CHAPTER VIII.

Twilight was dark in the room to which Beatrice had conducted Violante.

A great change had come over Beatrice. Humble and weeping, she knelt

beside Violante, hiding her face, and imploring pardon. And Violante,

striving to resist the terror for which she now saw such cause as no

woman-heart can defy, still sought to soothe, and still sweetly assured

forgiveness.

Beatrice had learned--after quick and fierce questions, that at last

compelled the answers that cleared away every doubt--that her jealousy

had been groundless--that she had no rival in Violante. From that

moment, the passions that had made her the tool of guilt abruptly

vanished, and her conscience startled her with the magnitude of her

treachery. Perhaps had Violante's heart been wholly free, or she had

been of that mere commonplace, girlish character which women like

Beatrice are apt to despise, the Marchesa's affection for Peschiera,

and her dread of him, might have made her try to persuade her young

kinswoman at least to receive the Count's visit--at least to suffer

him to make his own excuses, and plead his own cause. But there had

been a loftiness of spirit in which Violante had first defied the

Marchesa's questions, followed by such generous, exquisite sweetness,

when the girl perceived how that wild heart was stung and maddened,

and such purity of mournful candor when she had overcome her own

virgin bashfulness sufficiently to undeceive the error she detected,

and confess where her own affections were placed, that Beatrice bowed

before her as mariner of old to some fair saint that had allayed the

storm.

"I have deceived you!" she cried through her sobs; "but I will now save

you at any cost. Had you been as I deemed--the rival who had despoiled

all the hopes of my future life--I would, without remorse, have been

the accomplice I am pledged to be. But _now_, you!--oh, you--so good

and so noble--you can never be the bride of Peschiera. Nay, start not:

he shall renounce his designs forever, or I will go myself to our

Emperor, and expose the dark secrets of his life. Return with me quick

to the home from which I ensnared you."

Beatrice's hand was on the door while she spoke. Suddenly her face

fell--her lips grew white; the door was locked from without. She

called--no one answered; the bell-pull in the room gave no sound; the

windows were high and barred--they did not look on the river, nor the

street, but on a close, gloomy, silent yard--high blank walls all

around it--no one to hear the cry of distress, rang it ever so loud and

sharp.

Beatrice divined that she herself had been no less ensnared than

her companion; that Peschiera, distrustful of her firmness in evil,

had precluded her from the power of reparation. She was in a house

only tenanted by his hirelings. Not a hope to save Violante, from a

fate that now appalled her, seemed to remain. Thus, in incoherent

self-reproaches and frenzied tears, Beatrice knelt beside her victim,

communicating more and more the terrors that she felt, as the hours

rolled on, and the room darkened, till it was only by the dull lamp

which gleamed through the grimy windows from the yard without, that

each saw the face of the other.

Night came on; they heard a clock from some distant church strike

the hours. The dim fire had long since burnt out, and the air became

intensely cold. No one broke upon their solitude--not a voice was heard

in the house. They felt neither cold nor hunger--they felt but the

solitude and the silence, and the dread of something that was to come.

At length, about midnight, a bell rang at the street door; then there

was the quick sound of steps--of sullen bolts withdrawn--of low,

murmured voices. Light streamed through the chinks of the door to the

apartment--the door itself opened. Two Italians bearing tapers entered,

and the Count di Peschiera followed.

Beatrice sprang up, and rushed toward her brother. He placed his hand

gently on her lips, and motioned to the Italians to withdraw. They

placed the lights on the table, and vanished without a word.

Peschiera then, putting aside his sister, approached Violante.

"Fair kinswoman," said he, with an air of easy but resolute assurance,

"there are things which no man can excuse and no woman can pardon,

unless that love, which is beyond all laws, suggests excuse for the

one, and obtains pardon for the other. In a word, I have sworn to win

you, and I have had no opportunities to woo. Fear not; the worst that

can befall you is to be my bride. Stand aside, my sister, stand aside."

"Giulio, no! Giulio Franzini, I stand between you and her: you shall

strike me to the earth before you can touch even the hem of her robe."

"What, my sister!--you turn against me?"

"And unless you instantly retire and leave her free, I will unmask you

to the Emperor."

"Too late, _mon enfant_! You will sail with us. The effects you may

need for the voyage are already on board. You will be witness to our

marriage, and by a holy son of the Church. Then tell the Emperor what

you will."

With a light and sudden exertion of his strength, the Count put away

Beatrice, and fell on his knee before Violante, who, drawn to her full

height, death-like pale, but untrembling, regarded him with unutterable

disdain.

"You scorn me now," said he, throwing into his features an expression

of humility and admiration, "and I can not wonder at it. But, believe

me, that until the scorn yield to a kinder sentiment, I will take no

advantage of the power I have gained over your fate."

"Power!" said Violante, haughtily. "You have ensnared me into this

house--you have gained the power of a day; but the power over my

fate--no!"

"You mean that your friends have discovered your disappearance, and

are on your track. Fair one, I provide against your friends, and I

defy all the laws and police of England. The vessel that will bear you

from these shores waits in the river hard by. Beatrice, I warn you--be

still--unhand me. In that vessel will be a priest who shall join our

hands, but not before you will recognize the truth, that she who flies

with Giulio Peschiera must become his wife, or quit him as the disgrace

of her house, and the scorn of her sex."

"Oh, villain! villain!" cried Beatrice.

"_Peste_, my sister, gentler words. You, too, would marry. I tell no

tales of you. Signorina, I grieve to threaten force. Give me your hand;

we must be gone."

Violante eluded the clasp that would have profaned her, and darting

across the room, opened the door, and closed it hastily behind her.

Beatrice clung firmly to the Count to detain him from pursuit. But just

without the door, close, as if listening to what passed within, stood

a man wrapped from head to foot in a large boat cloak. The ray of the

lamp that beamed on the man, gleamed on the barrel of a pistol which he

held in his right hand.

"Hist!" whispered the man in English; and passing his arm round

her--"in this house you are in that ruffian's power; out of it, safe.

Ah! I am by your side--I, Violante!"

The voice thrilled to Violante's heart. She started--looked up, but

nothing was seen of the man's face, what with the hat and cloak, save

a mass of raven curls and a beard of the same hue.

The Count now threw open the door, dragging after him his sister, who

still clung round him.

"Ha--that is well!" he cried to the man in Italian. "Bear the lady

after me, gently; but if she attempt to cry out--why, force enough to

silence her, not more. As for you, Beatrice, traitress that you are,

I could strike you to the earth--but--no, this suffices." He caught

his sister in his arms as he spoke, and, regardless of her cries and

struggles, sprang down the stairs.

The hall was crowded with fierce swarthy men. The Count turned to one

of them, and whispered; in an instant the Marchesa was seized and

gagged. The Count cast a look over his shoulder; Violante was close

behind, supported by the man to whom Peschiera had consigned her, and

who was pointing to Beatrice, and appeared warning Violante against

resistance. Violante was silent, and seemed resigned. Peschiera smiled

cynically, and, preceded by some of his hirelings, who held torches,

descended a few steps that led to an abrupt landing-place between the

hall and the basement story. There, a small door stood open, and the

river flowed close by. A boat was moored on the bank, round which

grouped four men, who had the air of foreign sailors. At the appearance

of Peschiera, three of these men sprang into the boat and got ready

their oars. The fourth carefully readjusted a plank thrown from the

boat to the wharf, and offered his arm obsequiously to Peschiera. The

Count was the first to enter, and, humming a gay opera air, took his

place by the helm. The two females were next lifted in, and Violante

felt her hand pressed almost convulsively by the man who stood by

the plank. The rest followed, and in another minute the boat bounded

swiftly over the waves toward a vessel that lay several furlongs adown

the river, and apart from all the meaner craft that crowded the stream.

The stars struggled pale through the foggy atmosphere; not a word was

heard within the boat--no sound save the regular splash of the oars.

The Count paused from his lively tune, and gathering round him the

ample folds of his fur pelisse, seemed absorbed in thought. Even by the

imperfect light of the stars, Peschiera's face wore an air of sovereign

triumph. The result had justified that careless and insolent confidence

in himself and in fortune, which was the most prominent feature in the

character of the man who, both bravo and gamester, had played against

the world, with his rapier in one hand, and cogged dice in the other.

Violante, once in a vessel filled by his own men, was irretrievably in

his power. Even her father must feel grateful to learn that the captive

of Peschiera had saved name and repute in becoming Peschiera's wife.

Even the pride of sex in Violante herself must induce her to confirm

what Peschiera, of course, intended to state, viz., that she was a

willing partner in a bridegroom's schemes of flight toward the altar,

rather than the poor victim of a betrayer, and receiving his hand but

from his mercy. He saw his fortune secured, his success envied, his

very character rehabilitated by his splendid nuptials. Ambition began

to mingle with his dreams of pleasure and pomp. What post in the Court

or the State too high for the aspirations of one who had evinced the

most incontestable talent for active life--the talent to succeed in

all that the will had undertaken? Thus mused the Count, half forgetful

of the present, and absorbed in the golden future, till he was aroused

by a loud hail from the vessel, and the bustle on board the boat, as

the sailors caught at the rope flung forth to them. He then rose and

moved toward Violante. But the man who was still in charge of her

passed the Count lightly, half leading, half carrying, his passive

prisoner. "Pardon, Excellency," said the man in Italian, "but the boat

is crowded, and rocks so much that your aid would but disturb our

footing." Before Peschiera could reply, Violante was already on the

steps of the vessel, and the Count paused till, with elated smile,

he saw her safely standing on the deck. Beatrice followed, and then

Peschiera himself; but when the Italians in his train also thronged

toward the sides of the boat, two of the sailors got before them, and

let go the rope, while the other two plied their oars vigorously,

and pulled back toward shore. The Italians burst into an amazed and

indignant volley of execrations. "Silence," said the sailor who had

stood by the plank, "we obey orders. If you are not quiet, we shall

upset the boat. _We_ can swim; Heaven and Monsignore San Giacomo pity

you if you can not."

Meanwhile, as Peschiera leapt upon deck, a flood of light poured upon

him from lifted torches. That light streamed full on the face and

form of a man of commanding stature, whose arm was around Violante,

and whose dark eyes flashed upon the Count more luminously than the

torches. On one side this man stood the Austrian Prince; on the other

side (a cloak, and a profusion of false dark locks, at his feet) stood

Lord L'Estrange, his arms folded, and his lips curved by a smile in

which the ironical humor native to the man was tempered with a calm and

supreme disdain. The Count strove to speak, but his voice faltered.

All around him looked ominous and hostile. He saw many Italian faces,

but they scowled at him with vindictive hate; in the rear were English

mariners, peering curiously over the shoulders of the foreigners,

and with a broad grin on their open countenances. Suddenly, as the

Count thus stood perplexed, cowering, stupefied, there burst from all

the Italians present a hoot of unutterable scorn--"_Il traditore! il

traditore!_"--(the traitor! the traitor!)

The Count was brave, and at the cry he lifted his head with a certain

majesty.

At that moment Harley, raising his hand as if to silence the hoot, came

forth from the group by which he had been hitherto standing, and toward

him the Count advanced with a bold stride.

"What trick is this?" he said in French, fiercely. "I divine that it

is you whom I can single out for explanation and atonement."

"_Pardieu, Monsieur le Comte_," answered Harley in the same language,

which lends itself so well to polished sarcasm and high bred

enmity--"let us distinguish. Explanation should come from me, I allow;

but atonement I have the honor to resign to yourself. This vessel--"

"Is mine!" cried the Count. "Those men, who insult me, should be in my

pay."

"The men in your pay, _Monsieur le Comte_, are on shore drinking

success to your voyage. But, anxious still to procure you the

gratification of being among your own countrymen, those whom I have

taken into my pay are still better Italians than the pirates whose

place they supply; perhaps not such good sailors; but then I have taken

the liberty to add to the equipment of a vessel, which has cost me too

much to risk lightly, some stout English seamen, who are mariners more

practiced than even your pirates. Your grand mistake, _Monsieur le

Comte_, is in thinking that the 'Flying Dutchman' is yours. With many

apologies for interfering with your intention to purchase it, I beg to

inform you that Lord Spendquick has kindly sold it to me. Nevertheless,

_Monsieur le Comte_, for the next few weeks I place it--men and all--at

your service."

Peschiera smiled scornfully

"I thank your lordship; but since I presume that I shall no longer have

the traveling companion who alone could make the voyage attractive, I

shall return to shore, and will simply request you to inform me at what

hour you can receive the friend whom I shall depute to discuss that

part of the question yet untouched, and to arrange that the atonement,

whether it be due from me or yourself, may be rendered as satisfactory

as you have condescended to make the explanation."

"Let not that vex you, _Monsieur le Comte_--the atonement is, in much,

made already; so anxious have I been to forestall all that your nice

sense of honor would induce so complete a gentleman to desire. You

have ensnared a young heiress, it is true; but you see that it was

only to restore her to the arms of her father. You have juggled an

illustrious kinsman out of his heritage; but you have voluntarily come

on board this vessel, first, to enable his highness, the Prince ----,

of whose rank at the Austrian Court you are fully aware, to state to

your Emperor that he himself has been witness of the manner in which

you interpreted his Imperial Majesty's assent to your nuptials with a

child of one of the first subjects in his Italian realm; and next, to

commence, by a penitential excursion to the seas of the Baltic, the

sentence of banishment which I have no doubt will accompany the same

act that restores to the chief of your house his lands and his honors."

The Count started.

"That restoration," said the Austrian Prince, who had advanced to

Harley's side, "I already guarantee. Disgrace that you are, Giulio

Franzini, to the nobles of the Empire, I will not leave my royal

master till his hand strike your name from the roll. I have here your

own letters, to prove that your kinsman was duped by yourself into the

revolt which you would have headed as a Catiline, if it had not better

suited your nature to betray it as a Judas. In ten days from this time,

these letters will be laid before the Emperor and his Council."

"Are you satisfied _Monsieur le Comte_," said Harley, "with your

atonement so far? if not, I have procured you the occasion to render it

yet more complete. Before you stands the kinsman you have wronged. He

knows now, that though for a while, you ruined his fortunes, you failed

to sully his hearth. His heart can grant you pardon, and hereafter his

hand may give you alms. Kneel then, Giulio Franzini--kneel, baffled

bravo--kneel, ruined gamester--kneel, miserable out-cast--at the feet

of Alphonso, Prince of Monteleone and Duke of Serrano."

The above dialogue had been in French, which only a few of the Italians

present understood, and that imperfectly; but at the name with which

Harley concluded his address to the Count a simultaneous cry from those

Italians broke forth.

"Alphonso the Good!--Alphonso the Good! _Viva--viva_--the good Duke of

Serrano!"

And, forgetful even of the Count, they crowded round the tall form of

Riccabocca, striving who should first kiss his hand--the very hem of

his garments.

Riccabocca's eyes overflowed. The gaunt exile seemed transfigured into

another and more kingly man. An inexpressible dignity invested him. He

stretched forth his arms, as if to bless his countrymen. Even that rude

cry, from humble men, exiles like himself, consoled him for years of

banishment and penury.

"Thanks, thanks," he continued; "thanks. Some day or other, you will

all perhaps return with me to the beloved Land!"

The Austrian Prince bowed his head, as if in assent to the prayer.

"Giulio Franzini," said the Duke of Serrano--for so we may now call the

threadbare recluse of the Casino--"had this last villainous design of

yours been allowed by Providence, think you that there is one spot on

earth on which the ravisher could have been saved from a father's arm?

But now, Heaven has been more kind. In this hour let me imitate its

mercy," and with relaxing brow the Duke mildly drew near to his guilty

kinsman.

From the moment the Austrian Prince had addressed him, the Count had

preserved a profound silence, showing neither repentance nor shame.

Gathering himself up, he had stood firm, glaring round him like one at

bay. But as the Duke now approached, he waved his hand, and exclaimed,

"Back, pedant, back; you have not triumphed yet. And you, prating

German, tell your tales to our Emperor. I shall be by his throne to

answer--if, indeed, you escape from the meeting to which I will force

you by the way." He spoke, and made a rush toward the side of the

vessel. But Harley's quick wit had foreseen the Count's intention, and

Harley's quick eye had given the signal by which it was frustrated.

Seized in the gripe of his own watchful and indignant countrymen,

just as he was about to plunge into the stream, Peschiera was dragged

back--pinioned down. Then the expression of his whole countenance

changed; the desperate violence of the inborn gladiator broke forth.

His great strength enabled him to break loose more than once, to dash

more than one man to the floor of the deck; but at length, overpowered

by numbers, though still struggling--all dignity, all attempt at

presence of mind gone, uttering curses the most plebeian, gnashing his

teeth, and foaming at the mouth, nothing seemed left of the brilliant

Lothario but the coarse fury of the fierce natural man.

Then, still preserving that air and tone of exquisite imperturbable

irony which might have graced the marquis of the old French regime, and

which the highest comedian might have sighed to imitate in vain, Harley

bowed low to the storming Count.

"_Adieu, Monsieur le Comte--adieu!_ I am rejoiced to see that you are

so well provided with furs. You will need them for your voyage; it is

a very cold one at this time of the year. The vessel which you have

honored me by entering is bound to Norway. The Italians who accompany

you were sent by yourself into exile, and, in return, they now kindly

promise to enliven you with their society, whenever you feel somewhat

tired of your own. Conduct the Count to his cabin. Gently there,

gently. _Adieu, Monsieur le Comte, adieu! et bon voyage._"

Harley turned lightly on his heel, as Peschiera, in spite of his

struggles, was now fairly carried down to the cabin.

"A trick for the trickster," said L'Estrange to the Austrian Prince.

"The revenge of a farce on the would-be tragedian."

"More than that--he is ruined."

"And ridiculous," quoth Harley. "I should like to see his look when

they land him in Norway." Harley then passed toward the centre of the

vessel, by which, hitherto partially concealed by the sailors, who were

now busily occupied, stood Beatrice; Frank Hazeldean, who had first

received her on entering the vessel, standing by her side; and Leonard,

a little apart from the two, in quiet observation of all that had

passed around him. Beatrice appeared but little to heed Frank; her dark

eyes were lifted to the dim starry skies, and her lips were moving as

if in prayer; yet her young lover was speaking to her in great emotion,

low and rapidly.

"No, no--do not think for a moment that we suspect you, Beatrice. I

will answer for your honor with my life. Oh, why will you turn from

me--why will you not speak?"

"A moment later," said Beatrice softly. "Give me one moment yet." She

passed slowly and faltering toward Leonard--placed her hand that

trembled, on his arm--and led him aside to the verge of the vessel.

Frank, startled by her movement, made a step as if to follow, and

then stopped short, and looked on, but with a clouded and doubtful

countenance. Harley's smile had gone, and his eye was also watchful.

It was but a few words that Beatrice spoke--it was but by a sentence

or so that Leonard answered; and then Beatrice extended her hand,

which the young poet bent over, and kissed in silence. She lingered

an instant; and even by the star-light, Harley noted the blush that

overspread her face. The blush faded as Beatrice returned to Frank.

Lord L'Estrange would have retired--she signed to him to stay.

"My lord," she said very firmly, "I can not accuse you of harshness

to my sinful and unhappy brother. His offense might perhaps deserve a

heavier punishment than that which you inflict with such playful scorn.

But whatever his penance, contempt now, or poverty later, I feel that

his sister should be by his side to share it. I am not innocent, if he

be guilty; and, wreck though he be, nothing else on this dark sea of

life is now left to me to cling to. Hush, my lord! I shall not leave

this vessel. All that I entreat of you is, to order your men to respect

my brother, since a woman will be by his side."

"But, Marchesa, this can not be; and--"

"Beatrice, Beatrice--and me!--our betrothal? Do you forgot me?"' cried

Frank in reproachful agony.

"No, young and too noble lover; I shall remember you ever in my

prayers. But listen. I have been deceived--hurried on, I might

say--by others, but also, and far more, by my own mad and blinded

heart--deceived, hurried on, to wrong you and to belie myself. My shame

burns into me when I think that I could have inflicted on you the just

anger of your family--linked you to my own ruined fortunes, my own

tarnished name--my own--"

"Your own generous, loving heart!--that is all I asked!" cried Frank.

"Cease, cease--that heart is mine still!"

Tears gushed from the Italian's eyes.

"Englishman, I never loved you; this heart was dead to you, and it

will be dead to all else forever. Farewell! You will forget me sooner

than you think for--sooner than I shall forget you--as a friend, as a

brother--if brothers had natures as tender and as kind as yours! Now,

my lord, will you give me your arm? I would join the Count."

"Stay--one word, madam," said Frank, very pale, and through his set

teeth, but calmly, and with a pride on his brow which had never before

dignified its careless, open expression--"one word. I may not be worthy

of you in any thing else--but an honest love, that never doubted, never

suspected--that would have clung to you though all the world were

against; such a love makes the meanest man of worth. One word, frank

and open. By all that you hold most sacred in your creed, did you

speak the truth when you said that you never loved me?"

Beatrice bent down her head; she was abashed before this manly nature

that she had so deceived, and perhaps till then undervalued.

"Pardon, pardon," she said, in reluctant accents, half-choked by the

rising of a sob.

At her hesitation Frank's face lighted as if with sudden hope. She

raised her eyes, and saw the change in him, then glanced where Leonard

stood, mournful and motionless. She shivered, and added, firmly--

"Yes--pardon; for I spoke the truth; and I had no heart to give. It

might have been as wax to another--it was of granite to you." She

paused, and muttered inly--"Granite, and--broken!"

Frank said not a word more. He stood rooted to the spot, not even

gazing after Beatrice as she passed away leaning on the arm of Lord

L'Estrange. He then walked resolutely away, and watched the boat

that the men were now lowering from the side of the vessel. Beatrice

stopped when she came near the place where Violante stood, answering

in agitated whispers her father's anxious questions. As she stopped,

she leaned more heavily upon Harley. "It is your arm that trembles now,

Lord L'Estrange," said she, with a mournful smile, and, quitting him

before he could answer, she bowed down her head meekly before Violante.

"You have pardoned me already," she said, in a tone that reached only

the girl's ear, "and my last words shall not be of the past. I see your

future spread bright before me under those steadfast stars. Love still;

hope and trust. These are the last words of her who will soon die to

the world. Fair maid, they are prophetic!"

Violante shrank back to her father's breast, and there hid her glowing

face, resigning her hand to Beatrice, who pressed it to her bosom. The

Marchesa then came back to Harley, and disappeared with him in the

interior of the vessel.

When Harley reappeared on deck, he seemed, much flurried and disturbed.

He kept aloof from the Duke and Violante, and was the last to enter the

boat, that was now lowered into the water.

As he and his companions reached the land, they saw the vessel in

movement, and gliding slowly down the river.

"Courage, Leonard, courage!" murmured Harley. "You grieve, and nobly.

But you have shunned the worst and most vulgar deceit in civilized

life; you have not simulated love. Better that yon poor lady should be,

awhile, the sufferer from a harsh truth, than the eternal martyr of a

flattering lie! Alas, my Leonard, with the love of the poet's dream are

linked only the Graces; with the love of the human heart come the awful

Fates!"

"My lord, poets do not dream when they love. You will learn how the

feelings are deep in proportion as the fancies are vivid, when you

read that confession of genius and woe which I have left in your

hands."

Leonard turned away. Harley's gaze followed him with inquiring

interest, and suddenly encountered the soft, dark grateful eyes of

Violante. "The Fates, the Fates!" murmured Harley.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

A SHORT CHAPTER ON RATS.

The rat is one of the most despised and tormented of created animals;

he has many enemies and very few friends; wherever he appears his

life is in danger from men, dogs, cats, owls, &c., who will have no

mercy on him. These perpetual persecutions oblige him to be wary in

his movements, and call for a large amount of cunning and sagacity

on his part, which give his little sharp face a peculiarly knowing

and wide-awake appearance, which the most superficial observer must

have noticed. Though, poor creature, he is hated and killed by man,

his sworn foe, yet he is to that same ungrateful race a most useful

servant, in the humble capacity of scavenger; for wherever man settles

his habitation, even in the most remote parts of the earth, there, as

if by magic, appear our friends the rats. He quietly takes possession

of the out-houses, drains, &c., and occupies himself by devouring the

refuse and filth thrown away from the dwelling of his master (under

whose floor, as well as roof, he lives); this refuse, if left to

decay, would engender fever, malaria, and all kinds of horrors, to

the destruction of the children of the family, were it not for the

unremitting exertions of the rats to get rid of it, in a way no doubt

agreeable to themselves, namely, by eating it.

The rat is admirably armed and equipped for the peculiar mode of life

which he is ordained to lead. He has formidable weapons in the shape

of four small, long, and very sharp teeth, two of which are fixed in

the upper and two in the under jaw. These are formed in the shape of a

wedge, and by the following wonderful provision of Nature, have always

a fine, sharp, cutting edge. On examining them carefully, we find

that the inner part is of a soft, ivory-like composition, which may

be easily worn away, whereas the outside is composed of a glass-like

enamel, which is excessively hard. The upper teeth work exactly into

the under, so that the centres of the opposed teeth meet exactly in

the act of gnawing; the soft part is thus being perpetually worn away,

while the hard part keeps a sharp, chisel-like edge; at the same time

the teeth grow up from the bottom, so that as they wear away a fresh

supply is ready. The consequence of this arrangement is, that, if one

of the teeth be removed, either by accident or on purpose, the opposed

tooth will continue to grow upward; and, as there is nothing to grind

it away, will project from the mouth and be turned upon itself; or, if

it be an under-tooth, it will even run into the skull above.

There is a curious, but little known fact, which well illustrates the

ravages which the rats can inflict on a hard substance with these

little sharp teeth. Many of the elephant's tusks imported into London

for the use of the ivory ornament makers, are observed to have their

surfaces grooved into small furrows of unequal depths, as though cut

out by a very sharp-edged instrument. Surely no man would have taken

the trouble to do this, for what would be the profit of his labor? The

rats, however, are at the bottom of the secret, or else, clever fellows

as they are, they would not have used their chisel-like teeth with such

effect. They have found out the tusks which contain the most gelatine

or animal glue, a sweet and delicious morsel for the rat's dainty

palate; and having gnawed away as much as suited their purpose, have

left the rest for the ivory-cutter--he, for his part, is neither unable

nor unwilling to profit by the fact marked out by the rat's teeth.

The ivory that contains a large amount of gelatine is softer and more

elastic than that which does not; and as elasticity is the thing most

needful for billiard balls, he chooses this rat-marked ivory, and turns

it into the beautiful elastic billiard balls we see on the slate tables

in St. James's-street. The elasticity of some of these is so great,

that if struck down forcibly on a hard pavement, they will rebound into

the hand to the height of three or four feet.

Rats have a remarkable instinct for finding out where there is any

thing good for food; and it has been often a subject of wonder, how

they manage to get on board ships laden with sugar and other attractive

cargoes. This mystery has, however, been cleared up, for they have

been seen to come off shore to the ship by means of the rope by which

she is moored to the quay, although at some distance from the shore.

By the same means they will leave the ship when she comes into port,

if they find their quarters filling, or filled with water; hence the

saying, that "rats always leave a sinking ship" is perfectly true. If,

however, the ship be water-tight, they will continue breeding to an

enormous extent. M. de St. Pierre informs us, that on the return of

the "Valiant" man-of-war from the Havana, in the year 1766, its rats

had increased to such a degree, that they destroyed a hundred weight

of biscuit daily. The ship was at length smoked between decks in order

to suffocate them; and six hampers were for some time filled every day

with the rats that had thus been killed.

There is a curious instance of rats losing their lives in quest of

food, which has been kindly communicated to me by a friend. When the

atmospheric pump was in use at the terminus of the Croydon railway,

hundreds of rats lost their lives daily. The unscientific creatures

used in the night to get into the large iron tube, by exhausting

the air from which the railway carriages were put in motion, their

object being to lick off the grease from the leather valve, which the

engineers of the line were so anxious to keep airtight. As soon as the

air-pump was put to work for the first morning-train, there was no

resisting, and out they were sucked all dead corpses!

The rat, though naturally a savage creature, is, by dint of kindness,

capable of being tamed and being made obedient to the will of man. Some

of the Japanese tame rats, and teach them to perform many entertaining

tricks, and thus instructed they are exhibited as a show for the

diversion of the populace.

A gentleman traveling through Mecklenburg, about forty years ago,

was witness to a very singular circumstance in the post-house at New

Hargard. After dinner, the landlord placed on the floor a large dish

of soup, and gave a loud whistle. Immediately there came into the room

a mastiff, a fine Angora cat, an old raven, and a remarkably large

rat, with a bell about its neck. They all four went to the dish, and,

without disturbing each other, fed together, after which the dog, cat,

and rat lay before the fire, while the raven hopped about the room.

The landlord, after accounting for the familiarity which existed among

these animals, informed his guest that the rat was the most useful of

the four, for the noise he made had completely freed the house from the

other rats and mice with which it had previously been infested.

But capacity for becoming tame and accustomed to the presence of man

is not confined to the "foreigneer" rats, for, from the following

story, it appears that the rats of England are equally susceptible of

kindness. A worthy whip-maker, who worked hard at his trade to support

a large family, had prepared a number of strips of leather, by well

oiling and greasing them. He carefully laid them by in a box, but,

strange to say, they disappeared one by one; nobody knew any thing

about them, nobody had touched them.

However, one day, as he was sitting at work in his shop, a large black

rat, of the original British species, slyly poked his head up out of a

hole in the corner of the room, and deliberately took a survey of the

whole place. Seeing all quiet, out he came, and ran straight to the box

wherein were kept the favorite leather strips. In he dived, and quickly

reappeared, carrying in his mouth the most dainty morsel he could find.

Off he ran to his hole, and quickly vanished. Having thus found out

the thief, the saddler determined to catch him; he accordingly propped

up a sieve by a stick, and put a bait underneath; in a few minutes out

came the rat again, smelling the inviting toasted cheese, and forthwith

attacked it. The moment he began nibbling at the bait, down came the

sieve, and he became a prisoner. Now, thought he, "my life depends upon

my behavior when this horrid sieve is lifted up by that two-legged

wretch with the apron on, who so kindly cuts the greasy thongs for me

every day: he has a good-natured looking face, and I don't think he

wants to kill me. I know what I will do."

The saddler' at length lifted up the sieve, being armed with a stick

ready to kill Mr. Rat when he rushed out. What was his astonishment to

see that the rat remained perfectly quiet, and, after a few moments,

to walk quietly up on his arm, and look up in his face, as much as

to say, "I am a poor innocent rat, and if your wife will lock up all

the good things in the cupboard, why I must eat your nicely prepared

thongs; rats must live as well as saddlers." The man then said, "Tom, I

was going to kill you, but now I won't; let us be friends. I'll put you

some bread and butter every day if you won't take my thongs and wax,

and leave the shopman's breakfast alone; but I am afraid you will come

out once too often; there are lots of dogs and cats about who won't be

so kind to you as I am; you may go now."

He then put him down, and Mr. Rat leisurely retreated to his hole. For

a long time afterward he found his breakfast regularly placed for him

at the mouth of his hole, in return for which he, as in duty bound,

became quite tame, running about the shop, and inquisitively turning

over every thing on the bench at which his protector was at work.

He would even accompany him into the stables when he went to feed

the pony, and pick up the corn as it fell from the manger, keeping,

however, a respectful distance from the pony's legs. His chief delight

was to bask in the warm window sill, stretching his full length to

the mid-day sun. This unfortunate, though agreeable habit, proved his

destruction, for one very hot day, as he lay at his ease taking his

_siesta_, the dog belonging to the bird-shop opposite espied him afar

off, and instantly dashed at him through the window. The poor rat, who

was asleep at the time, awoke, alas! too late to save his life. The

cruel dog caught him, and took him into the road, where a few sharp

squeezes and shakings soon finished him. The fatal deed being done, the

murderous dog left his bleeding victim in the dusty road, and with ears

and tail erect, walked away as though proud of his performance. The

dog's master, knowing the history of the rat, had him stuffed, and his

impaled skin, with a silver chain round the neck, forms to this day a

handsome addition to the shop-front of the bird-shop in Brompton.

There is a curious fact connected with the habits of the rat, which

warrants a closer observation on the part of those who have the

opportunity, it is the emigration of rats. It appears that rats, like

many birds, fish, &c., are influenced to change their abode by want of

food; by necessity of change of temperature; by want of a place for

incubation, where they may obtain food for their young; and, lastly, by

their fear of man.

A Spanish merchant had forestalled the market of Barcelona filberts on

speculation some years ago. He filled his warehouse with sacks of them,

and refused to sell them to the retail-dealers, but at such a price as

they could not afford to give. Thinking, however, that they would be

obliged to submit to his demand, rather than not procure them for sale,

he persisted in exacting his original price, and thus lost nearly all

his treasure; for he was informed by an early rising friend, that he

had seen, just before sunrise, an army of rats quitting the warehouse.

He immediately went to examine his sacks, and found them gnawed in

various places, and emptied of above half their contents, and empty

shells of filberts strewed over the floor.

Pennant relates a story of a burglarious grand-larceny troop of rats,

which nearly frightened a young lady out of her wits, by mistaking her

chimney for one leading to a cheese-room. She was suddenly wakened by a

tremendous clatter in her bed-chamber, and on looking up saw a terrific

troop of rats running about in wild disorder. She had presence of mind

enough to throw her candlestick at them (_timor arma ministral_) and to

her great joy she found that they speedily departed by the way which

they had entered her apartment, leaving only a cloud of soot over the

room.

Forty years ago, the house of a surgeon in Swansea was greatly infested

with rats, and he completely got rid of them by burning off all the

hair from one of them which he had caught alive, and then allowing it

to return to its hole. It was said that he never afterward saw a rat

on his premises, except the burnt sufferer, which on the following

day returned, and was caught in the same trap from which he had been

but just set at liberty. I suppose that in their "Advertiser," the

description of a ghost, and a notice of haunted premises was given,

which caused the whole colony so unanimously to decamp.

A DARK CHAPTER FROM THE DIARY OF A LAW CLERK.

One Ephraim Bridgman, who died in 1783, had for many years farmed

a large quantity of land in the neighborhood of Lavenham or Lanham

(the name is spelt both ways), a small market-town about twelve miles

south of Bury St. Edmunds. He was also land agent as well as tenant

to a noble lord possessing much property thereabouts, and appears

to have been a very fast man for those times, as, although he kept

up appearances to the last, his only child and heir, Mark Bridgman,

found on looking closely into his deceased father's affairs, that

were every body paid, he himself would be left little better than a

pauper. Still, if the noble landlord could be induced to give a _very_

long day for the heavy balance due to him--not only for arrears of

rent, but moneys received on his lordship's account--Mark, who was

a prudent energetic young man, nothing doubted of pulling through

without much difficulty--the farm being low rented and the agency

lucrative. This desirable object, however, proved exceedingly difficult

of attainment, and after a protracted and fruitless negotiation, by

letter, with Messrs. Winstanley, of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, London,

his lordship's solicitors, the young farmer determined, as a last

resource, on a journey to town, in the vague hope that on a personal

interview he should find those gentlemen not quite such square, hard,

rigid persons as their written communications indicated them to be.

Delusive hope! They were precisely as stiff, formal, accurate, and

unvarying as their letters. "The exact balance due to his lordship,"

said Winstanley, senior, "is, as previously stated, £2103 14s. 6d.,

which sum, secured by warrant of attorney, _must_ be paid as follows:

one half in eight, and the remaining moiety in sixteen months from

the present time." Mark Bridgman was in despair: taking into account

other liabilities that would be falling due, compliance with such terms

was, he felt, merely deferring the evil day, and he was silently and

moodily revolving in his mind whether it might not be better to give

up the game at once rather than engage in a prolonged, and almost

inevitably disastrous struggle, when another person entered the office

and entered into conversation with the solicitor. At first the young

man did not appear to heed--perhaps did not hear what was said--but

after a while one of the clerks noticed that his attention was suddenly

and keenly aroused, and that he eagerly devoured every word that passed

between the new comer and Mr. Winstanley. At length the lawyer, as if

to terminate the interview, said, as he replaced a newspaper--_The

Public Advertiser_--an underlined notice in which had formed the

subject of his colloquy with the stranger, upon a side table, by which

sat Mark Bridgman. "You desire us then, Mr. Evans, to continue this

advertisement for some time longer?" Mr. Evans replied, "Certainly, six

months longer, if necessary." He then bade the lawyers "good-day," and

left the office.

"Well, what do you say, Mr. Bridgman!" asked Mr. Winstanley, as soon

as the door had closed. "Are you ready to accept his lordship's very

lenient proposal?"

"Yes," was the quick reply. "Let the document be prepared at once, and

I will execute it before I leave." This was done, and Mark Bridgman

hurried off, evidently, it was afterward remembered, in a high state

of flurry and excitement. He had also, they found, taken the newspaper

with him--by inadvertence, the solicitor supposed, of course.

Within a week of this time, the good folk of Lavenham--especially

its womankind--were thrown into a ferment of wonder, indignation,

and bewilderment! Rachel Merton, the orphan dressmaking girl, who

had been engaged to, and about to marry Richard Green, the farrier

and blacksmith--and that a match far beyond what she had any right

to expect, for all her pretty face and pert airs, was positively

being courted by Bridgman, young, handsome, rich, Mark Bridgman of

Red Lodge (the embarrassed state of the gentleman-farmer's affairs

was entirely unsuspected in Lavenham); ay, and by way of marriage,

too--openly--respectfully, deferentially--as if _he_, not Rachel

Merton, were the favored and honored party! What on earth, every body

asked, was the world coming to?--a question most difficult of solution;

but all doubt with respect to the _bonâ fide_ nature of Mark Bridgman's

intentions toward the fortunate dressmaker was soon at an end; he and

Rachel being duly pronounced man and wife at the parish church within

little more than a fortnight of the commencement of his strange and

hasty wooing! All Lavenham agreed that Rachel Merton had shamefully

jilted poor Green, and yet it may be doubted if there were many of them

that, similarly tempted, would not have done the same. A pretty orphan

girl, hitherto barely earning a subsistence by her needle, and about

to throw herself away upon a coarse, repulsive person, but one degree

higher than herself in the social scale--entreated by the handsomest

young man about Lavenham to be his wife, and the mistress of Red Lodge,

with nobody knows how many servants, dependents, laborers!--the offer

was irresistible! It was also quite natural that the jilted blacksmith

should fiercely resent--as he did--his sweetheart's faithless conduct;

and the assault which his angry excitement induced him to commit upon

his successful rival a few days previous to the wedding, was far too

severely punished, every body admitted, by the chastisement inflicted

by Mark Bridgman upon his comparatively weak and powerless assailant.

The morning after the return of the newly-married couple to Red Lodge

from a brief wedding trip, a newspaper which the bridegroom had

recently ordered to be regularly supplied was placed upon the table.

He himself was busy with breakfast, and his wife, after a while,

opened it, and ran her eye carelessly over its columns. Suddenly an

exclamation of extreme surprise escaped her, followed by--"Goodness

gracious, my dear Mark, do look here!" Mark did look, and read an

advertisement aloud, to the effect that "If Rachel Edwards, formerly

of Bath, who, in 1762, married John Merton, bandmaster of the 29th

Regiment of Infantry, and afterward kept a school in Manchester, or

any lineal descendant of hers, would apply to Messrs. Winstanley,

solicitors, Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, they would hear of something greatly

to their advantage." "Why, dear Mark," said the pretty bride, as her

husband ceased reading, "my mother's maiden name was Rachel Edwards,

and I am, as you know, her only surviving child!" "God bless me, to be

sure! I remember now hearing your father speak of it. What can this

great advantage be, I wonder? I tell you what we'll do, love," the

husband added, "you would like to see London, I know. We'll start by

coach to-night, and I'll call upon these lawyers, and find out what

it all means." This proposition was, of course, gladly acceded to.

They were gone about a fortnight, and on their return it became known

that Mark Bridgman had come into possession of £12,000 in right of his

wife, who was entitled to that sum by the will of her mother's maiden

sister, Mary Edwards, of Bath. The bride appears not to have had the

slightest suspicion that her husband had been influenced by any other

motive than her personal charms in marrying her--a pleasant illusion

which, to do him justice, his unvarying tenderness toward her through

life, confirmed and strengthened; but others, unblinded by vanity,

naturally surmised the truth. Richard Green, especially, as fully

believed that he had been deliberately, and with _malice prepense_,

tricked out of £12,000, as of the girl herself; and this conviction,

there can be no doubt, greatly increased and inflamed his rage against

Mark Bridgman--so much so that it became at last the sole thought and

purpose of his life, as to how he might safely and effectually avenge

himself of the man who was flaunting it so bravely in the world, while

he--poor duped and despised castaway--was falling lower and lower in

the world every day he lived. This was the natural consequence of

his increasingly dissolute and idle habits. It was not long before

an execution for rent swept away his scanty stock in trade, and he

thenceforth became a ragged, vagabond hanger-on about the place--seldom

at work, and as often as possible drunk; during which fits of

intemperance his constant theme was the bitter hatred he nourished

toward Bridgman, and his determination, even if he swung for it, of

being one day signally avenged. Mark Bridgman was often warned to be on

his guard against the venomous malignity of Green; but this counsel he

seems to have spurned, or treated with contempt.

While the vengeful blacksmith was thus falling into utter vagabondism,

all was sunshine at Red Lodge. Mark Bridgman really loved his pretty

and gentle, if vain-minded wife--a love deepened by gratitude, that

through her means he had been saved from insolvency and ruin; and

barely a twelvemonth of wedded life had passed, when the birth of a son

completed their happiness. This child (for nearly three years it did

not appear likely there would be any other) soon came to be the idol

of its parents--of its father, even more than of its mother. It was

very singularly marked, with two strawberries, exceedingly distinct, on

its left arm, and one, less vivid, on its right. There are two fairs

held annually at Lavenham, and one of these--when little Mark was

between three and four years old--Mr. Bridgman came in from Red Lodge

to attend, accompanied by his wife, son, and a woman-servant of the

name of Sarah Hollins. Toward evening, Mrs. Bridgman went out shopping,

escorted by her husband, leave having been previously given Hollins to

take the child through the pleasure--that is the booth and show part

of the fair; but with strict orders not to be absent more than an hour

from the inn where her master and mistress were putting up. In little

more than the specified time the woman returned, but without the child;

she had suddenly missed him, about half an hour before, while looking

on at some street-tumbling, and had vainly sought him through the town

since. The woman's tidings excited great alarm; Mr. Bridgman himself

instantly hurried off, and hired messengers were, one after another,

dispatched by the mother in quest of the missing child. As hour after

hour flew by without result, extravagant rewards, which set hundreds

of persons in motion, were offered by the distracted parents; but all

to no purpose. Day dawned, and as yet not a gleam of intelligence

had been obtained of the lost one. At length some one suggested that

inquiry should be made after Richard Green. This was promptly carried

into effect, and it was ascertained that he had not been home during

the night. Further investigation left no room for doubt that he had

suddenly quitted Lavenham; and thus a new and fearful light was thrown

upon the boy's disappearance. It was conjectured that the blacksmith

must have gone to London; and Mr. Bridgman immediately set off thither,

and placed himself in communication with the authorities of Bow Street.

Every possible exertion was used during several weeks to discover the

child, or Green, without success, and the bereaved father returned to

his home a harassed, spirit-broken man. During his absence his wife

had been prematurely confined of another son, and this new gift of

God seemed, after a while, to partially fill the aching void in the

mother's heart; but the sadness and gloom which had settled upon the

mind of her husband was not perceptibly lightened thereby. "If I knew

Mark was dead," he once remarked to the rector of Lavenham, by whom

he was often visited, "I should resign myself to his loss, and soon

shake off this heavy grief. But that, my dear sir, which weighs me

down--is in fact slowly but surely killing me--is a terrible conviction

and presentiment that Green, in order fully to work out his devilish

vengeance, will studiously pervert the nature of the child--lead him

into evil, abandoned courses--and that I shall one day see him--but I

will not tell you my dreams," he added, after stopping abruptly, and

painfully shuddering, as if some frightful spectre passed before his

eyes. "They are, I trust, mere fancies; and yet--but let us change the

subject."

This morbidly-dejected state of mind was aggravated by the morose,

grasping disposition--so entirely different from what Mr. Bridgman

had fondly prophesied of Mark--manifested in greater strength with

every succeeding year by his son Andrew, a strangely unlovable and

gloomy-tempered boy, as if the anxiety and trouble of the time during

which he had been hurried into the world had been impressed upon his

temperament and character. It may be, too, that he felt irritated at,

and jealous of his father's ceaseless repinings for the loss of his

eldest son, who, if recovered, would certainly monopolize the lion's

share of the now large family property--but not one whit _too_ large in

his--Andrew Bridgman's--opinion for himself alone.

The young man had not very long to wait for it. He had just passed his

twentieth year when his father died at the early age of forty-seven

The last wandering thoughts of the dying parent reverted to the lost

child. "Hither Mark," he faintly murmured, as the hushed mourners round

his bed watched with mute awe the last flutterings of departing life;

"hither: hold me tightly by the hand, or you may lose yourself in this

dark, dark wood." These were his last words. On the will being opened,

it was found that the whole of his estate, real and personal, had been

bequeathed to his son Andrew, charged only with an annuity of £500 to

his mother, during life. _But_, should Mark be found, the property was

to be _his_, similarly charged with respect to Mrs. Bridgman, and £100

yearly to his brother Andrew, also for life, in addition.

On the evening of the tenth day after his father's funeral, young Mr.

Bridgman sat up till a late hour examining various papers and accounts

connected with his inheritance, and after retiring to bed, the exciting

nature of his recent occupation hindered him from sleeping. While thus

lying awake, his quick ear caught a sound as of some one breaking into

the house through one of the lower casements. He rose cautiously, went

out on the landing, and soon satisfied himself that his suspicion was

a correct one. The object of the burglars was, he surmised, the plate

in the house of which there was an unusually large quantity, both his

father and grandfather having expended much money in that article of

luxury. Andrew Bridgman was any thing but a timid person--indeed,

considering that six men altogether slept in the house, there was but

little cause for fear--and he softly returned to his bedroom, unlocked

a mahogany case, took out, loaded and primed, two pistols, and next

roused the gardener and groom, whom he bade noiselessly follow him. The

burglars--three in number, as it proved--had already reached and opened

the plate-closet. One of them was standing within it, and the others

just without. "Hallo! rascals," shouted Andrew Bridgman, from the top

of a flight of stairs, "what are you doing there?"

The startled and terrified thieves glanced hurriedly round, and the two

outermost fled instantly along the passage pursued by the two servants,

one of whom had armed himself with a sharp-pointed kitchen knife. The

other was not so fortunate. He had not regained the threshold of the

closet when Andrew Bridgman fired. The bullet crashed through the

wretched man's brain, and he fell forward, stone-dead, upon his face.

The two others escaped--one of them after a severe struggle with the

knife-armed groom.

It was sometime before the uproar in the now thoroughly-alarmed

household had subsided; but at length the screaming females were

pacified, and those who had got up, persuaded to go to bed again. The

corpse of the slain burglar was removed to an out-house, and Andrew

Bridgman returned to his bedroom. Presently there was a tap at the

door. It was Sarah Hollins. "I am come to tell you something," said the

now aged woman, with a significant look. "The person you have shot is

the Richard Green you have so often heard of."

The young man, Hollins afterward said, seemed much startled by this

news, and his countenance flushed and paled in quick succession. "Are

you quite sure this is true?" he at last said.

"Quite; though he's so altered that, except, Missus, I don't know any

body else in the house that is likely to recognize him. Shall I tell

her?"

"No, no, not on any account. It would only recall unpleasant events,

and that quite uselessly. Be sure not to mention your suspicion--your

belief, to a soul."

"Suspicion! belief!" echoed the woman. "It is a certainty. But, of

course, as you wish it, I shall hold my tongue."

So audacious an attempt created a considerable stir in the locality,

and four days after its occurrence a message was sent to Red Lodge from

Bury St. Edmunds, that two men, supposed to be the escaped burglars,

were there in custody, and requesting Mr. Bridgman's and the servants'

attendance on the morrow, with a view to their identification. Andrew

Bridgman, the gardener, and groom, of course, obeyed the summons, and

the prisoners were brought into the justice-room before them. One was a

fellow of about forty, a brutal-visaged, low-browed, sinister-looking

rascal, with the additional ornament of a but partially closed

hare-lip. He was unhesitatingly sworn to by both men. The other, upon

whom, from the instant he entered, Andrew Bridgman had gazed with

eager, almost, it seemed, trembling curiosity, was a well-grown young

man of, it might be, three or four and twenty, with a quick, mild,

almost timid, unquiet, troubled look, and features originally comely

and pleasing, there could be no doubt, but now smirched and blotted

into ill favor by excess, and other evil habits. He gave the name of

"Robert Williams."

Andrew Bridgman, recalled to himself by the magistrate's voice, hastily

said "that he did not recognize this prisoner as one of the burglars.

Indeed," he added, with a swift but meaning look at the two servants,

"I am pretty sure he was not one of them." The groom and gardener,

influenced no doubt by their master's manner, also appeared doubtful

as to whether Robert Williams was one of the housebreakers. "But if he

be," hesitated the groom, hardly knowing whether he did right or wrong,

"there must be some smartish wounds on his arms, for I hit him there

sharply with the knife several times."

The downcast head of the youthful burglar was suddenly raised at these

words, and he said, quickly, while a red flush passed over his pallid

features, "Not me, not me--look, my arm-sleeves have no holes--no--"

"You may have obtained another jacket," interrupted the magistrate. "We

must see your arms."

An expression of hopeless despair settled upon the prisoner's face;

he again hung down his head in shame, and allowed the constables to

quietly strip off his jacket. Andrew Bridgman, who had gone to some

distance, returned while this was going on, and watched for what might

next disclose itself with tenfold curiosity and eagerness. "There are

stabs enough here, sure enough," exclaimed a constable, as he turned

up the shirt-sleeve on the prisoner's left arm. There were, indeed;

and in addition to them, _natural marks of two strawberries_ were

distinctly visible. The countenance of Andrew Bridgman grew ashy pale,

as his straining eyes glared upon the prisoner's naked arm. The next

moment he wrenched himself away, as with an effort, from the sight, and

staggered to an open window--sick, dizzy, fainting, it was at the time

believed, from the closeness of the atmosphere in the crowded room. Was

it not rather that he had recognized his long-lost brother--_the true

heir to the bulk of his deceased father's wealth_, against whom, he

might have thought, an indictment would scarcely lie for feloniously

entering his own house! He said nothing, however, and the two prisoners

were fully committed for trial.

Mr. Prince went down "special" to Bury, at the next assize, to defend

a gentleman accused of a grave offense, but the grand jury having

ignored the bill, he would probably have returned at once, had not

an attorney brought him a brief, very heavily marked, in defense of

"Robert Williams." "Strangely enough, too," remarked the attorney,

as he was about to go away, "the funds for the defense have been

supplied by Mr. Andrew Bridgman, whose house the prisoner is accused of

having burglariously entered. But this is confidential, as he is very

solicitous that his oddly-generous action should not be known." There

was, however, no valid defense. The ill-favored accomplice, why, I know

not, had been admitted king's evidence by the counsel for the crown,

and there was no resisting the accumulated evidence. The prisoner

was found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged. "I never intended," he

said, after the verdict was returned; and there was a tone of dejected

patience in his voice that affected one strangely, "I never intended to

commit violence against any one in the house, and but that my uncle--he

that was shot--said repeatedly that he knew a secret concerning Mr.

Bridgman (he didn't know, I am sure, that he was dead) which would

prevent us from being prosecuted if we were caught, I should not

have been persuaded to go with him. It was my first offense--in--in

housebreaking, I mean."

I had, and indeed have, some relatives in Mildenhall, in the same

county, whom, at the termination of the Bury assize, I got leave to

visit for a few days. While there, it came to my knowledge that Mr.

Andrew Bridgman, whom I had seen in court, was moving heaven and earth

to procure a commutation of the convict's sentence to transportation

for life. His zealous efforts were unsuccessful; and the Saturday

County Journal announced that Robert Williams, the burglar, would

suffer, with four others, on the following Tuesday morning. I reached

Bury on the Monday evening, with the intention of proceeding by the

London night coach, but there was no place vacant. The next morning I

could only have ridden outside, and as, besides being intensely cold,

it was snowing furiously, I determined on postponing my departure

till the evening, and secured an inside place for that purpose. I

greatly abhor spectacles of the kind, and yet, from mere idleness and

curiosity, I suffered myself to be drawn into the human stream flowing

toward "Hang Fair," and once jammed in with the crowd in front of the

place of execution, egress was, I found, impossible. After waiting a

considerable time, the death-bell suddenly tolled, and the terrible

procession appeared--five human beings about to be suffocated by human

hands, for offenses against property!--the dreadful and deliberate

sacrifice preluded and accompanied by sonorous sentences from the

Gospel of mercy and compassion! Hardly daring to look up, I saw little

of what passed on the scaffold, yet one furtive, quickly-withdrawn

glance, showed me the sufferer in whom I took most interest. He was

white as if already coffined, and the unquiet glare of his eyes was,

I noticed, terribly anxious! I did not again look up--I could not;

and the surging murmur of the crowd, as it swayed to and fro, the

near whisperings of ribald tongues, and the measured, mocking tones

of the minister, promising eternal life through the mercy of the most

high God, to wretches whom the _justice_ of man denied a few more

days or years of mortal existence--were becoming momently more and

more oppressive, when a dull, heavy sound _boomed_ through the air;

the crowd swayed violently from side to side, and the simultaneous

expiration of many pent-up breaths testified that all was over, and to

the relief experienced by the coarsest natures at the consummation of a

deed too frightful for humanity to contemplate. It was some time before

the mass of spectators began to thoroughly separate, and they were

still standing in large clusters, spite of the bitter, falling weather,

when a carriage, furiously driven, with the body of a female, who was

screaming vehemently and waving a white handkerchief, projected half

out of one of the windows, was seen approaching by the London Road.

The thought appeared to strike every one that a respite or reprieve

had come for one or more of the prisoners, and hundreds of eyes were

instantly turned toward the scaffold, only to see that if so it had

arrived too late. The carriage stopped at the gate of the building. A

lady dressed in deep mourning, was hastily assisted out by a young man

with her, similarly attired, and they both disappeared within the jail.

After some parleying, I ascertained that I had sufficient influence

to obtain admission, and a few moments afterward I found myself in

the press-room. The young man--Mr. Andrew Bridgman--was there, and

the lady, who had fallen fainting upon one of the benches, was his

mother. The attendants were administering restoratives to her, without

effect, till an inner door opened, and the under-sheriff, by whom she

was personally known, entered; when she started up and interrogated,

with the mute agony of her wet, yet gleaming eyes, the dismayed and

distressed official. "Let me entreat you, my dear madam," he faltered,

"to retire. This is a most painful--fright--"

"No--no, the truth!--the truth!" shrieked the unfortunate lady, wildly

clasping her hands, "I shall bear that best!"

"Then I grieve to say," replied the under-sheriff, "that the marks you

describe--two on the left, and one on the right arm, are distinctly

visible."

A piercing scream, broken by the words, "My son!--oh God!--my son!"

burst from the wretched mother's lips, and she fell heavily, and

without sense or motion, upon the stone floor. While the under-sheriff

and others raised and ministered to her, I glanced at Mr. Andrew

Bridgman. He was as white as the lime-washed wall against which he

stood, and the fire that burned in his dark eyes was kindled--it was

plain to me--by remorse and horror, not by grief alone.

The cause of the sudden appearance of the mother and son at the

closing scene of this sad drama was afterward thus explained:--Andrew

Bridgman, from the moment that all hope of procuring a commutation

of the sentence on the so-called Robert Williams had ceased, became

exceedingly nervous and agitated, and his discomposure seemed to but

augment as the time yet to elapse before the execution of the sentence

passed away. At length, unable longer to endure the goadings of a

tortured conscience, he suddenly burst into the room where his mother

sat at breakfast, on the very morning his brother was to die, with an

open letter in his hand, by which he pretended to have just heard that

Robert Williams was the long-lost Mark Bridgman! The sequel has been

already told.

The conviction rapidly spread that Andrew Bridgman had been from the

first aware that the youthful burglar was his own brother; and he found

it necessary to leave the country. He turned his inheritance into

money, and embarked for Charleston, America, in the bark Cleopatra,

from Liverpool. When off the Scilly Islands, the Cleopatra was chased

by a French privateer. She escaped; but one of the few shots fired at

her from the privateer was fatal to the life of Andrew Bridgman. He

was almost literally cut in two, and expired instantaneously. Some

friends to whom I have related this story deem his death an accident;

others, a judgment: I incline, I must confess, to the last opinion.

The wealth with which he embarked was restored to Mrs. Bridgman, who

soon afterward removed to London, where she lived many years--sad ones,

no doubt, but mitigated and rendered endurable by the soothing balm

of a clear conscience. At her decease, not very many years ago, the

whole of her property was found to be bequeathed to various charitable

institutions of the metropolis.

Monthly Record of Current Events

THE UNITED STATES.

Congress adjourned, _sine die_, on the 31st of August. During the

last month of its session several important public laws were passed,

and various subjects of public interest were discussed at length.

Substantial amendments to the Postage Law have been adopted, by which

the rates of postage upon printed matter sent by mail, have been

greatly reduced. The new law takes effect on the 30th of September.

After that date each newspaper, periodical, or other printed sheet

not exceeding three ounces in weight, will be sent to any part of the

United States for _one cent_--one cent additional being charged for

each additional ounce or fraction but when the postage is paid yearly

or quarterly, in advance, at the office where the paper is mailed or

delivered, _one half_ of these rates only will be charged. Newspapers

and periodicals weighing not over an ounce and a half, when circulated

within the State where they are published, will pay only half these

rates. Small newspapers and periodicals published once a month or

oftener, and pamphlets of not more than sixteen pages each, when sent

in single packages weighing at least eight ounces, to one address, and

prepaid by affixing postage-stamps thereto, are to be charged only

_half a cent_ for each ounce. The postage on all transient matter must

be prepaid by stamps or otherwise, or double the rates first mentioned

will be charged. Books weighing not over four pounds may be sent by

mail at _one cent_ an ounce for all distances under 3000 miles, and at

_two_ cents an ounce for all distances over 3000 miles, to which fifty

per cent. will be added if not prepaid. Publishers of periodicals and

newspapers are to receive their exchanges free of postage; and weekly

newspapers may also be sent to subscribers free within the county

where they are published. These are the essential provisions of the

new law: others are appended requiring the printed papers to be sent

open, without any other communications upon them than the address, and

without any other inclosures.----A bill was also passed, making large

appropriations for the improvement of rivers and harbors in various

sections of the country: the vote upon it in the Senate was 35 yeas and

23 nays: in the House of Representatives it was passed by the casting

vote of the Speaker, there being 69 votes for and 69 votes against

it. Bills were also passed providing measures of greater security for

steamboat navigation, by requiring various precautions on the part of

owners: granting to the State of Michigan land to aid the construction

of a ship canal around the Sault St. Marie, and granting lands to

the States of Arkansas and Missouri, to aid in the construction of

railroads within those States: establishing a trimonthly mail between

New Orleans and Vera Cruz: and making appropriations for the various

branches of the public service. The whole number of public acts passed

during the session was 64; of private acts 52: of joint resolutions

17. The French Spoliation bill, the bill granting public lands to the

several States, and several other measures of importance, upon which

extended debate had been had, were postponed until the next session.

On the 10th of August, the President transmitted a message to Congress,

communicating to that body all the documents relating to the dispute

concerning the Fisheries on the British Colonial coast. In the Senate,

on the 12th, Mr. Soule of Louisiana, spoke in very warm censure of the

proceedings of the English government, and criticising the measures

of the Administration as deficient in energy and determination. He

deprecated any negotiations with Great Britain on the subject, so long

as any part of her fleet should be in those waters, and predicted the

speedy separation of the Colonies from the British empire. Mr. Butler

of South Carolina, as well as several other Senators, expressed their

earnest hopes that the difficulty would be satisfactorily adjusted,

and at their suggestion the debate was postponed until the 14th, when

Mr. Seward made an extended and elaborate speech, setting forth the

whole history of our negotiations with England upon the Fisheries,

showing that England has presented no new claims, and that she has not

indicated any purpose to use force or menaces in support of pretensions

she has hitherto urged, and vindicating the President and Secretary

of State from the attacks made upon them.----On the 16th, while the

bill appropriating lands for the construction of a ship canal around

the Falls of St. Mary was under discussion, Mr. Cass supported it on

the ground of its being essential to the defenses of the country in

time of war, and took occasion to say he would have no objection to

the annexation of Canada and the acquisition of Cuba, if these objects

could be accomplished without a war. Mr. Douglas spoke also in favor

of the grant for the work, not as a necessary means of defense, but

for the purpose of augmenting the value of the public lands lying

further to the west: he said that he would not vote a donation of money

for such a purpose, but would support a bill granting public lands.

A motion to substitute $400,000, instead of land, was rejected by a

vote of 21 to 32: and the bill was passed in its original form.----On

the 17th, a message was received from the President, in reply to a

resolution offered a day or two previously by Senator Seward, inquiring

whether any proposition had been made to the United States by the

King of the Sandwich Islands, to transfer the sovereignty of those

islands to the United States. The President declines to communicate any

information on the subject, since to do so would be incompatible with

the public interest. Mr. Seward then offered a resolution providing

for the appointment of a Commissioner, to inquire into the expediency

of opening negotiations upon that subject. The resolution and the

message was referred to the Committee on Foreign Relations.----On

the 23d, while the River and Harbor Bill was under debate, Senator

Douglas offered a resolution giving the States power to levy tonnage

duties upon their commerce, for the purpose of carrying on works of

internal improvement. He supported this proposition at length. Mr. Cass

opposed it on the ground that the duties thus levied would in fact be

paid by the agricultural consumers. Mr. Smith of Connecticut opposed

it, because it would throw the whole burden of these duties upon the

farmers of the West. The amendment was rejected by 17 to 25.

On the 28th, in reply to a resolution, a Message was received from

the President, transmitting sundry documents relating to the right of

foreign nations to take guano from the Lobos islands, off the coast

of Peru. On the 2d of June, Captain Jewett wrote to Mr. Webster,

inquiring whether these islands were the possession of any single

power, or whether they were open to the commerce of the world. Mr.

Webster replied that the islands were uninhabited, that they had never

been enumerated among the possessions or dependencies of any of the

South American states, and that citizens of the United States would

be protected in removing the valuable deposits upon them. At the same

time the Secretary of the Navy ordered a vessel of war to be dispatched

for the protection of American vessels engaged in this traffic. Under

these assurances Captain Jewett and his associates fitted out some

twenty vessels which were immediately dispatched to the islands in

question. Mr. Webster's letter to Captain Jewett, meantime, having

accidentally been made public, the Peruvian Minister, Senor Osma, in

three successive notes, represented to the Government that the Lobos

islands were dependencies of Peru, and that the United States could

have no rightful claim to remove their valuable deposits. Mr. Webster

replied to this claim on the 21st of August, by an elaborate argument

showing that Peru had hitherto, by repeated acts, sustained the

position that the islands do not belong to any of the South American

states. They lie about thirty miles from the shore, and are uninhabited

and uninhabitable. Citizens of the United States have visited them

in pursuit of seals for half a century; and no complaint was made

of this until 1833, when Peru issued a decree forbidding foreigners

from visiting them for any such purpose. The United States Chargé at

Lima immediately remonstrated against this decree, and requested its

modification, so far as to permit citizens of the United States to

continue pursuits in which they had been engaged for so many years. No

reply was made to this remonstrance, and the citizens of the United

States continued their avocations without any further interruption. Mr.

Webster insists, therefore, that while these islands lie in the open

ocean, so far from the coast of Peru as not to belong to that country

by the law of proximity or adjacent position, the Government of Peru

has not exercised any such acts of absolute sovereignty and ownership

over them as to give to her a right to their exclusive possession as

against the United States and their citizens by the law of indisputable

possession. The Government of the United States is, however, disposed

to give due consideration to all the facts of the case, and the

President will therefore give such orders to the naval forces on that

coast as will prevent collision until the case can be examined.

An important report was made in the Senate, on the 30th of August, by

Mr. Mason, of Virginia, from the Committee on Foreign Relations, upon

the subject of the right of way across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec,

granted to Don Jose de Garay, in March, 1842, by Santa Anna, then

vested with supreme power as President of Mexico. The report, after

mentioning this grant, and the stipulation contained in it that he,

as well as any private individual or company succeeding him, native

or foreign, should be protected in undisturbed enjoyment of all the

concessions granted, states that on the 9th of February, 1843, a decree

was issued by General Bravo, who had succeeded to the Presidency,

recognizing and affirming this grant, and directing the departments of

Oaxaca and Vera Cruz to put Garay in possession of the lands ceded to

him by its provisions. On the 6th of October, 1843, Santa Anna, being

restored to power, issued a further decree, directing the departments

to furnish 300 convicts to be employed on the work; and by another

decree of December 28, 1843, the time for commencing it was extended

a year--until July 1, 1845. In November, 1846, General Salas, having,

by the course of revolution, become invested with supreme power as

Dictator, promulgated a decree, extending the time still further,

namely, until November 5, 1848; and the work was actually commenced

prior to that date. This is the history of the grant so long as it

remained in the hands of Garay. During the year 1846 various contracts

were entered into by which he transferred the grant, with all its

rights and privileges, to Messrs. Manning and Mackintosh, subjects of

Great Britain: and on the 28th of September, 1848, these contracts

were formally recognized and consummated at the city of Mexico. On the

5th of February, 1848, this grant was assigned to Peter A. Hargous,

a citizen of the United States, who subsequently entered into a

contract to assign the same to certain citizens of New Orleans, on

terms intended to secure the capital necessary to execute the work.

In December, 1850, a party of engineers was sent out by the American

assignees, to complete the necessary surveys--who continued so employed

until the month of June following, when they were ordered by the

Mexican government to discontinue the work and leave the country--a

law having been passed by the Mexican Congress, and approved by the

President, May 22, 1851, declaring the Garay grant to be null and

void. Upon this statement of facts concerning the origin and history

of the grant, the Report proceeds to show that its validity had been

repeatedly recognized by the Mexican government. In 1846, President

Herrera issued orders to prevent cutting mahogany from these lands. In

1847, while the treaty of peace was under discussion, Mr. Trist, by

direction of our Government, offered a large sum for the right of way

across the Isthmus; and was answered that "Mexico could not treat of

this subject because she had, several years before, made a grant to one

of her own citizens, who had transferred his right, by authorization

of the Mexican government, to English subjects, of whose right Mexico

could not dispose." After the assignment of the grant to American

citizens, moreover, the Mexican government issued orders to the

Governors of the Departments, directing them to afford all needed aid

to the engineers, who were accordingly sent, the ports thrown open for

their supplies, and over a hundred thousand dollars was expended upon

the work. Negotiations for a treaty of protection to the workmen were

also opened, and the draft of a Convention was concluded at Mexico,

in June, 1850, and sent to the United States. Certain modifications

being suggested at Washington, this draft was returned to our Minister

in Mexico and a new Convention was signed January 28, 1851, with the

approval of President Herrera. This convention was ratified by the

Senate of the United States, and returned to Mexico, and finally

rejected by the Mexican Congress, in April, 1852.--It is not pretended

that this rejection of the Convention affects in the slightest degree

the validity of the grant. The sole ground upon which its annulment is

claimed, is, that the decree of Salas of November, 1846, extending the

time for commencing the work, was null and void, inasmuch as he held

the supreme power by usurpation, or that he transcended his powers.

"Respect for the Mexican Government alone," says the Report, "restrains

the Committee from treating of this position in the terms it deserves."

The government of Salas was acknowledged and submitted to by the people

of Mexico:--his decrees, this one included, were submitted to the

Congress--and not one of them was ever approved by Congress, nor was

his authority ever questioned at any other time, or in reference to

any other decree. "The doctrine that the Government _de facto_ is the

Government responsible, has been fully recognized by Mexico herself, in

the case of the Dictatorship of Salas, as of those who preceded him. It

is a principle of universal law governing the intercourse of nations,

with each other and with individuals, and this Government can not, nor

ought not, treat with indifference a departure from it by Mexico in the

present instance." The report concludes by referring to the unfriendly

feeling which the proceedings of Mexico indicate toward the United

States, and by recommending the adoption of the following resolutions:

"_Resolved_, As the judgment of the Senate, that in the present posture

of the question on the grant of a right of way through the territory

of Mexico at the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, conceded by that Republic to

one of its citizens, and now the property of citizens of the United

States, as the same is presented by the correspondence and documents

accompanying the Message of the President, it is not compatible with

the dignity of this Government to prosecute the subject further by

negotiation.

"_Second_, Should the Government of Mexico propose a renewal of such

negotiations, it should be acceded to only upon distinct propositions

from Mexico, not inconsistent with the demands made by this Government

in reference to said grant.

"_Third_, That the Government of the United States stands committed to

all its citizens to protect them in their rights abroad, as well as at

home, within the sphere of its jurisdiction; and should Mexico, within

a reasonable time, fail to reconsider her position concerning this

grant, it will then become the duty of this Government to review all

existing relations with that Republic, and to adopt such measures as

will revive the honor of the country and the rights of its citizens."

In Louisiana a new Constitution has been prepared by a State

Convention, which introduces several new features of importance into

the fundamental law of that state. The right of suffrage and of

eligibility to office has been considerably enlarged. Every free,

white male citizen of the United States, over twenty-one years of age,

who has resided in the State a year, and in the parish six months

previous to the election, is a qualified voter; and every qualified

voter is eligible to either branch of the Legislature. The Legislature

is to hold annual sessions--elections being held biennially.--The

Judges of the Supreme Court and of all the inferior courts are made

elective;--the Supreme Court is to consist of a Chief Justice and

four associates--their term of office to be ten years. The credit of

the State may be pledged for corporations formed for the purpose of

making internal improvements within the State, by subscriptions of

Stock, or by loans to the extent of one-fifth of the capital. All

Corporations with banking or discounting privileges are prohibited, as

are all special laws for creating Corporations. Banking and discounting

associations may be created either by general or special laws--but

ample security must be required for the redemption of their notes

in specie. The Constitution may be amended by the concurrence of

two-thirds of the members elected to both Houses, and a ratification of

the people at the next election, by a vote on every proposed amendment

taken separately. The new Constitution is to be submitted to the vote

of the people on the first Tuesday of November.