of the old, unfrequented room in such a curiously-fashioned house; and the murderess-her father have been a practical chemist-understoood enough of the science to scatter over the body of her unfortunate husband a sufficient quantity of corrosive substance to assist decomposition, and finally to remove the entire flesh of the dead man. Hence the sprinkling action of her hand during somnambulism, when she was re-enacting the scene in imagination. The neighbours and customers were all informed in the morning that the old man had never returned home, and it was supposed that, after leaving the market, whither he had been to dispose of some steers, he had been robbed of his bank-notes, and himself murdered and thrown into the Thames. His widow affected to mourn, and not a shadow of suspicion was raised; the search for the missing man being soon abandoned as useless, as it was naturally surmised that the body had been carried down the river to the sea. The boy, of course, having let his father in, was aware that his mother's statement was a tissue of falsehoods; and pressing her closely, she divulged to him the whole truth. The miserable youth could not resolve to denounce his mother, and the consequent life of torture he endured, divided between dread of her and horror at the close proximity of his murdered father, may more readily be imagined than described. Many long years have elapsed since the occurrence related; but, with the indelible recollection of that night of horror-a recollection which I shall carry to my grave-still impressed on my mind, I need scarcely inform my readers that I have never since had the nerve to pass alone "a night at a roadside inn." THE BABIE NAE shoon to hide her tiny toe, Nac stocking on her feet; Her simple dress of sprinkled pink – Her een, sae like her mother's een, She is the budding of our love, We maun na love the gift ower weel, "Twad be no blessing thus. HISTORICAL. DEATH OF SIR RALPH ABERCROMBY. an Arab; and the command then devolved upon Menou, whose administration of military affairs was far inferior to that of his predecessor. On the English ships arriving, General Menou brought down from 12,000 to 14,000 men, including a fine body of cavalry, to oppose the landing of our troops. Sir Ralph Abercromby put his men on shore, in face of the French, in two divisions of 5,000 men each, who were led by General, afterwards Sir John Moore. Though exposed to the fire of fifteen pieces of artillery from the opposite hill, and of grapeshot from Aboukir Castle, the men did not fire while in the boats; but no sooner did they reach the shore than, running and scrambling on their hands and knees up the steep slopes of the sand-hills, they made a dash at the French, driving them from their guns. General Menou's forces, not relishing this sharp practice, beat a retreat, and took up a position on the heights between Aboukir and Alexandria. WHEN Napoleon Buonaparte, after an inspection of the coasts of the British Channel, found that he must abandon the attempt to invade Great Britain, it was necessary to flatter the French pride of conquest by some other hazardous undertaking. He accordingly projected the seizure of Egypt as the preliminary to the fall of England, by opening up the way to our Indian Empire. It was on the 19th of May, 1798, that the Egyptian armament, with 30,000 men on board, issued from Toulon, taking advantage of a favourable opportunity, when a gale had driven Nelson's blockading fleet from the coast. Napoleon, who was accompanied by a number of scientific men and savans, now believed himself to be embarked in an expedition which would result in the establishment of a strong empire in the East, enable France to maintain a large fleet in the Persian Gulf, and afford facilities for the conquest of British India by land and sea. On the 1st of July the French fleetwhich Nelson, now in pursuit, had twice missedarrived in sight of Alexandria, and the landing was effected with all despatch. The town was speedily assaulted and captured, notwithstanding the vigorous resistance of the Turks, and abandoned to massacre and pillage. A fourteen days' march was followed by the battle of the Pyramids, in which the Mamelukes, though fighting furiously, were totally routed; and then came the surrender of Cairo and the subjection of the sheiks. By the end of July Nelson had tracked the course of the enemy, and on the 1st of August he attacked the French fleet in the celebrated battle of the Nile, leaving scarcely a vestige of it behind, and cutting off Napoleon's communications with France. This great victory, by one rude shock, broke the spell of the enterprise. But Napoleon still continued to fight the Turks, and, marching into Syria, summoned St. Jean d'Acre to surrender. Here, after a desperate siege, he was completely repulsed, through the gallantry of Sir Sidney Smith, and marched back to Cairo. A brilliant victory which he gained over the Turks, under Mustapha Pacha, helped to console him for his repulse at St. Jean d'Acre, and he shortly after-swept out of existence. Soon after this decisive battle, wards returned to France, where his presence was needed, leaving the army in Egypt under the command of Kleber and Menou. The British government was slow in taking effective measures to drive the French out of Egypt. It was not till near the close of the year 1800 that General Sir Ralph Abercromby, who was in command of 15,000 troops on board the Mediterranean fleet, and who had been floating about the Straits of Gibraltar, received orders to proceed on an expedition against the French in Egypt. Sir Ralph had previously done good service in the Netherlands, before the arrival of the Duke of York to take the chief command. On landing in Holland, he took the fort of the Helder, and repelled all the attacks of the French General Brune, who had a force twice as large. It was the 8th of March, 1801, when Sir Ralph Abercromby landed in Egypt, near the spot where Nelson had fought and won the ever-memorable battle of the Nile. His army consisted of 17,000 men; but many of the cavalry horses, which had been purchased at Constantinople, were found unfit for use. Otherwise, however, the army was all that could be desired, being well-officered and in a high state of efficiency. When Buonaparte took his departure from Egypt he left the forces in command of General Kleber, the "French Hercules," who was an excellent officer. This general, however, was assassinated by On the 19th, having in the interval compelled Fort Aboukir to surrender, Sir Ralph Abercromby advanced, and found General Menou with his forces drawn up between the British and Alexandria. On the 21st there was a general engagement, which commenced before daylight by a feint attack on the British left, followed up by a strong and headlong cavalry charge on the British right. But on right and left the French were driven back with great loss, and when daylight came the battle raged along the whole line. The fight was fiercest in and around a Turkish cemetery, surrounded by a low wall, which was occupied by the 23rd and 58th regiments. Frequent attempts were made, but made in vain, to drive them out; and the 42nd Highlanders, who greatly distinguished themselves, attacked the French in flank, causing great havoc in their ranks. General Abercromby, the gallant and brave, was killed while heading a charge; but the British troops found some compensation for his death in the brilliant victory which they achieved. By ten o'clock the French were in full flight for Alexandria, leaving behind them the field strewn with their dead, who were buried by the English on the spot where they fell. One of the memorable events of the day was the fearful loss sustained by the French legion called the "Invincible," which was almost Menou-following the example of Belliard at Cairocapitulated, and obtained the condition that his troops should be conveyed to the ports of France on the Mediterranean, with their arms and baggage. With the expulsion of the French from Egypt, Napoleon's grandest schemes of conquest came to a final collapse. one of INDUSTRY ITS OWN REWARD.-Anything we make up our minds to do we can do. There is nothing impossible to be done by determined, persevering effort; and nothing of importance can be accomplished without it. It was labour that built the pyramids; by labour the arts and sciences were brought to their present state of perfection; and labour is necessary for the health and happiness of all. Industry is the law of our being, and we are so constituted that when the law is fully recognised it brings its own reward. Bodily labour is not the only kind that is necessary— mind and body should be exercised. In this way cheerfulness and contentment are promoted, and we are prepared to fill with honour any station assigned us by Providence. We often regard the doom pronounced on man, "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread," a curse, but it is really a blessing, for we find that all rational enjoyment follows in the train of industrious labour, whether physical or mental. ADMIRAL HOPSON. ABOUT the year 1680 a boy named Hopson entered the navy as a common sailor. He was an orphan, and had been apprenticed to a tailor in a town on the seacoast; but, disliking the employment, he ran away. The ship and feet which he joined were just about putting to sea, and soon fell in with a French squadron; and in a few hours after the boy's entry into the naval service he found himself in the heat of battle, which was maintained with equal bravery on both sides. During the engagement young Hopson obeyed orders with much alacrity; but as the fighting continued hour after hour with no apparent result, he became impatient, and inquired when it would be over. He was told that the action would continue until the white flag at the enemy's masthead was taken down. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "if that's all that's wanted, I'll see what I can do." At this moment the ships were engaged yard-arm touching yard-arm, and enveloped in the smoke from their guns. Our hero, taking advantage of the obscurity, started on his enterprise of hauling down the enemy's colours. He ascended the shrouds, and passed from the main-yard of his own vessel to that of the Frenchman unperceived by any of the crew, whence mounting, with much agility, to the main-top-gallant head, he took down the French flag, and brought it away with him to his own ship. Before he had regained the deck, the British sailors had discovered that the enemy's flag was no longer flying. Thereupon they raised a tremendous shout of Victory!" The crew of the French ship, dismayed by the disappearance of the flag, and believing that it had been struck by their admiral's orders, were thrown into confusion; and although their officers and the admiral, who were equally surprised at the event, endeavoured to reassure and rally them, it was all in vain, for the British tars seized their opportunity, boarded the vessel, and captured her. At this juncture, Hopson descended the shrouds with the French flag bound round his arm, and displayed it triumphantly to the sailors, who looked at the prize with the utmost astonishment. The news of this bold action soon reached the quarter-deck. Hopson was ordered to attend there; and the admiral, praising his conduct, promoted him to a midshipman's berth, telling him that upon his future conduct his promotion depended. Hopson soon convinced his patron that his favours were not ill-bestowed; his promotion was rapid, and his actions in each grade of the service fully entitled him to the high rank he ultimately attained. SIR CLOUDESLEY SHOVEL. WHEN Sir Cloudesley Shovel was a boy in the navy, under the patronage of Sir John Narborough, he heard the admiral express an earnest wish that some papers might be conveyed to the captain of a ship then engaged in action at a considerable distance. With the greatest resolution, the boy undertook to swim with the despatches in his mouth through the line of the enemy's fire; and this service he actually performed, to the astonishment of all who witnessed Las courage. MISTAKEN IDENTITY. IN the year 1727, Thomas Geddely lived as a waiter with Mrs. Hannah Williams, who kept a public-house at York. It being a house of much business, and the mistress very assiduous therein, she was deemed in wealthy circumstances. One morning her escritoire was found broken open and robbed; and Thomas Geddely disappearing at the same time, there was no doubt left as to the robber. About a twelvemonth after, a man calling himself James Crow came to York, and worked a few days for a precarious subsistence in carrying goods as a porter. By this time he had been seen by many, who accosted him as Thomas Geddely. He declared he did not know them; that his name was James Crow, and that he was never at York before. This was held as merely a trick, to save himself from the consequences of the robbery committed in the house of Mrs. Williams, when he lived with her as a waiter. He was apprehended; his mistress was sent for, and, in the midst of many people, instantly singled him out, calling him by his name, Thomas Geddely, and charging him with his unfaithfulness and ingratitude in robbing her. He was directly taken before a justice of the peace; but on his examination absolutely affirmed that he never was at York before, and that his name was James Crow. Not, however giving a good account of himself, but rather admitting himself to be a petty rogue and vagabond, and Mrs. Williams and another swearing positively to his person, he was committed to York Castle, for trial at the next assizes. On arraignment, he pleaded "Not guilty;" still denying that he was the person he was taken for. But Mrs. Williams and some others swore that he was the identical Thomas Geddely who lived with her when she was robbed, and who went off immediately on the committal of the robbery; and a servant-girl deposed she saw the prisoner that very morning in the room where the escritoire was broken open, with a poker in his hand. The prisoner being unable to prove an alibi, he was found guilty of the robbery. He was soon after executed; but persisted to his latest breath that he was not Thomas Geddely, but that his name was James Crow: and so it proved; for some time after, the true Thomas Geddely, who on robbing his mistress had fled from York to Ireland, was taken up in Dublin for a similar offence, and there condemned and executed. Between his conviction and execution, and again at the fatal tree, he confessed himself to be the very Thomas Geddely who had committed the robbery at York for which the unfortunate James Crow had been executed. AN AXE STORY. WAL, I reckon about the idlest chap I ever knowed was a chap they called Long George down to Red Pine. He had had a bit of ground allotted him that was some timbered. I was running a post at that time on a pony between the mines and the post-office, and so I passed his location every now and then, and noticing that he was always sot on a log doing nothing, I hailed him, and asked him why he didn't begin to clear his patch. Wal, he said, he hadn't nary an axe, but that an old mate of his had got the next lot, and he reckoned he'd loan him his when he came. Time went on, and as he still sot doing nothing about three months more, I asked him if his mate had come. He said Pete had arrove about a month ago, but as Pete had his own clearing to do he had made up his mind not to ask for the loan of the axe till it was done. Next spring when I come by, I asked if Pete hadn't done his clearing yet, and he, said with a mournful shake of the head that he guessed he had for a bit, for he had took ill. So I said I reckoned he could have the axe now but he said he didn't want to bother Pete while he wasn't well. That autumn, when I passed again, I asked how Pete was, and he said he reckoned he was pretty well about now, for they buried him a month ago. "How about that axe ?" said I. He up and said as Pete had left it him but he wouldn't go sloshing round about a trifle like that while the widow was just in the first bust of her bereavement. The following summer when I saw him, he was still setting on the log. "Been for that axe yet?" said I. Wal, I guess," said he, "the widder's married again, and I ain't been introduced to the new boss yet, and he mightn't like my going for the axe just now.' About the beginning of winter, as I was returning from the mines, I overtook a little party going East, and fell into conversation with 'em; and one woman said to me as we were parting, "Say, stranger, when you go back to the mines next time, will you just stop at Long George's-I forgot to tell him as the axe my last old man left him is lying at Jem Brown's store.' So next time I passed I told the crittur. He said he'd go and fetch it in a day or two; but, bless you, when I passed agin, there he was on the log. 'Wal," says I, whar's that axe ?" 66 Why, at Jem Brown's," says he. " 'Thought you'd been to fetch it ?" says I. "So I did," says he, "but you see as Jem Brown had had the trouble o' keeping it for me, I felt it was only proper to make him some return-so-wal, we drank that axe between us!" A mackerel sky, The wind will be high; Then bring in the grain, Close by there is rain. Of all the crops a farmer raises, None brings such comfort and such praises Pork and beans make muscles strong- It is a dish to make life long, It does not pay in any way, To milk a cow three times a day. A slovenly dress, a shabby pate, Gleanings from Many Minds. MEMORY has been defined as a bundle of dried time. IT has been said that a chattering little soul in a large body is like a swallow in a barn-the twitter takes up more room than the bird. SCANDAL is what one-half the world takes great pleasure in inventing, and the other half equal pleasure in believing. SOME people seem as if they never have been children, and others as if they could never be anything else. A CHARITY sermon was once commenced by the Dean of St. Paul's as follows:-"Benevolence is a sentiment common to human nature: A never sees B in distress without wishing C to relieve him." TRUE joy is a sincere and sober emotion; and they are miserably out who take laughing for rejoicing: the seat of it is within, and there is no cheerfulness like the resolutions of a brave mind.-Seneca. COURTSHIPS are the sweet and dreamy thresholds of unseen Eden, where half the world has paused in couples, talked in whispers under the moonlight, and passed on and never returned. To be jealous is to torment yourself for fear you should be tormented by another. Some author asks why jealousy, which is born with love, does not die with it. Perhaps he would have found an answer to this question if he had reflected that self-love never dies. YOUTH is a magic-lantern that surrounds us with illusions which excite pleasure, surprise, and admiration, whatever may be their nature. The old age of the sensual and the vicious is the same lantern without its magic the glasses broken and the illusions gone; while the exhausted lamp, threatening every moment to expire, sheds a ghastly glare-not upon a fair table-cloth full of jocund associations, but upon a dismal shroud. LATE rising is an intemperance of the most pernicious kind, having nothing to recommend it; for to be asleep when we ought to be up is to be dead for the time. "This tyrannical habit attacks life in its essential powers; makes the blood forget its way, and creep lazily along the veins; relaxes the fibres, unstrings the nerves, evaporates the animal spirits, dulls the fancy, and subdues and stupefies a man to such a degree that he hath no appetite for anything." LET fathers and mothers ponder over the follow ing:-" Indeed, where the life of the home is neglected there is no true manliness. Fathers! whose sons are growing up miserable shoots of dissipation, what nourishment have their best faculties received at home? Mothers! whose daughters are happy only in the whirl of vanity and extravagance, what has been their example? Members of fashionable society! there is not only excess, but inexpressible evil, in any method of amusement that breaks up domestic quietude, and leaves no time for domestic responsi bility, and no delight in domestic pleasures." SMALL wits are generally great talkers, uttering whatever comes uppermost; and everything being superficial, their shallowness makes them noisy, and their confidence offensive. The smaller the calibre of the mind the greater the bore of a perpetually open mouth. Human heads are like hogsheads-the emptier they are the louder report they give of themselves. The clack of their word-mill is heard even when there is no wind to set it going, and no grist to come from it. "I talk a good deal, but I talk well," said an impudent fellow. "Half of that is true," replied a gentleman. |