room was empty, both pedlar and pack had vanished! For the satisfaction of the unimaginative, we must add a few words by way of sequel. Walter discovered the treasure to the Baron, and was munificently rewarded. Master Skelton lost his wits, and died a few months afterwards; and his daughter, no longer controlled by her avaricious father, blessed the happy Walter with her hand. Dame Beveridge lived to see her son a wealthy Franklin, and often told to her grand-children the story, how the mischievous Puck, in revenge for her unjust suspicions, had turned all her cream sour, emptied the rennet-tub into a jar of new honey, and danced a pavise in a bowl of furmety! March, 1835. A. A. A. LOVE AND DIPLOMACY. BY NATHANIEL P. WILLIS. "Pray pardon me, For I am like a boy that hath found money, Ir was on a fine September evening, Count Anatole had been idling away three golden summer months in the Tyrol, for the sole purpose, as far as mortal eyes could see, of disguising his fine Phidian features in a callow moustache and whiskers. The crines ridentes (as Eneas Silvius has it) being now in a condition beyond improvement, Signor Attilio had for some days been rather curious to know what course of events would next occupy the diplomatic talents of his master. After a turn or two more, taken in silence, Count Anatole stopped in the middle of the floor, and eyeing the wellmade Tyrolese from head to foot, begged to know if he wore at the present moment his most becoming breeches, jacket and beaver. Attilio was never astonished at any thing his master did or said. He simply answered "Si Signore." "Be so kind as to strip immediately, and dress yourself in that travelling suit lying on the sofa." As the green, gold-corded jacket, knee-breeches, buckles and stockings were laid aside, Count Anatole threw off his dressing-gown, and commenced encasing his handsome proportions in the cast-off habiliments. He then put on the conical, slouch-rimmed hat, with the tall eagle's feather stuck jauntily on the side and the two rich tassels pendant over his left eye, and the toilet of the valet being completed at the same moment, they stood looking at one another with perfect gravity, rather transformed, but each apparently quite at home in his new character. "You look very like a gentleman, Attilio," said the count. "Your excellency has caught, to admiration, l'aria del paese," complimented back again the sometime Tyrolese. "Attilio!" Signore?" "Do you remember the lady in the forest of Friuli ?" Attilio began to have a glimmering of things. Some three months before, the count was dashing on at a rapid post-pace, through a deep wood in the mountains which head in the Adriatic. A sudden pull-up at a turning in the road nearly threw him from his britska, and looking out at the "anima di porco!" of the postilion, he found his way impeded by an overset carriage, from which three or four servants were endeavouring to extract the body of an old man, killed by the accident. There was more attractive metal for the traveller, however, in the shape of a young and beautiful woman, leaning, pale and faint, against a tree, and apparently about to sink to the ground unassisted. To bring a hat full of water from the nearest brook, and receive her falling head on his shoulder, was the work of a thought. She had fainted quite away, and taking her, like a child, into his arms, he placed her on a bank by the road-side, bathed her forehead and lips, and chafed her small white hands, till his heart, with all the distress of the scene, was quite mad with her perfect beauty. Animation at last began to return; and as the flush was stealing into her lips, another carriage drove up with servants in the same livery, and Count Anatole, throughly bewildered in his new dream, mechanically assisted them in getting their living mistress and dead master into it, and until they were fairly out of sight, it had never occurred to him that he might possibly wish to know the name and condition of the fairest piece of work he had ever seen from the hand of his maker. An hour before, he had doubled his buono mano to the postilion, and was driving on to Vienna, as if to sit at a new congress. Now, he stood leaning against the tree, at the foot of which the grass and wild flowers shewed the print of a new-made pressure, and the postilion cracked his whip, and Attilio reminded him of the hour he was losing, in vain. He remounted after a while; but the order was to go back to the last posthouse. Three or four months at a solitary albergo in the neighbourhood of this adventure, passed by the count in scouring the country on horseback in every direction, and by his servant in very particular ennui, bring up the story nearly to where the scene opens. "I have seen her!" said the count. Attilio only lifted up his eyebrows. "She is here, in the neighbourhood of Vienna!" "Felice lei!" murmured Attilio. "She is the Princess Leichstenfels, and, by the death of that old man, a widow." "Veramente!" responded the valet, with a rising inflexion; for he knew his master and French morals too well not to foresee a damper in the possibility of matrimony. "Veramente!" gravely echoed the count. "And now, listen. The princess lives in close retirement. An old friend or two, and a tried servant, are the only persons who see her. You are to contrive to see this servant to-morrow, corrupt him to leave her, and recommend me in his place, and then you are to take him as your courier to Paris: whence, if I calculate well, you will return to me before long, with important despatches. Do you understand me?" "Signor, si!" In the small boudoir of a maison de plaisance, belonging to the noble family of Leichstenfels, sat the widowed mistress of one of the oldest titles and finest estates of Austria. The light from a single long window opening down to the floor, and leading out upon a terrace of flowers, was subdued by a heavy crimson curtain, looped partially away, a pastil lamp was sending up from its porphyry pedestal a thin and just perceptible curl of smoke, through which the lady musingly passed backward and forward one of her slender fingers, and, on a table near, lay a sheet of black-edged paper, crossed by a small silver pen, and scrawled over irregularly with devices and disconnected words, the work evidently of a fit of the most absolute and listless idleness. The door opened, and a servant in mourning livery stood before the lady. "I have thought over your request, Wilhelm, " she said; "I had become accustomed to your services, and regret to lose you; but I should regret more to stand in the way of your interest. You have my permission." Wilhelm expressed his thanks with an effort that shewed he had not obeyed the call of Mammon without regret, and requested leave to introduce the person he had proposed as his successor. "Of what country is he?" "And why does he leave the gentleman with whom he came to Vienna?” "Il est amoureux d'une Viennaise, madame," answered the ex-valet, resorting to French to express what he considered a delicate circumstance. "Pauvre enfant !" said the princess, with a sigh that partook as much of envy as of pity; "let him come in!" And the Count Anatole, as the sweet accents reached his ear, stepped over the threshold, and in the coarse but gay dress of the Tyrol, stood in the presence of her whose dewy temples he had bathed in the forest, whose lips he had almost "pryed into for breath," whose snowy hands he had chafed and kissed when the senses had deserted their celestial organs -the angel of his perpetual dream, the lady of his wild and uncontrollable, but respectful and honourable love. The princess looked carelessly up as he approached, but her eyes seemed arrested in passing over his features. It was but momentary. She resumed her occupation of winding her taper fingers in the smoke curls of the incense-lamp, and with half a sigh, as if she had repelled a pleasing thought, she leaned back in the silken fauteuil, and asked the newcomer his name. "Anatole, your excellency." The voice again seemed to stir something in her memory. She passed her hand over her eyes, and was for a moment lost in thought. "Anatole," she said, (oh, how the sound of his own name, murmured in that voice of music, thrilled through the fiery veins of the disguised lover!). "Anatole, I receive you into my service. Wilhelm will inform you of your duties, and I have a fancy for the dress of the Tyrol-you may wear it instead of my livery, if you will." And with one stolen and warm gaze from under his drooping eyelids, and heart and lips on fire, as he thanked her for her condescension, the new retainer took his leave. Month after month passed on-to Count Anatole in a bewildering dream of ever-deepening passion. It was upon a soft and amorous morning of April that a dashing equipage stood at the door of the proud palace of Leichstenfels. The arms of Esterhazy blazed on the panels, and the insouciants chasseurs leaned against the marble columns of the portico, waiting for their master, and speculating on the gaiety likely to issue from the suit he was prosecuting within. How could a prince of Esterhazy be supposed to sue in vain? The disguised footman had shewn the gay and handsome nobleman to his mistress's presence. After re-arranging a family of very well-arranged flower-pots, shutting the window to open it again, changing the folds of the curtains not at all for the better, and looking a stolen and fierce look at the unconscious visitor, he could find no longer an apology for remaining in the room. He shut the door after him in a tempest of jealousy. "Did your excellency ring?" said he, opening the door again, after a few minutes of intolerable torture. The prince was on his knees at her feet! "No, Anatole; but you may bring me a glass of water." As he entered with the silver tray trembling in his hand, the prince was rising to go. His face expressed delight, hope, triumph-every thing that could madden the soul of the irritated lover. After waiting on his rival to his carriage, he returned to his mistress, and receiving the glass upon the tray, was about leaving the room in silence, when the princess called to him. In all this lapse of time it is not to be supposed that Count Anatole played merely his footman's part. His respectful and elegant demeanour, the propriety of his language, and that deep devotedness of manner which wins a woman more than all things else, soon gained upon the confidence of the princess; and before a week was past she found that she was happier when he stood behind her chair, and gave him, with some selfdenial, those frequent permissions of absence from the palace which she supposed he asked to prosecute the amour disclosed to her on his introduction to her service. As time flew on, she attributed his earnestness and occasional warmth of manner to gratitude; and, without reasoning much on her own feelings, gave herself up to the indulgence of a degree of interest in him which would have alarmed a woman more skilled in the knowledge of the heart. Married from a convent, however, to an old man who had secluded her from the world, the voice of the passionate count in the forest of Friuli was the first sound of love that had ever entered her ears, She knew not why it was that the tones of her new footman, and now and then a look of his eyes, as he leaned over to assist her at table, troubled her memory like a trace of a long lost dream. But, oh! what moments had been his in these fleeting months! Admitted to her presence in her most unguarded hours-seeing her at morning, at noon, at night, in all her unstudied and surpassing loveliness-for ever near her, and with the world shut out her rich hair blowing with the lightest breeze across his fingers in his assiduous service her dark, full eyes, unconscious of an observer, filling with unrepressed tears, or glowing with pleasure over some tale of love-her exquisite form flung upon a couch, or bending over flowers, or moving about the room in all its native and untrammelled grace—and her voice, tender, and most tender to him, though she knew it not, and her eyes, herself unaware, ever following him in his loitering attendance-and he, the while, losing never a glance or a motion, but treasuring all up in his heart with the avarice of a miser-what, in common life, though it were the life of fortune's most favoured child, could compare with it for bliss! Pale and agitated, the count turned back at the call of his mistress, and stood waiting her pleasure. "Anatole !" "Madame ! The answer was so low and deep, it startled even himself. She motioned to him to come nearer. She had sunk upon the sofa, and as he stood at her feet she leaned forward, buried her hands and arms in the long curls which, in her retirement, she allowed to float luxuriantly over her shoulders, and sobbed aloud. Overcome and forgetful of all but the distress of the lovely creature before him, the count dropped upon the cushion on which rested the small foot in its mourning slipper, and taking her hand, pressed it suddenly and fervently to his lips. The reality broke, upon her! She was beloved-but by whom? A menial! and the appalling answer drove all the blood of her proud race in a torrent upon her heart, sweeping away all affection as if her nature had never known its name. She sprang to her feet, and laid her hand upon the bell. "Madame!" said Anatole, in a cold, proud tone. She staid her arm to listen. I leave you for ever." And again, with the quick revulsion of youth and passion, her woman's heart rose within her, and she buried her face in her hands, and dropped her head in utter abandonment on his bosom. It was the birthday of the emperor, and the courtly nobles of Austria were rolling out from the capital to offer their congratulations at the royal palace of Schoenbrunn. In addition to the usual attractions of the scene, the drawingroom was to be graced by the first public appearance of a new French ambassador, whose reputed personal beauty, and the talents he had displayed in a late secret negotiation, had set the whole court, from the queen of Hungary to the youngest dame d'honneur, in a flame of curiosity. To the prince Esterhazy there was another reason for writing the day in red letters. The princess Leichstenfels, by an express message from the empress, was to throw aside her widow's weeds, and appear once more to the admiring world. She had yielded to the summons, but it was to be her last day of splendour. Her heart and hand were plighted to her Tyrolese menial; and the brightest and loveliest ornament of the court of Austria, when the ceremonies of the day were over, was to lay aside the costly bauble from her shoulder, and the glistening tiara from her brow, and forget rank and fortune as the wife of his bosom ! The dazzling hours flew on. The plain and kind old emperor welcomed and smiled upon all. The wily Metternich, in the prime of his successful manhood, cool, polite, handsome, and winning, gathered golden opinions by every word and look; the young duke of Reichstadt, the mild and gentle son of the struck eagle of St. Helena, surrounded and caressed by a continual cordon of admiring women, seemed forgetful that Opportunity and Expectation awaited him, like two angels with their wings outspread; and haughty nobles and their haughtier dames, statesmen, scholars, soldiers, and priests, crowded upon each other's heels, and mixed together in that doubtful podrida, which goes by the name of pleasure. I could moralize here had I time! The princess of Leichstenfels had gone through the ceremony of presentation, and had heard the murmur of admiration drawn by beauty from all lips, and dizzy with the scene, and with a bosom full of painful and conflicting emotions, she had accepted the proffered arm of prince Esterhazy to breath a fresher air upon, the terrace. They stood near a window, and he was pointing out to his fair but inattentive companion the various charac-, ters as they passed within. I must contrive," said the prince, "to shew you the new envoy. Oh! you have not heard of him. Beautiful as Narcissus, modest as Pastor Corydon, clever as the prime minister himself, this paragon of diplomatists has been here in disguise these three months, negotiating about-Metternich and the deuce know what--but rewarded at last with an ambassador's star, and-but here he is; Princess Leichstenfels, permit me to present-" She heard no more. A glance from the diamond star on his breast to the Hephæstion mouth and keen dark eye of Count Anatole revealed to her the mystery of months. And as she leaned against the window for support, the hand that sustained her in the forest of Friuli, and the same thrilling voice, in almost the same never-forgotten cadence, offered his impassioned sympathy and aid, and she recognised and remembered all. I must go back so far as to inform you that Count Anatole, on the morning of this memorable day, had sacrificed a silky, but prurient moustache, and a pair of the very sauciest dark whiskers out of Coventry. Whether the Prince Esterhazy recognized in the new envoy, the lady's gentleman who so inopportunely broke in upon his tender avowal, I am not prepared to say. I only know (for I was there) that the Princess Leichtenfels was wedded to the new ambassador in the " 'leafy month of June," and the Prince Esterhazy, unfortunately prevented by illness from attending the nuptials, lost a very handsome opportunity of singing with effect, "If she be not fair for me," supposing it translated into German. Whether the enamoured ambassadress prefers her husband in his new character, I am equally uncertain; though, from much knowledge of German courts and a little of human nature, I think she will be happy if at some future day she would not willingly exchange her proud envoy for the devoted Tyrolese, and does not sigh that she can no more bring him to her feet with a pull of a silken string. THE NATIVES OF CALABAR. (Extract from a letter, dated Old Cala bar, Sept. 13, 1834): The natives are in some degree civilized, from their constant traffic with Europeans; but retain many of their old customs and superstitions. When a man is sick, they kill goats and fowls, and tie them to stakes opposite the door, as propitiatory sacrifices: when he dies, they keep firing guns for several days, and kill a number of slaves, according to his rank; they dance, and play upon small drums, bells, and all kinds of discordant instruments, and get drunk on membo, a kind of acid juice which exudes from wounds made in the bamboo. They have a caste among them which they call Ebo-men, who perform some ceremonies for the sick and dead, dressed up in a most grotesque manner. They circumcise, are polygamists, and abstain from certain kinds of food; but they have no form of worship— -are great thieves, and very treacherous. There are a few white negroes, or Albinos, to be seen among them; but these are a disgusting-looking and despised variety. In one of my rambles, a few days ago, I called upon an old King, who lives a few miles in the country. I was hospitably treated, but with much ceremony. The dinner was composed principally of the flesh of the elephant (which is coarse and strong), yams, palm-oil, salt, and pepper. I asked where they got the elephant; and they said, about eight days' journey (or 160 miles) in the interior. When the old fellow took a tumbler of palm wine, an attendant struck a curiously-shaped bell all the time he was drinking. They eat monkeys, antelopes, deer, wild boars, goats, and sheep, and a kind of small cow, which they never milk. I have often advised them to use milk, but they are too lazy to look after the cattle: there are no horses. Several snakes have got up the cable, and been taken on the deck. There are lizards of all colours, and in great abundance; and the camelion is sometimes met with. The products of the soil are—yams; a root called konky by the natives; Indian corn, plantains, and bananas. The natives cannot comprehend the percussion gun; and, one day, when I made an excursion about twenty miles up the river, when they saw me shoot birds flying, they almost fell into fits: some shook hands with me; others took me in their arms, and hugged me, swearing vehemently, that I passed all white man, and black man too. My spectacles, too, pose them not a little.-This is the rainy season; from June until October is wet: then come the smokes, lasting till the end of January; then the very hot weather; with occasional tornados, in April and May. This is the most sickly time with the natives; the smokes are the most unhealthy for us. NOTHING LIKE IT! FROM a new American novel entitled "The Down Easter," we take the following ludicrous scene, on board a steam boat. The principal character is a fellow whose puffing beats Rowland and Morison, to use a yankee phrase, “all to immortal smash." If it be not an invention of the novelist, we promise the Yankee Quack an ample fortune if he will come here and do the office of advertiser to the aforesaid worthies. "One of the boxes had pitched over upon a black fellow below, who cleared himself with a spring and a howl, and began leaping about the deck with his foot in his hand, his enormous mouth as wide open as it would stretch, and the tears running down his cheeks "There now! and away bounced the Yankee to his relief; catching him up in his arms as if he had been a child, scolding him heartily all the time and laying him out over the bales of goods, without appearing to see the strange faces that gathered about him, or to care a fig for their profound astonishment, he began pulling and hauling the leg about, now this way, now that, and wrenching the foot first one way and then another, as if he would twist it off, while the sufferer lay grinding his teeth and uttering an occasional boo-hoo!-boo-hoo! "Boo-hoo!-boo-hoo!- cried the Yankee, who had now satisfied himself as to the state of the case. What's the use o' boo-hooin, I tell ye! * * what are ye afeard on? Got the stuff 'll cure ye, if ye'd jammed your leg off-take the bruise right out by the roots-look here! whipping out a large box, with a leadcoloured pigment, blue pill or opodeldoc perhaps, or perhaps the scraping of a |