agony or rage. And thus, with only the interruption of his fitful slumbers, did he pass the hours in ceaseless raving; and, even when sleeping, he would occasionally burst forth as though his dreams were not wholly exempt from that mental distress he woke but to again endure. The days and seasons were all alike to him,-his heart-rending voice startling the stillness of a summer's evening, or mingling it awful unison with the wailings of the winter's storm. His condition suggested this train of thought. At the time we write of, all Europe was in a ferment. The armies of France spread consternation before them. Monarchs and nations trembled at the approach of that mighty one, whose "iron tread woke earthquakes where he stept." Thrones and constitutions were uprooted and overthrown; while exiled princes in envy beheld the dreaded Napoleon surmount the summit of his glory. Contrast with this wondrous conqueror, for one instant, the miserable lunatic,-both endued with humanity, both immortal beings,—both subjected to the ills of life, both destined to fulfil his course, and occupy his station among the children of the earth;-the one born to startle a world-the other to waste an existence in the wild sensations of distorted intellectboth at this moment in the grave. O inscrutable Providence, thy ways are indeed past finding out! Another thought struck us. At that time, in distant lands, sun after sun gilded with its parting rays the battle-field, purpled with the lifeblood of the brave, and sank in the west amid the shouts of victory, the shrieks of the dying, or the silence of the dead. But little dreamt the madman of these awful scenes. Ever in the abstraction of his own fevered fancies did he pour forth his frenzy unheeded and alone; and yet the same setting suns rested for a while on his narrow cell, giving even its rude walls a semblance of brightness. He has long passed away, and lives but in the memory of a few; and we cannot but think that the music of angels burst with more than usual rapture on the ear of one so long accustomed to hear only the maddening echoes of his own raving, A LINCOLNSHIRE TALE. Ir was with no ordinary feelings of disgust, that I found myself on Christmas eve, after a long day's snipe-shooting, wandering about a large fen in Lincolnshire, having entirely lost my way, and utterly unable, from the Cimerian darkness which was gathering round me, to discover my way home, or any habitation which might serve me as shelter for the night. In vain did I summon philosophy to my aid; for however excellent the science may be in circumstances of great misfortune, it did little to appease an appetite which every minute was increasing in power, or the cold which was threatening to remove some of the characteristic features in my face. Under these circumstances, it may well be imagined with what delight I saw a light glimmering in the distance, and the despondency and exultation which took possession of me as I alternately approached or lost sight of this beacon. After wading through a most disagreeable extent of marsh, I reached a miserable hovel, which candour forbids my dignifying with the title of cottage, and proceeded to walk round and round it, in the vain attempt of discovering a door: having most completely failed in this, I sat myself down and proceeded to howl a petition to any inmate who might inhabit the curious edifice. After continuing my melody for at least ten minutes, I at last heard a growling sound, and saw a board which I had not remarked, sliding up. I could not resist starting at the apparition which greeted me; it was an old and miserable-looking woman, whose haggard looks seemed to indicate approaching death: the sunken eye flashed with unnatural brilliancy; and her hair, which was perfectly white, hung in masses about her hollow cheeks. She was miserably dressed in a huge frieze coat bound round with a piece of rope. In a screeching voice she demanded what I meant by disturbing folks at this time of night, and proceeded to question the respectability of my pursuit. I gathered all my remaining energies to plead my cause, and implored her to allow me to sit by the miserable peat fire, which the half-opened door allowed me to catch a glimpse of. My eloquence seemed to make little or no impression, and it was with despair that I saw the door about to close, when, pulling out my purse, it acted with talismanic power, and she invited me to walk in. I will endeavour to give, shortly, the account she gave me of her miserable life of sin, losing much of its interest by my inability to render the passionate manner of the narrator, and the sudden bursts of natural eloquence which served to dignify events which had caused her to become an outcast from the society even of the most degraded of mankind. She told me her name was Esther Hayes, and that her father had once been a very rich farmer. By the discovery of some fraudulent practices in the management of property confided to his care, he lost the esteem of his neighbours, and gradually was reduced to utter ruin. Of a naturally violent temper, he now became desperate, and, after causing his wife, by his brutality, to die broken-hearted, he retired, with his daughter Esther, to the miserable hovel to which I had so unwillingly been admitted. She had inherited, to the fullest extent, the diabolical wickedness of her father, and united with him, heart and soul, in the projects of vengeance which he meditated against those who had been the means of revealing his frauds. This disposition was most powerfully aided by her extraordinary beauty, which was such, that by the common people it was considered as something almost magical; and by her usually gentle demeanour, she exercised no common power among them. Many was the execution she had delayed, and loan obtained by the soft, imploring look, she so well assumed; and few could be found, even among those most attached to the pursuit of wealth, able to resist her intercession. Among the farmers in the neighbourhood, none bore a higher character than John Lane; and being possessed of a flourishing farm and a prepossessing person, he was looked upon as a most eligible match by all the young girls, and many were the kind invitations and winning looks that greeted him. His evil destiny caused him to meet with Esther Hayes, and from that moment his fate was sealed. He constantly visited the father, who welcomed his proposals, as did his daughter, and Lane was for the time perfectly happy. One evening, on his visiting Esther, he was surprised at the unusual solemnity marked in the countenance of his future father-in-law. Upon his questioning them as to the cause of it, the old man revealed to him the project he had of firing the stacks of almost all the neighbouring farmers, many of whom were Lane's near relations. He was naturally horrified at this design, and threatened Hayes with instant detection. To this the old man coolly replied, he might please himself,—that he had made up his mind, and that no man should ever have his daughter who refused to support the father's enterprise. He then left Lane alone with Esther, who in the most impassioned manner implored him not to ruin his own and her happiness by refusing her father's request,-showing him, with the cunning that characterised her, the impossibility of detection, and planning for the future a long life of happiness. The infatuated young man listened long to her words, and at last became insensible to everything but the danger of losing the beautiful Esther, who, excited by the desire of vengeance, had never with greater success exerted her powers of pleasing. By her father's own request, he remained at the cottage that night, and when he rose in the morning Esther had obtained by the sacrifice of her virtue, Lane's promise to partake in all Hayes' criminal projects. It would be tedious to trace in detail the progress Lane made in crime. It will be sufficient that he at last was traced from the scene of one of the most destructive fires to Hayes' house, and they both were seized and conveyed to prison to wait their trial at the approaching Assizes. It was at this period that the character of Esther became thoroughly known. From the simple, gentle country girl, she changed to the cunning, intriguing woman. She went about with indefatigable energy collecting evidence to prove an alibi in her father's case, never bestowing a single thought upon the unfortunate Lane. The trial came on, and never had any case produced more interest than that of Lane and Hayes. Throughout the country it was felt highly necessary that decisive measures should be taken to check the progress of incendiarism—such cold-blooded villainy could not go unpunished-from the ease with which detection was avoided the crime was becoming every day more frequent, and sentence of death was fully expected. At the same time the whole history of Lane was calculated to move compassion-his former character and his violent attachment to Esther were well known-every effort was being made in his favor, and on the day of trial, the court-house was crowded. The counsel for the defence employed all his eloquence in Lane's case, but with little success, for at the termination of the trial, he was sentenced to death. The efforts of Esther, aided by law chicanery, succeeded far better, and caused Hayes to escape with only a short imprisonment; and there was a fiendish look of triumph observable on the faces of both father and daughter during the time that the sentence was being pronounced. Lane, after passing his time in religious conferences with the chaplain of the gaol, went to execution with a look of sorrowful resignation, though a deadly paleness spread over his face, and the tear started in his eye as he saw Esther laughing and talking amongst the crowd, the only heart which did not feel sympathy in his untimely fate. We must pass over years in Esther's history; her father had connected himself with a band of smugglers, and had been shot in an encounter with the coast-guard. Esther herself had betrayed him, and was the cause of his death. She then left the country, and married a private in some regiment which was going to the West Indies. She there was remarkable for the violence of her temper, and the constant quarrels which she promoted; and, on the death of her husband, returned to the scene of her crimes,-an object of abhorrence to all who knew the history of her crimes; and, as 1 afterwards learned, remained in the miserable habitation in which I found her; till increasing infirmities, and the excessive use of spirits, caused her to end her days in a madhouse. THE BLACKBIRD IN NOVEMBER. This bird is often heard to sing at so late a time in South Devonshire. 'Tis sweet to hear, 'mid Autumn's dreary day, The plaintive blackbird or the thrush's lay, Are heard his springtide tones, that once were gay; MY DEAR FROM OUR INDIAN CORRESPONDENT. I hope you do not think that my newly-reached pinnacle of greatness, namely, the much-to-be envied situation of a Civilian, has driven the recollection of old college friends completely out of my head. In order to prove this to you, I have just ordered my magnificent new hookah to be brought, and am preparing with all the Oriental luxury round me which I can summon-and, I can assure you, being luxurious here is rather a complicated and laborious task-to give you, as I promised, some account of my passage out, and first sensations on landing at this our land of promise. To any one of a less indolent disposition than myself, the long voyage by sea is dreadfully monotonous, but you know me well enough to remember that I can surround myself with an atmosphere of imagination and divine tobacco, and when others imagine me fast asleep, hold communion most agreeably with my thoughts,-besides which, I always have held as my opinion, that the slower the steps with which Time passes by, the more decorous and graceful does the old gentleman appear. |