TALES & TRIFLES. The Unrevealed. "If you mean to write upon my grave I must not leave a mention of my wrongs, That never time hereafter may report How such a one as you have made me, lived." About ten years ago the following extraordinary advertisement appeared in one of the London papers: "It is wished to place a lady in a retired and respectable family under peculiar circumstances. No questions must be asked; no attempt must ever be made to penetrate the mystery of her situation. The slightest reason to believe, or even to suspect, that her history had been discovered, would cause her immediate re B moval, and might be attended with the most distressing, if not fatal consequences, to innocent parties. Should this meet the eye of any person inclined to place unlimited confidence in a stranger, who has no dishonorable or criminal purpose in view, the pecuniary advantage of such confidence would be great. It is expected the lady should be treated with uniform respect and kindness. The former is due to her birth: the latter claimed by her misfortunes. Any one qualified to answer this may do so by causing simply a name and address to be inserted on Monday, Wednesday, or Friday next, in the paper in which this appears. Such an intimation will be immediately understood, and means promptly adopted to bring about a satisfactory interview, after inquiries have been made with regard to the character, family, and babits of the respondent, to convince the advertiser all his objects will be accomplished." I answered this advertisement in the way pointed out, and mine was one of seven which appeared on the following Monday. On Wednesday there were thirteen other answers; and on Friday five. Two weeks more elapsed, and I had relinquished all expectation of being the selected candidate, when one evening, about dusk, in the month of July, a letter was left at my house, by a common ticket-porter, containing these words: Inquiries have been made. I am satisfied with the result of them. Be on the west side of Sackville-street, Piccadilly, tomorrow-night, at ten o'clock, and you shall know more. You will see a gentleman, with his handkerchief to his mouth. Accost him with the words "You are punctual." Be so yourself, or you will hear nothing further of this business." 66 The letter was sealed with a black seal, and evidently written in a hand elaborately disguised. I was, and am, a lover of the mysterious: but I was also then, what I am not now, thank heaven, in circumstances which lent a peculiar zest to the anticipated pecuniary benefits that were to connect themselves with this mystery. In order not to be too late, I resolved to be too soon. I was in Sackville-street at a quarter to ten. I had not been there above five minutes when I saw a person approaching me, holding his handkerchief to his face. I walked up to him. "You are punctual," said I. "Am I?" he replied, "and what is that to you?" looking angrily at me, without removing his handkerchief. "You are punctual, Sir," I slowly and emphatically repeated, fearful of transgressing my instructions by a single word. "And you are impertinent, Sir," was the stranger's reply, endeavouring to pass me, and proceed on his way. "Excuse me," I answered, "but it is nearly ten o'clock, and you have your handkerchief to your mouth." "Do you mean to insult me, Sir?" And he measured me with his eye from head to foot, as if taking a prudential survey of a probable antagonist. It was all in his favour, however, for he stood several inches higher than myself, and was twice my bulk. Still he did not remove his handkerchief. "If there be no mistake, there can be neither insult nor offence," I said, " and from the circumstances of the hour, the place, and that handkerchief which you hold to your face-" "Your conduct is most extraordinary," interrupted the stranger; " but I have only this to sayI have just been having a tooth extracted; and if you follow me a single step, or speak another word, I'll extract more than one of your teeth." With this declaration he walked on. I stood watching him, exceedingly perplexed whether I should laugh at a whimsical coincidence, or feel vexed at being made an egregious dupe. While I was debating this point with myself, and growing more and more inclined to adopt the latter course, the clock of St. James's church went ten. As the last hour struck, I perceived another person advancing towards me with a quick step, holding his handkerchief to his mouth. He was tall, thin, and dressed in black. I rather hesitated, whether to address him or not, beginning, as I did, to suspect that the whole thing was a trick, and that probably there were half a dozen more gentlemen ready to emerge from Burlington Gardens, with handkerchiefs to their faces, in order to play upon my crredulity for their amusement. However, as he passed me, I pronounced the cabalistic words. "You are punctual," said I. He looked at ine for a moment, and then in a mild, but sad voice, replied, "Follow me." I did so. He walked rapidly in the direction of St. James's Park, where we soon arrived; but he maintained a profound silence all the way. When we reached the open space by the Horse |