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that subservience to the wishes of his lady, which is, for the most part, the characteristic of Spanish husbands.

Satisfied that the case was as he had supposed it to be, he begged her a thousand pardons for his former ill-treatment, and vowed that in future he would condemn her for no fault of which he did not witness the commission. In some sort, as an earnest of the liberality of his intentions, he gave her permission to go out when and to whatever place she pleased, promising to pester her no more as to how she had employed each. moment of her absence.

The first use Marina made of this carte-blanche was to set out in search of her two friends, whom she found extremely anxious to have her pretensions examined with all due expedition. Having explained the circumstance that had delayed the attainment of her views so many weeks, the whole trio repaired together to the residence of the Count de Crapesa, and having related to him the several expedients, by means of which they had completely cured their husbands of the vices of avarice, drunkenness, and jealousy, he addressed them in these words: • Fair ladies, the diamond you found on the day of the Feast of St. Blas, and which has been the means of stimulating you to such extraordinary exertions of your ingenuity, was lost by me a few minutes before it fell into your hands. It is worth two hundred pistoles, and I believe I promised to increase the premium one hundred more. Now, as the task of attempting to distinguish between three ladies of so much ingenuity and wit is difficult, if not impossible; to say nothing of the invidiousness of comparisons where all are excellent, I beg you will divide the contents of this purse amongst you, and believe me when I affirm, that I never in my life before parted with my money with such perfect satisfaction. Having united in returning their thanks to the Count de Crapesa, the Merry Wives of Madrid repaired to their several homes, resolving to lay aside the God-send they had received for their own especial use and advantage whenever they might wish for any thing which their husbands refused to purchase for them. Nor was the possession of a pecuniary gratuity their only reward. The steward having acquired an independence sufficient to enable him to set business at defiance, withdrew himself from his master's employ, and purchased an elegant little country villa ; the painter was led to abjure debauchery and drunken companions altogether, and old Senor Agraz was so entirely cured of his jealousy and wrongheadedness, that he allowed his lady to follow the bent of her own inclinations as to whom she visited, and discontinued the curtain lectures he had been in the habit of previously inflicting upon her. Thus the three ladies proved that they knew how to profit by the injunction conveyed in the well known proverb, Be merry and wise !



In the year 1689, there lived in Paris a woman of fashion, entitled Lady Mazel. Her house was very spacious, and three stories in height. In a small room partitioned off from the hall slept the valet de chambre, whose name was Le Brun. The front room of the first floor was occupied by the Lady Mazel. The key of her chamber was by her desire taken out of the door every night and laid on a chair, by the servant who assisted her in undressing, and who, the door shutting with a spring, was accustomed to close it after her, so that it could not be opened from the outside. On the second floor slept the Abbé Brulard. On the 27th of November, being Sunday, Le Brun, the valet, attended his lady to church, then repaired to another place of worship himself; and afterwards, having supped with a friend, went home.

Lady Mazel supped, as she was accustomed to do, with the Abbé, and about eleven o'clock retired to her dormitory, where she was attended by her maids. Before they left her, Le Brun came to the door, and laid the key on one of the chairs which stood nearest to it; they then went out, and Le Brun following them, shut the door after him. In the morning he went as usual to market; and on his return home, pursued his customary avocations. At nine o'clock he expressed great surprise that his lady did not get up, as she usually rose at seven. He then went to his wife's lodging, which was in the neighbourhood, and mentioned his uneasiness that his lady's bell had not rung. Having, on his return, found the domestics in great consternation, in consequence of their having heard nothing of their lady; and one of them having expressed a fear that she had been seized with apoplexy, Le Brun observed, "It must be something worse; my mind misgave me, for I found the street-door open last night, after all the family were in bed.'

A smith was immediately sent for, and the door having been forced open, Le Brun, who entered first, walked to the bed, and after speaking several times without receiving any answer, drew back the curtains, and exclaimed, “O! my lady is murdered ! Whilst the other servants were busied about the body, he went to the wardrobe, taking out the strong box in which the family jewels were kept, and feeling it heavy, observed, “that it was strange that any one could commit' murder unless to conceal robbery !

A surgeon having been sent for, examined the body, which was covered with no less than forty-three wounds. In the bed, which was deluged with blood, was found a scrap of coarse lace, and a napkin made into a nightcap, which was also bloody, and had the family mark on it. From the wounds on the lady's hands, it appeared that she had struggled hard with the murderer, who had apparently cut the muscles before he could disengage himself.

The key of the chamber was gone from the room, but no marks of violence appeared on any of the doors ; nor were there any signs of a robbery, as a large sum of money, and all the lady's jewels, except a gold watch, were found in their usual places.

Le Brun, on his examination, said, " That after he left the maids on the stairs, he went into the kitchen, and placing his hat and the key of



the street-door on the table, sat down by the fire to warm himself ; he shortly fell asleep, and slept, as he fancied, from the appearance of the candle, about an hour. On going to lock the street-door he found it open ; he locked it, and took the key with him to his chamber.'

On trying the bloody night-cap op Le Brun's head, it was found to fit him exactly; and on this slight ground of suspicion he was committed to prison. On his trial, a strong suspicion was expressed that the lady was murdered by some person who was let in by Le Brun for that purpose. Not one of the locks had been forced; and this, added to his improbable story of finding the street-door open, was regarded as strong evidence of his guilt, and of his having had an accomplice; the more especially, because part of the cravat found in the bed was discovered not to be like his. And one of the female servants deposed, that she had washed such a cravat some time before for a man named Berry, who had been footman to the Lady Mazel, and whom she discharged for robbing her.

Le Brun, in his behalf, had nothing to oppose to these suspicious circumstances, but an uniformly good character, which he had maintained for the nineteen years in which he had been in Lady Mazel's service; and the general esteem in which he was held as a good husband, father, and servant. In this dilemma it was resolved to put him to the torture, which was done with so much severity, that he died within a week of the bruises which he had received; strongly asserting his innocence to the last moment of his existence.

About a month after this event, notice was sent from the provost of Sens, that a dealer in horses had lately taken up his abode there, under the name of John Gorlet, but that he was strongly suspected to be the Berry who formerly lived footman with the Lady Mazel in Paris. In consequence of this information he was apprehended ; and on searching him, a watch was found, which proved to be the one belonging to the murdered person. On his trial, at Paris, a person deposed to having seen him quit that lady's house on the night of the murder; and a barber swore to having shaved him on the following morning, and mentioned, that, in answer to some observation he had made as to his hands being so much scratched, Berry said that he had been killing a cat,

On this evidence he was condemned to be put to the torture, when he acknowledged that he and Le Brun had planned to rob and murder Lady Mazel; but, when he was brought to the place of execution, confessed that he came to Paris on the Wednesday before the murder was committed, and that on the Friday evening he found means to enter the house unperceived, got into one of the garrets, where he lay until Sunday morning, subsisting on apples and bread, which he had in his pockets. That about eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, when he knew the family was gone to mass, he stole down to Lady Mazel's chamber, and the door being open, he got under the bed, where he continued until the afternoon, when his victim again went to church; and knowing that she would not come back for some hours, he got from under the bed, and making a cap of a napkin which lay in a chair, sat down by the fire, until he heard the coach drive into the court-yard, when he again got under the bed, and remained there until Lady Mazel having been in bed about an hour, he presented himself before her, and demanded her money; she began to call out, and attempted to ring her bell, upon which he stabbed her; and she resisting with all her strength, he repeated his stabs until she was dead. He then took the key of the

wardrobe from the bed's-head, opened it, and found the key of the strong box, from which he took all the gold he could find, but not the jewels. He next locked the wardrobe, and replaced the key behind the pillow, took his hat from under the bed, and left the napkin in it. Having taken the key of the chamber out of the chair, he went down, and finding the street-door only on the single lock, he opened it, and escaped, and left it ajar.

Thus was the veil removed from this deed of darkness, and all the circumstances which condemned Le Brun, were accounted for consistently with his innocence.



The following verses of the unfortunate poet, Chatterton, were presented to us by a friend, who transcribed them from an autogragh copy in a volume of the novels of Mrs. Heywood, in the possession of the Earl of Limerick. They are remarkable only as an unpublished production of their unfortunate author, having no great merit to recommend them.

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The following article is extracted from Mr. Murray's new journal, The Representative,' and purports to be from the pen of Lord Byron. It is curious, and worthy of preservation in some journal of a less perishable nature than a newspaper :

WHEN I belonged to the Drury-lane committee, and was one of the stage-committee of management, the number of plays upon the shelves was about five hundred. Conceiving that amongst these there must be some of merit, in person and by proxy, I caused an examination. I do not think that of those which I saw, there was one which could be conscientiously tolerated. There never were such things as most of them. Maturin was very kindly recommended to me by Walter Scott, to whom I had recourse ; firstly, in the hope that he would do something for us himself; and secondly, in my despair, that he would point out to us any young or old writer of promise. Maturin sent his Bertram, and a letter without his address; so that at first I could give him no answer. When I at last hit upon his residence, I sent him a favourable answer, and something more substantial. His play succeeded, but I was at that time absent from England. I tried Coleridge, too, but he had nothing feasible in hand at the time. Mr. Sotheby obligingly offered all his tragedies ; and I pledged myself; and, notwithstanding many squabbles with my committee brethren, did get Iran accepted, read, and the parts distributed. But lo! in the very heart of the matter, upon some tepidness on the part of Kean, or warmth on that of the author, Sotheby withdrew his play. Sir J. B. Burgess did also present four tragedies and a farce, and I handed them to the green-room and stage-committee; but they would not do. Then the scenes I had to go through ! The authors and the authoresses—the milliners and the wild Irishmen—the people from Brighton, from Blackwall, from Chełtenham, from Dublin, from Dundee, who came upon me!—to all of whom it was proper to give a civil answer, and a hearing and a reading. Mrs. Glover's father, an Irish dancing-master, of sixty years of age, called upon me to play Archer, dressed in silk stockings, on a frosty morning, to show his legs (which were certainly good and Irish for his age, and had been still better.) Miss Emma Somebody, with a play, entitled, The Bandit of Bohemia, or some such title or production; Mr. O'Higgins—then resident at Richmond with an Irish tragedy, in which the protagonist was chained by the leg to a pillar during the chief part of the performance. He was a wild man, of savage appearance, and the difficulty of not laughing at him was only to be got over by reflecting on the probable consequences of such a cachinnation. As I am really a civil and polite person, and do hate giving pain when it can be avoided, I sent them up to Douglas Kinnaird, who is a man of business, and sufficiently ready with a negative, and left them to settle with him; and as at the beginning of next year I went abroad, I have since been little aware of the progress of the theatre. Players are said to be an impracticable people. They are so; but I managed to steer clear of any disputes with them, and excepting one debate with the elder Byrne about Miss Smith's pas de something, (I forget the technicals,) I do not remember any little litigation of my own. I used to protect Miss Smith, because she was like Lady Jane Harley in the face; and likenesses go a great way with me, indeed. In general, I left such things to my more bustling colleagues, who used to reprove me seriously for not being able to take such things in hand, without buffooning with the histrionians, and throwing things into confusion by treating light matters with levity. Then the committee-then the sub-committee-we were but few, and never agreed. There was Peter Moore, who contradicted Kinnaird ; and Kinnaird, who contradicted every body. There were two managers, Rae and Dibdin, and our secretary, Ward—and yet we were all very zealous, and in earnest to do good, and so forth. Hobhouse furnished us with prologues to our revived old English plays, but was not pleased with us for complimenting him as the Upton' of our theatre; (Mr. Upton is, or was, the poet who writes the songs for Astley's,) and almost gave up prologuizing in consequence.


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