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66

Right Honourable,

"I have received a trumpeter of yours, as he tells me, without a pass, to surrender Home-Castle to the Lord General Cromwell. Please you, I never saw your General. As for Home-Castle, it stands upon a rock. Given at Home-Castle this day, before seven of the clock. So resteth without prejudice to my native country, your most humble servant, "W. COCKBURN." And soon after he sent the Colonel these verses :

66 I, William of the Wastle, Am now in my castle; And aw the dogs in the town Sha'nt gar me gang down." But he did not long continue in this merry mood; for Fenwick, having planted a battery against the castle, and made a small breach, as the English were just about to enter, Cockburn beat a parley; but the Colonel could only allow quarter for life; which being accepted, the governor, with his garrison, being seventy-eight officers and soldiers, marched out of the castle, which Captain Collinson with his company immediately entered, to keep it for the Parliament. GROSE'S Antiquities.

THE MARTIAL FAIRY.

A TEA-TABLE TALE.

(From the French.)

"What! are you but mortal? I should never Have guessed it-I took you at the very least For a benevolent genii.'

The Fisherman's Daughter.

DURING the war waged by the German coalition in 1792-3, against France, at that time under the tyranny of the national convention, the generals of the invading armies were represented by the Jacobins as ferocious and vindictive monsters, whose mission was destruction, and who pillaged and plundered without mercy. Hostilities are never so merciless after a long peace, as they become when the soldier is inured to the horrors of war through a long series of successive campaigns. The object of the princes of the coalition was to re-establish the royal authority at Paris; and as you wander among the vine-clad hills, and rural hamlets of Champagne, you will find that the great majority of the German officers have contrived to endear their memories to the simple affections of the inhabitants, wherever they were quartered. (It was not thus, at the

epoch of the angry and revengeful invasion which terminated in the overthrow of Napoleon, in 1814; men's minds were then embittered by nearly a quarter of a century of war, and the invaders had personal and national wrongs to redress). But we must not wander from the Germans, who, in 1792, encamped in Champagne to crush the cradle of the yet tottering republic; and our readers shall be treated to one of the legends of that period.

One cold morning in autumn, a German officer of rank entered a pretty house in a village garrisoned by the Allied forces. The hostess, a kind and simplehearted woman of the middle class, courteously bade him welcome, as his noble features and bland manners were a guarantee that, wherever he was, none of those discomforts inseparable from military occupation would be permitted to occur. "I am very sorry, madame," said he, "to cause you any inconvenience, and I assure you that my presence shall be rendered as agreeable to you as possible." The lady of the house, delighted by his gracious introduction, expressed, as forcibly as she could, the lively satisfaction it gave her to receive so gentlemanly a person under her roof, and issued orders to her servant to arrange the foreign general's apartment in the most comfortable manner. These preliminaries being finished, the soldier asked for breakfast.

The general always took tea at breakfast, and his valet carried the tea-caddy to the mistress of the house, and begged her to prepare it for him, which she promised. She seemed to be engaged an unusually long time in getting this most simple repast, as the stranger several times requested to know if his meal was ready. To these demands the good lady always replied "It will be all ready in three minutes, my lord."

At last, to his great surprise, he saw them bring into his apartment a table regularly laid out with cloth, napkins, forks and spoons, plates and bottles. He thought, at first, that that was the way they drank tea in Champagne, but his astonishment increased when he saw the landlady make her appearance with a dish of boiled herbs, nicely garnished with small broiled sausages.

She had thus cooked all the tea she could find in the caddy. The good woman, who was ignorant of the use of tea, had served it as she would a dish of spinach; she had boiled it well, put it in a cullender to drain off

the water, which she threw away; and then in order to display her taste to her guest and to improve upon his usual meal, she had flanked his dish of herbs with the savoury and delicately broiled

sausages.

The stranger was a good-hearted soul, and instead of flying out into a rage at such a novel mode of making tea, he laughed till his sides ached; and having explained to his hostess the proper preparation, he invited himself to breakfast with her and her family on their country fare. She was a widow, and her family consisted of an interesting and gentle girl of sixteen, a son about twentyfour, who seemed in very low spirits, and her own sister, rather advanced in years. The stranger's demeanour towards the young lady, although she was only a rustic, was distinguished by that polite and frank gallantry which is peculiar to all well educated Germans. But he quickly perceived that the young man, whose name was Marcel, was depressed, and quite silent. His eyes were remarkably fine, and this only made the deep melancholy of his looks the more particular. At his mother's first glance, he hastened to pay to their guest, with momentary cheerfulness and cordiality, all those attentions which of necessity are so many and so various in a citizen's family when entertaining a stranger of high degree. He put a bottle of Aï upon the table, which the stranger seemed to drink with undisguised relish.

When the repast was over, the general with that benevolence of accent which denotes that a person has sounded the depths of your heart, but is fearful to tear open its wounds, said to Marcel"Do you believe in fairies my young friend?"

"I did once, my lord," replied the

youth, sadly.

"But are you an infidel on that subject now?"

"Yes, I am sure of that," rejoined his mother, "he thinks of nothing but a sweetheart of his that once was.'

"A sweetheart, mother! say rather a passion, that can only cease with my life. But why speak of it now?"

So saying, Marcel made a movement as if to leave the table.

"Don't give way to despair, my fine fellow," observed the stranger, preventing him from rising. "You perceive that although my breakfast was lost, I succeeded in obtaining one. Where is your lady-love at present?"

"At Brussels," said the mother, peevishly.

"At Brussels," exclaimed the general, and he drank a glass of the glorious liquid of the country. "At Brussels!" repeated he. "Now suppose I were a fairy. . . . and that I were to set off to Brussels immediately ?"

The mother, her sister, and daughter, began to laugh, and even the servant was obliged to bite her lips to restrain her merriment. The young man alone preserved his gravity. He sat with open mouth and staring eyes—and his breast heaved with violent agitation.

"Are you going to Brussels, my lord?" "I am," replied the stranger; "and I think I could assist you in your wishes, if you would make me your confidant; unless, indeed, you are in love with another man's wife, or that your beloved is a king's daughter."

"Oh!" cried the youth, "she is better than any princess."

"The deuse!" said the stranger, starting up, 'you will put my power to a hard test."

"I beg your pardon for indulging in such ill-timed raptures. My adored is only a merchant's daughter, who lives on the grand square. But she is so beautiful, so ravishing, so exquisite, so divine, that my heart runs riot when I think of her. Why is she not as poor as I am? I then might have some hopes of her hand."

"Does she love you?"

"The youth looked at the stranger with a singularly anxious expression. After a moment's silence, he added and sighed, "you know very well that there are no fairies now.' "But suppose there were," said the for her portion. I was his book-keeper; general.

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"Ah! if indeed there were!" and Marcel's fine eyes sparkled.

"Young man," observed the general, "if a fairy were here, I am sure you would have some highly-cherished favour to beg of her!"

"It is very true, my lord," said Marcel, and blushed.

"She does, my lord. But her father intends to give her sixty thousand franes

but when he perceived my feelings towards his daughter, he dismissed me, for I have nothing of my own. I fell sick, and was taken to St. John's hospital; and it is now two months since my mother took me from thence, and brought me home, much against my will."

"And have you heard anything of your mistress ?"

"There is the misery of my fate. Her father compels her to marry another."

"Then her feelings towards you are changed ?"

"Can she disobey her father? Poor Louise! She is to marry a wealthy banker."

"Very well," said the stranger, "I was not joking. Pack up your trunk; I will take you with me to Brussels."

The young man bounded up in an ecstasy of delight. There appeared to him to be something superhuman in the tone and manner of their guest, who all the while emptied his glass in the quietest manner in the world. The good woman, who knew not what to make of the affair, thought it best to let things take their course, and in two hours Marcel and his patron were on the high-road to Brussels.

The foreign general alighted at the Hotel de la Paix, in the street La Violette. Marcel instantly hurried to the church of St. Nicholas, on the door of which he saw the banns of his adored Louise published. The marriage was to be solemnized in eight days. "She must have forgotten me, then!" sighed he; for while he persuaded himself that she dared not oppose her father's will, he could not resist the impulse of jealousy and distrust.

He returned to the hotel. The stranger had already engaged for him, in the street La Violette, a handsomely furnished apartment, into which he inducted him, saying, "This is the first stroke of my fairy wand."

"Now, my young friend," resumed the good general with a sigh, "be of good courage; I have ascertained that your mistress is ill. For the last month she has been confined to her bed. It is perfectly true that she is tenderly attached to you, and that she is about to be sacrificed by her family. I am going to see her, for I am a bit of a physician; and I fancy I know how to cure her." Marcel was so surprised, that he had only strength to utter-"Oh! do cure her, my good lord!"

He gave himself up to a thousand incoherent reveries, to the wildest apprehensions and to the most delicious anticipations; while the stranger, guided by the hotel-keeper, was introduced to Louise's father as a celebrated German physician. The merchant, who thought that is daughter's case was not properly treated by the city medical men, welcomed the strange doctor with eagerness,

and instantly conducted him to his daughter's bed-side. There was such a smile of good-humour and kindness on his features, that the young girl, as if she had been affected by some inward sympathy, held out her hand to him involuntarily, before he had even requested to feel her pulse. He leaned towards her, and spoke a few words to her in a low tone, which had the effect of suffusing her face with the deepest blushes. soon withdrew, enjoining certain prescriptions to be observed until his next visit.

He

After his departure Louise got better and better. She took the simple and harmless lemonade which the doctor had recommended; rose from her bed, for the first time for some weeks, and her father was transported with joy.

The pretended physician paid another visit. He took her father aside. "Your child," said he, "is seriously ill-what I have given her is nothing but a soothing draught. If her wishes are thwarted, and you persist in these intended nuptials, it will be her death."

"But the connexion is a most advantageous one," urged the merchant. "Very likely; but has she not another suitor?"

"Yes; but he is a poor youth, without fortune or interest."

"What sum do you look for with your son-in-law?"

"Sixty thousand francs at least, as I give my daughter that sum."

Are you

"All's right, then; your acquaintance Marcel has just received that amount." "Is he worth that sum? sure that he has got sixty thousand francs? In that event, the case is materially altered; he is a worthy and excellent young man, inspired by feelings of probity, and possessed of useful business talents; but are you sure he has got that sum ?"

"Here it is, and it is his property," said the stranger, handing the merchant a pocket book containing bank bills to that amount. Marcel was sent for; then a notary; then came the signing of the contract; and Louise was all at once restored to health, although she looked interestingly pale and languid for some time.

The wedding was celebrated with joy, with magnificence; and with the truest and most expansive feelings of love and gratitude, Marcel flung himself at his patron's feet, and his speechless emotion prevented the utterance of his thanks. He requested to know the name of his

generous friend. The noble stranger answered, "It is quite sufficient for you to recognize in me a fairy, as I told you I was. You owe me nothing; for I have enjoyed the inappreciable satisfaction of making two hearts happy. Always remember that great events spring from very trifling causes; and that, most assuredly, you never would have wedded the wife that is so dear to you, if your mother had known how to make tea.".

So saying, he tore himself away from his friend Marcel's outpouring of gratitude, and enthusiastic assurances of respectful attachment. The young man could not, for a long time, learn his name. He engaged in commerce, and some years afterwards he encountered his benefactor at Gotha, and discovered that he was the duke of Saxe-Coburg, the father of the present king of the Belgians.

HUMANITY OF NAPOLEON.

During the war, a young English sailor, seized with an ardent desire to return to his native country, escaped from a depôt, and succeeded in making his way to the sea-coast in the neighbourhood of Boulogne, where he concealed himself in the woods. His eager desire to return home suggested to him the idea of making a little boat, to enable him to reach some of the English cruisers, which he spent the greater part of the day in watching from the tops of the trees on the sea-shore. He was seized just in the moment when he was about to put to sea with his little boat, and to make a desperate attempt to regain his liberty. He was imprisoned on suspicion of being a spy or a robber. This circumstance reached the ears of Napoleon, who was then at Boulogne, and he felt a curiosity to see the boat of which he had heard so much. When it was shewn to him he could not bring himself to believe that any rational being would have ventured to sea in it. He ordered the sailor to be brought to him, when the young man declared that he really intended to escape with the aid of his boat, and the only favour he asked was permission to execute his project. "You appear very eager to return to England," said the emperor ; 66 perhaps you have left a sweetheart behind you."—"No," replied the young man, "but I have a mother at home, who is old and infirm, and I am anxious to return to her." "Well, you shall return," said Napoleon; and immediately ordered that the young man should be provided with new clothes, and sent on board the first English crui

ser that might appear in sight. He also directed that he should be provided with a small sum of money, as a present to his mother-remarking, "that she must be a good mother to have so good a son."

MARGARET LAMBRUN.

THE husband of Margaret Lambrun having died of grief occasioned by the death of his mistress, Mary Queen of Scots, Margaret formed the resolution to avenge the deaths of her husband and mistress upon Elizabeth. To accomplish her purpose, she assumed a man's habit, and repaired to the English court; but as she was pushing through a crowd, to get near the queen, she dropped one of her pistols. This being observed, she was seized, and brought before Elizabeth, who examined her strictly; when Margaret replied, "Madam, though I appear in this habit, I am a woman; I was several years in the service of Queen Mary, whom you have unjustly put to death. You have also caused that of my husband, who died of grief to see that innocent queen perish so iniquitously. Now, as I had the greatest affection for both, I resolved to revenge their deaths by killing you. efforts to divert my resolution from this design, but in vain."

'I have made many

The queen heard this avowal with calmness, and answered: “ You are then persuaded that in this action you have done your duty, and satisfied the demands which your love for your mistress and your husband required from you; but what, think you, is my duty to you?"

Margaret asked if this question was put as a queen, or a judge; and on her Majesty saying as a queen, "Then," said Margaret, "your Majesty ought to grant me a pardon."

"But what assurance can you give me," returned the queen, "that you will not repeat the attempt?"

"Madam," replied Margaret, "a favour which is granted under restraint is no more a favour; and in so doing, your Majesty would act against me as a judge."

The queen was so struck with her behaviour, that she gave her a pardon, and safe-conduct out of the kingdom.

G. M. J.

PREJUDICE.-When we begin to form a better opinion of one against whom we had conceived a strong prejudice, we seem to discover in every feature, in his voice, and manner, fresh marks of good disposition, to which we were before strangers.-Silvio Pellico.

LONDON:

Published by Effingham Wilson, Junior, 16, King William Street, London Bridge, Where communications for the Editor (post paid) will be received.

(Printed by Manning and Smithson, Ivy Lane.]

OF FICTION, POETRY, HISTORY, AND GENERAL LITERATURE. No. 112.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 1836.

Price Two-Pence.

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Nor think to village swains alone,
Are these unearthly terrors known;
For not to rank nor sex confined
Is this vain ague of the inind.

Marmion.

I was but fourteen years of age when I left home, with nearly all my wealth tied in a handkerchief. My mother blessed me when we separated. The beauty of a May morning drove not away the remembrance of the tear which stole down her care-worn cheek as she turned round to hide it from me, and re-entered her lonely cottage. But ne cessity compelled me to leave her; and I sallied forth among the green villages of merry England, in quest of employment as a basket-maker.

I have travelled through nearly every county in my native land-have seen its venerable abbeys-its castles, famous in our legends-its fields, sacred through

P. 90.

the brave blood that they have drank in -and its villages, celebrated for their beautiful scenery. I have mingled with English peasants, danced round their May-poles, shared their glee at harvesthomes, Christmas feasts, and wakes, and listened to their legends of

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'Spirits of earth, and goblins damn'd."

I know nothing of the peasantry of other countries, respecting their belief in the super-natural, but in England they are universally superstitious. Our ancestors have ever been famous for their belief in the marvellous, and this in a great measure accounts for the existence of so many tales of the terrible, in the agricultural districts. When we consider that the son follows the precepts of the father, hoards up his traditions, and again deals them out to his companions; and that new customs and new creeds but rarely enter into our retired hamlets, we need not wonder at their long con

tinuance.

From a child I was superstitious. I read Pilgrim's Progress when very young; and when wandering home in the dark, trembled lest Giant-Despair

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