courts, where also he was immediately surrounded by the persons there assembled.

Finding himself in the midst of such a crowd, he said to them in an elevated voice:

"Gentlemen, I was indeed the licentiate Vidriera, but I am not such as I was; I am now the licentiate Rueda. Misfortune, to which we are all liable, deprived me, by heaven's permission, of part of my reason, which God's mercy has now restored to me.' By the things which it is said that I uttered while insane, you may judge what I am capable of, now I am restored to reason. I took my degree of laws at Salamanca, where I studied in poverty, and where I was placed the second on the list of graduates; from which you may infer that I owe my degree more to merit than to favour. I am come here to this busy capital, to gain my livelihood by practising as an advocate. But if you will not leave me alone, I shall only gain my death. For, God's sake, do not persecute me, and make me lose that sustenance now I am sane which I gained while I was a lunatic. What you used to ask me in the streets, ask me now at my house, and you will find that he who answered you well without premeditation, will answer you better with it."

They all listened to him, and some of them left him, as he desired; so that he returned to his lodgings with a rather smaller attendance than he had come. He went the next day, and was followed in the same manner; whereupon he made another appeal, which was equally unavailing.

He was losing much and gaining nothing; and finding that there was no possibility of getting his bread as an advocate, he determined to quit the capital and go to Flanders, there to avail himself of the strength of his arm, as he was prevented from using that of his intellect.

He departed accordingly;-bidding adieu to the capital, in the bitterness of his heart, as "the place which nourished the hopes of the forward pretender, and blasted those of modest merit; which pampered in luxury the shameless buffoon, and left the blushing man of sense to starve."

With this farewell he set off towards Flanders; where he acquired as great a reputation in the military profession, as he had attained in that of letters; serving there in company with his old friend captain Valdivia, and dying renowned as an expert and valiant soldier.

MISCELLANIES.

SHARP EYE.

Mrs. Jameson, in speaking of Mrs. Siddons, relates the following anecdote in illustration :-Once, when I was conversing with a celebrated German critic, and he was describing the person of Madam Schirmer, after floundering in a sea of English epithets, none of which conveyed his meaning, he at length exclaimed with enthusiasm, “Madame, her eye is perforating.”

GIPSIES.

In England they are still pretty numerous, but are found only in distant places, seldom coming into the towns excepting in small companies of two or three persons.. In Germany, Sweden and Denmark, they have become rare, as also in Switzerland and the Low Countries. In Italy their numbers are diminished. In Spain it is said there are fifty or sixty thousand of them. In Transylvania they are most numerous; for in a population of one million seven hundred thousand souls, there are reckoned one hundred and four thousand gipsies. We do not exaggerate in estimating the Tzengarian or gipsy population of Europe at nearly a million; in Africa four hundred thousand; in India one million five hundred thousand, and about two millions in all the rest of Asia-for except in Asiatic Russia, China, Siam, and Japan, they are everywhere to be found. Hence we may deem the total population to be five millions.

THE VOICE OF DOGS.

The better opinion among naturalists seems to be at present, that wild dogs. never bark. Gardner, in his "Music of Nature," says, that "in a state of nature they only whine, howl, and growl;" and that "the explosive noise called barking, is only found among those which are domesticated." Sonnini speaks of the shepherds' dogs in the wilds of Egypt, as not having the faculty. Columbus found the dogs, which he had previously carried to America, to have lost their propensity to barking; and all the travellers in Australia unite in saying, that the native dogs of that region exhibit the same peculiarity. The ancients were aware of this circumstance; Isaiah com-pares the blind watchmen of Israel to these animals, "they are dumb, they cannot bark." While on the contrary, David compares the noise of his enemies to the dogs round about the city. Hence the barking of a dog is an acquired faculty-an effort to speak, which he derives from associating with man.

No. 38.

Thus spoke Ralph Skelton, the rich yeoman of Wyvill's-Croft, to a rustic but handsome youth, who stood with his cap in his hand, in an attitude of profound deference.

The words of the farmer fell on the 'youth's ear like a sentence of excommunication. He fumbled his thrum cap, and shuffled his feet about, while he essayed in vain to stammer a reply. The farmer observed his uneasiness, and continued.

"

"Pr'ythee teaze me not again with thy silly requests. It becomes not the daughter of Ralph Skelton to wed a poor boy who can scarcely purchase a mass for his father's soul!"

"Alas, it is too true!" replied the youth. "I am poor indeed; but I covet not your gold, Master Skelton; give me but your sweet daughter, and-"

t

"And thou wilt make her a beggar, like a mad boy as thou art," interrupted the farmer: "Away with thee, or thou wilt make me forget myself."

"Be not angry, good Master Skelton: consider my suit, and let me not die in despair, as I most surely shall an' you refuse me."

"Now out upon thee for a most graceless coistrel!" cried the old man, stamping with rage at the youth's importunity. "Dost thou think I have refused Alan the miller, and Master William the reeve, and Jenkin the rich mercer at the cross, to take up with a son-in-law without a noble in his pouch? Get thee gone, boy, or by St. Bridget, Dick the shepherd shall try if there be virtue in a crab-tree staff."

Young Walter blushed with resentment at this menace; but his love for the old man's daughter forbad a harsh reply.

"She is a perverse and disobedient quean," cried he wrathfully; "and thou hast taught her a bad lesson. Begone, sirrah! out o' my house, or I'll take a course with thee!"

Master Skelton turned on his heel, and quitted the room, leaving the youth in a state of mind which novelists say, 'may be better imagined than described.'

Walter Beveridge left the house in high dudgeon; offended by Skelton's harsh manner, and grieved to the heart at his unfeeling refusal to admit him as a suitor to his daughter. He mounted his little rough coated pony, and urging it to its utmost speed, rode homeward to unbosom his grief to his aged mother. As he galloped down the road, the sighing of the wind among the trees, and the hasty flight of the rooks to the neighbouring forest, gave warning of the coming storm. Heavy drops began to patter down as he reached his humble dwelling, and night drew on apace.

Walter gave an account to his mother of his interview with the rich yeoman, the conclusion of which we have attempted to describe; and after listening to sundry wise saws and apopthegms which old ladies generally keep "cut and dry" for such like occasions, sat himself down in the chimney corner, to watch the dying embers of the fire, and ruminate on his hard destiny.

In those rude days reading was not the evening pastime of men in his sphere, and he had therefore ample room for his melancholy, with nothing to divert it. Had he lived in our liberal and enlightened age, he might have sought and found consolation in "Macgowan's Dialogues of Devils," or "Hervey's Meditations," or "Drelincourt," or perhaps a soporific in some "sacred" poem ; but

he had none of these, and was therefore thoroughly miserable. Meanwhile the storm increased, and the rain descended in torrents; the wind howled, and shook the humble dwelling, and the doors clattered on their hinges, as if beating time to the music of the blast withoutit was a sad night for the traveller.

"Heyday!" cried the old dame, "'t is a fearful night-they say the devil rides upon the blast in such storms, and the witches go to sea in their sieves."

said

"Ay, marry, dear mother," Walter, raising his head despondingly, "methinks the devil is abroad to-night: if he be looking for an usurer and a churl, he will find one eftsoones."

"Hush!" said the dame, in a whisper, "it's not for poor folk like us to say who is Satan's chosen. Father John says he will sometimes take strange fancies, and fondle the needy, whom he will lure with many-ha! Jesu, what's that!".

The old lady's sage reflections were suddenly cut short by the sound of footsteps near the door, at which, the next moment, there was a loud knocking.

CHAP. II.

Dame Beveridge was of opinion that it was not exactly safe to open the door; but her son thought differently, and though by no means an undutiful child, he was in no humour to listen to maternal remonstrance.

"Who knocks?" demanded Walter, rising quickly and stepping to the door. "A poor travel-worn man," answered a voice from without.

"What are ye?" was the next question.

"A pedlar, good master."
"Whence come ye?"
"From the town."

"Then why did ye not try the Miller?" "The stream is swelled by the rain, and has broken down the mill dam: he is wroth with the mishap, and would not take me in," replied the stranger.

"He is a churl," murmured Walter, opening the door; "come in, friend,— thou art poor, I ween, and men fly thee."

"Ay, marry, my worthy master," said the stranger, as he entered, "even as they would a leper-poverty is like a sore: it is troublesome to him that hath it, and unsightly to his friends."

He entered; and setting down his pack, drew off his hood, from which he wrung the wet. He was an old man, with hair and beard of silver whiteness. His complexion was fair, and his eyes sparkled with a singular brightness for a man of his apparent age.

"I sought shelter for the night at the goodly house where the three roads meet," said the old man ; "but they told me to be gone, and cursed me for my insolency as they called it."

Walter started at the mention of the 66 goodly house," for it was master Skel

ton's.

"Thy betters have no kindlier greeting there, father," said he; "but come, sit down, and we will see where we can bestow thee to-night.'

Food and drink were offered to the old man, but he declined to partake of either, and begged that he might be shewn to his resting place; a request which was complied with by Walter, notwithstand ing the whispers of his mother, who protested that she did not like the pedlar's looks an opinion which was certainly not weakened by Walter's dog, who kept sniffing at the stranger's heels, and occasionally uttering a low growl of dissatisfaction. These expressions of dislike did not escape the notice of the old man.

"Good mistress," said he, "ye have no need to fear: I am a poor weak old man: fifty years have I led a pedlar's life, but never coveted the goods of another. Behold this pack: it holds some things of value-all my worldly wealth; place it in your strong room until to-morrow."

Walter felt no inclination to receive this pledge for the pedlar's honesty ; but his mother determined to take the old man at his word, and locked up the pack in her store room. An hour afterwards the cottage was in darkness and silence, except the snoring of its inmates, and the shrill chirping of the crickets.

Young Walter slept, for he was weary; but his slumbers were disturbed by strange dreams. First he saw a train of welldressed people escorting a newly-married couple to their home: he looked, and lo! the bride was gruff master Skelton's lovely daughter Emma, and the bridegroom, his hated rival, the crookedbacked Reeve !

Again he dreamt; and this time he beheld a spacious hall filled with a gay company. Richly-clad couples were footing it merrily to the sound of the lute and rebeck: he awoke, and found his homely pillow wet with tears!

tered the poor youth, and with a heavy sigh he again relapsed into sleep.

We must now leave the humble cottage of Walter Beveridge, and lead the reader to the substantial dwelling of Master Skelton. About an hour after the departure of his would-be son-in-law, a pedlar arrived and entreated shelter for the night. The wealthy yeoman was informed of his request; but he had no bowels for the poor.

66

"Bid him be gone," cried he in a huff, we cannot lodge such carrion as he." "A murrain on thy master!" growled the pedlar, as a servant slammed the outer gate in his face. He proceeded on his way; and faint, weary, and drenched with rain, arrived at the dwelling of Walter Beveridge, where, as has been already shewn, he met with a hospitable reception.

Master Skelton sat by his cheerful fire, listening to the howling of the storm without on his table stood a tankard of warm ale, in which swam a roasted crab. His pretty daughter sat near him, not reading a fashionable novel, but (alas! that we should be obliged to confess it) making herself a new kirtle. Her father, by the aid of his ten digits, was reckoning his last year's profits, and anticipating those to come. While thus occupied, his ear caught the sound of horses' hoofs, and the next moment a loud voice from without cried

"What ho! within there! a traveller would fain find shelter from the storm." "Run Will, and see who calls," said Master Skelton--" if he be of good condition, let him enter; but we keep no hostelry for hedge beggars"-He had scarcely uttered this charitable sentiment, when a tall figure muffled in a large cloak dripping with wet, entered the room.

Master Skelton was on his legs in a moment, and assisted the stranger to divest himself of his cloak. He then gave up his own chair to his guest, and ordered refreshment to be brought in. But the stranger ate nothing; he however intimated his wish to pass the night under the yeoman's roof; and after chatting familiarly for a short time with his entertainer, and paying a few words of compliment to the pretty Emma, he requested that he might be shewn to his chamber.'

It had indeed somewhat disturbed her own; but her love was plighted to Walter manly beauty is more puissant with women whose spring is almost merged in summer; and this your handsome coxcomb well knows.

Master Skelton conducted his guest to the best chamber; when the latter unbuckling the belt with which he was girded, placed it in the yeoman's hands, and besought him to put it in a place of safety.

"Give you good-night, Sir," said the old man as he closed the door, and hurried to his own chamber. Here the belt was subjected to a strict scrutiny; but it was fastened by cunningly contrived springs, and Skelton could only guess at its contents.

Emma of course dreamt of her lover that night; but her father's slumbers were broken and disturbed by very different visions. He thought of the well-filled belt which the stranger had committed to his charge, and the evil spirit whispered him, that he might be come possessed of it by a bold effort.

"'Tis a rare treasure!" muttered he, in hurried and broken sentences "there must be at least a thousand nobles in that belt! He is a stranger-perhaps returning from a far country.-He would not be missed! 'Tis a rare prize! 't would purchase many a broad acre, and make my Emma fit for an earl's bride. He must die!"

The

He crept softly from his couch, took from a closet a large knife, and tried the point with his finger. The storm was hushed without, but a hideous tempest raged in the old man's bosom. moon-beams which entered at the small window glanced upon the long bright blade, and rendered the face of the treacherous host still more ghastly. He cautiously quitted his chamber and repaired to that of his guest, who was sleeping soundly. He knelt by the side of the sleeping man, and listened for a moment to his hard breathing, then clutched his weapon tightly, placing his thumb on the end of the haft, and preparing to strike.

"The saints say grace to thy unshriven soul!" he exclaimed mentally, and raised his arm aloft, when lo! ere it descended, a violent buffet, dealt by an unseen hand, dashed him senseless to the floor!

It was long ere the perfidious host returned to consciousness, but when he

of the morning sun had lit up the horn windows of the chamber, and the birds were chirping gaily on the house-top. He arose from the floor and looked wildly around him-the chamber was empty, and the bed had not been pressed! Was it a dream then? Had he no guest on the preceding evening? He hurried to his own room pale and trembling, and examined his iron-bound chest. The belt, that fatal bait, was not there, but in its place lay a halter! He gnashed his teeth with rage, tore his beard, and howled like a maniac, until his still slumbering household were roused from their beds and ran affrighted to his assistance.

CHAP. III.

Blithely sounded the notes of early birds. The sparrow's incessant chirping mingled with the sweet guttural trill of the swallow, and the "cock's shrill clarion" gave notice of the approach of morning. The sun was peeping over the distant hills, and night vapours still hung in the valleys. The owl, exhausted with the night's marauding, was wending his way to his twilight retreat in the old tower, and the bat had pinned itself against the moss-grown wall of the abbey, as safe from the eye as from the hand of the truant school-boy. Walter Beveridge arose betimes, but early as was the hour, he found the Pedlar up and dressed for his journey.

"Thanks, young master-thanks for your hospitality," said the old man, "I have many a weary mile to travel, and time presses. Now, mark me, for what I have to say concerns thee much. Five feet eastward from the foot of the ancient oak, near the ruined cross yonder, lies buried a great treasure. (Walter stared). "It was hidden by an ancestor of thy lord the baron's, when civil war made merry England a desart. Go to the castle, and let him know that thou hast discovered it by my means. He hath a noble and a generous soul, and will reward thee richly for this service. Peace, inquire no more."

But," said Walter, imploringly, despite of this command, which was given in an imperative tone-"pr'ythee, good father, say, who shall I call thee?"

As he spoke, he mechanically turned his eyes in the direction of the ruined cross, and the old man slapping him on the shoulder, replied-PUCK THE PEDLAR!

The astonished youth again turned to look upon his Elfin guest, but lo, the