of pupils, most of whom were of the fairer order of creation. One in particular was a very angel in features one of your beautiful country maidens, which spring up in their seclusion, fair as the wild flowers of their native valleys. As might have been expected, she played iniquity with the heart of the schoolmaster. Day after day he sat by her side-guided her taper fingers, and felt her dark tresses lightly sweeping his cheek, as she leaned with him towards the manuscript. It was too much-human philosophy could not stand it. In a luckless moment he pressed his lips to her cheek, and imprinted upon it one of those kisses, in which "The lip will linger like some bee Sipping a favourite flower." And what think you, gentle reader, was the result of all this! Why, the unfortunate chirographer was prosecuted for his lecture on kissing, and turned adrift with a fine of 1000 dollars hanging over his shoulders, like the pack of Bunyan's pilgrim!" Far be it from us,' "adds the American narrator of the anecdote, "to undervalue the charms of the young lady; but really if she sets such an exorbitant price on her cheek, it will be a long day, we opine, before she has another opportunity of exacting it." AMONG the many duties anciently attached to the high office of Earl Marshal of England was the following, which, if now put into practice, would not merely increase the business of that great officer, but would create some bustle in the neighbourhood of St. James's Palace. "The Earl Marshal has a verge to be carried before the King, whereupon the space about the King, containing twelve miles, is called the verge. It is his charge, and the charge of those assigned unto him, to keep the verge free from harlots. The Marshal shall have free every common harlot found within the limits of the house, four-pence the first day; if she be found again, she shall be forbidden, before the Steward, not to enter the King's palace, nor the Queen's, nor their children's. If the third time she be found, she shall be imprisoned, or abjured the court;-if she be found the fourth time, she shall be shaved; and the fifth time, her upper lip shall be cut off." Biary and Chronology. Wednesday, April 4. To those possessing gardens, this is a month of busy interest, and much industry is required.But how ample is the reward, as thus beautifully expressed by the Rev. W. Munsey: How lovely is a garden, With all its perfumes, and its various hues; The scented tribe; in number far beyond In spring, in summer, autumn and in deathHow like the course of man's eventual round, Of youth, of manhood; feebleness, and age. And as the sweet and beauteous race will rise From cheerless winter's cold and torpid state, To meet the glories of the vernal sun, So from the gloomy grave, will man spring forth, To see the more resplendent Light of ChristThe Saviour-Intercessor-God. Thursday, April 5. DISTANCE OF THE FIXED STARS.-The perfection of astronomical instruments has afforded the prospect of being able to determine the Annual Parallax, and consequently the distance of the fixed stars; but the quantity of deviation is so small as to have hitherto eluded the closest observation. It cannot amount to a single second in the most conspicuous and probably the nearest of the stars. These luminous bodies must therefore be more distant at least two hundred thou sand times than the "measure of the diameter of the earth. The light emitted from such neighbouring suns, though it flies with enormous rapidity, must yet travel more than six thousand years before it approaches the confines of our system. But, scattered over the immensity of space, there may exist bodies which, by their magnitude and predominant attraction, retain or recal the rays of light, and are lost in solitude and darkness. Had the celerity of the luminous particles not exceeded four hundred miles in a second, we should never have enjoyed the cheering beams of the sun. They would have been arrested in their journey, and drawn back to their source, before they reached the orbit of Mercury. But a star similar to our sun, and having a diameter sixty-three times greater, would entirely overpower the impetus of light. Friday, April 6. OLD LADY DAY. Saturday, April 7. Sun rises 22m. aft. 5 Morn.-Sets 38m. aft. 6. Sunday, April 8. FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT. Lessons for the Day.-3 ch. of Exodus, morn. 5 ch. of Exodus, even. First quarter of the Moon, at 1 Morn. Monday, April 9. INDUSTRY OF ANTS.-Those who are not deep in the technical terms of entomology, may spend many an amusing hour in studying the habits of these ingenious insects, who are now busily repairing the damages whtch winter may have produced upon their domiciles. Tuesday, April 10. Sun rises 15m. aft. 5-Sets 42m, aft. 6. A few complete sets may now he had. Illustrated Article. THE FORCED MARRIAGE. FOR THE OLIO. TIME was, when the grandfathers of the present race of cockneys, could, by travelling a couple of miles north or south of their great land-mark, enjoy a walk in the country, smoke a pipe at a village ale-house and drink prosperity to the House of Hanover, and perdition to the Pretender. Time was when the almost eternal roar of the great metropolis could not be heard at Walworth turnpike; when he who had escaped for a short period from the toils of business found at that distance, the rumbling of carriages, the hum of voices, and the shuffling of countless feet, exchanged for the tinkle of the sheep bell, the occasional music of the country team, and the buzz of the bee and the cockchafer. In those days some few people of fashion did not disdain to reside at Peckham and Camberwell, when VOL. IX. their important duties required not their attendance "in Town." It is not so now. A continuous line of dwellings stretches from the city to these villages, and a rapid succession of short stages, whisks you in a few minutes from one to the other. We have authors of quality now, and so we had a century ago, witness the neglected duodecimos on the book-stalls: "A Satyr; written by a person of honour" (alas! that such aristocratic productions should be tumbled about by the paws of plebeians) our nobility, as heretofore, seek alliance with actresses; but our very merchants despise the redbricked long-windowed houses, of the two last generations of aristocrats; nay, your retired tailor displays his carriage and liveries in "the west-end" and scorns to live in such habitations. These neglected tenements have their traditions as well as the castles of our feudal barons. Two or three houses of this description, overlook the Green at Camberwell, and one of them, if we 238 may credit the domestic servants, is the scene of strange pranks; but they are of such a description, that the vulgar origin of the ghost who haunts it is quite obvious. Who, for instance, ever heard of the shade of a peer or a baronet, suddenly shutting the drawer and crushing the fingers of him who had opened it? Whose ghost, save that of a washer-woman or a cook-maid, would take the trouble to turn a rump-steak, whilst hissing on the gridiron, or entering the larder at the "witching hour," stick a mould candle bolt upright in the centre of a jam tart! Such things have occurred, or I have been grossly deceived. But to my story: his non-compliance with their wishes, but in the event of his accepting their terms, they solemnly assured him the circumstance should not be known beyond their own circle. These conditions would have been spurned by many men, however they might have wished to make reparation to an injured woman and an insulted family; yet, strange to say, Mr. Aspinall consented to make the lady his wife, and the marriage was immediately solemnized, but in the most private manner. Mr. Aspinall was a dissembler and a coward. He dreaded a rencontre with the brothers, and to avoid it had married their sister, but whatever love In the year 172, a gentleman whom he might have entertained for her preI shall name Mr. Charles Aspinall, vious to his adopting this alternative, purchased of the proprietor, the house it is certain that every trace of affection referred to. He was a tall handsome was obliterated by this forced marriage man, with a pale oval face and dark-he conceived the most deadly hatred hair, but, although apparently not more than thirty, he had the staid demeanour of a man of nearly twice that age. He kept but little company, and seemed to find in his books the delight and amusement which most men endeavour to discover in society. Mr. Aspinall was a very temperate man; he ate and drank but sparingly, slept little, and studied hard. Constant attendance at church led the more grave part of his neighbours to look upon him as a man of singular piety, and he had performed some acts of charity, which the officious who wished to cultivate an acquaintance with him, took especial care to magnify. It is a false and dangerous philosophy which teaches a man to avoid the society of his fellows: excessive mortification and self-denial is as dangerous. The crimes of recluses have not been the least in the black catalogue of human iniquity, and not a few, who in early life devoted themselves to a life of austerity, have perished in infamy. Mr. Aspinall was not conscious of this: he did not perceive that the extremes of self-denial and dissipation, often lead to the same results. He had resided at Camberwell about twelvemonths, when he became acquainted (the world never knew how) with a young lady of considerable beauty, who lived with her family in the immediate neighbourhood. Their acquaintance was, for some time, kept a profound secret, but it was afterwards discovered by the brothers of the lady, who insisted upon her seducer making her his wife. They expressed their determination to wreak their vengeance upon him, in case of against his bride, and resolved to destroy her. The accomplishment of this was, however, deferred until the congratulatory visits of his wife's and his own friends had ceased. But he was repeatedly thwarted in his designs, and during the whole time never treated his partner with cruelty, although his cool behaviour occasioned her much unhappiness. The birth of a child would have appealed to the heart of one less cruel than Aspinall's, but his was the fell determination of a coward, the most cruel of mankind, if an indifference to human suffering accompanies his natural timidity. About two months after the birth of the infant, Aspinall resolved to put his diabolical plan into execution. His wife had one evening retired to rest and dismissed her servant, when the monster entering the bedchamber closed the door, and approaching the bed-side, presented a phial and a glass to his victim, telling her that he had procured a draught which would relieve the headache, of which she had complained during the day. The unsuspecting woman took the draught, and uncorking the phial, poured the liquid into the glass. It was thick and of a dark colour, but supposing it to be in reality a draught prepared by a chemist she drank it off, while her fiendlike husband regarded her with a look of deep intensity. He then took the phial and glass from her hand, and placing both on the table, walked hurriedly up and down the room. Aspinall was not surprised at this strange demeanour of her husband, she had become familiarized to his peculiar habits, and not wishing to disturb Mrs. him whilst in what she supposed to be one of his moody fits, she endeavoured to compose herself to sleep. Her sleep was the long and dreamless slumber of the dead, for when her husband approached the bed, he found that the fatal draught had effected his deadly purpose. Those who are aware of the sympathy between the mother and the child, will scarcely need be told, that the poison which deprived Mrs. Aspinall of life, had closed the earthly career of her infant; the little innocent had breathed its last on the bosom of its mother. The cold grey eye of Aspinall regarded the bodies for a few moments, but no tear of pity or remorse dimmed its sullen glare; he turned from the spectacle and striding across the room, whispered to some person on the landing-place, and his Italian servant Jacopo entered. We must draw a veil over the scene which followed. To dwell on such, would argue a bad taste and want of feeling. The lovers of such tragedies may find its like in that chronicle of crime, the Newgate Calendar. Mr. Aspinall and his servant that night secretly buried the bodies of his victims, in one of the wine cellars. To account for the disappearance of his partner, required the utmost ingenuity of the murderer; but a tale was soon trumped up, and ready by the next morning. Mrs. Aspinall in due time was missed the household was in alarm, and every one in a state of anxiety, when Jacopo, with apparent reluctance, stated that having occasion to rise early in the morning, he had seen a carriage waiting at day-break on the green, and that, suspecting it was there for some improper purpose, he had kept watch, until he saw with surprise, his mistress pass out and proceed towards it, when she was received by a gentleman in an undress military frock, who handed her into the carriage, which immediately drove at a rapid rate towards town. He who had planned so diabolical a murder would not, it may be supposed, find much difficulty in counterfeiting surprize and grief at this piece of pretended information. Mr. Aspinall act ed his part so well, that the story was never for a moment doubted by any one. From that day, however, he became an altered man; his demeanour, always haughty and unprepossessing, was now harsh and repulsive; he was more gloomy than ever, and seemed as though worn down by inward grief, which those who knew him, attributed to a far different cause from the true one. Remorse haunted him like a shadow; his slumbers were broken by ghastly visions, in which his murdered wife bore a prominent part; the blood of the innocent was upon him, and he knew not where to turn for refuge from the phantoms that incessantly pursued him. Such a state of mind so harassed a constitution naturally healthy and vigorous, that Mr. Aspinall was near sinking under this accumulation of misery. Physicians were summoned to his aid, and change of scene and climate were recommended; he was urged to travel, and he did so. He proceeded to Paris, and revelled with the gayest of that great city; but he could not drown the recollection of the past. He visited Switzerland; but the smiling faces and cheerful hearts of the inhabitants, contrasted too strongly with the tumult of his own bosom. He affected an air of gaiety in Rome and Naples, though his haggard features too plainly told of the inward fire that consumed him, and he retured to England pale and attenuated the remnant of a man, with his Italian servant, who had accompanied him in his travels. It was observed that this man took greater liberties with his master than his situation warranted, and it was evident that, although Mr. Aspinall did not relish the fellow's familiarity, he did not like to part with him; perhaps he feared him, but no one could divine the reason, and the death of this man which happened but a short time after, was not regretted by any of the household. Mr. Aspinall, evidently relieved of a cause of much uneasiness, now kept company at his house and endeavoured to be gay, but it was an abortive attempt, to scare the demon that haunted him; his mirth was forced, his smile was the grin of a skeleton, and the sound of his laugh was cheerless. Still he lacked not visitors. The second anniversary of the murder of his wife and her infant arrived, and Mr. Aspinall, dreading the recollection of that frightful evening, had a large party to sup with him. They did not break up until late, when several of the guests were invited to stay until the morning, and beds were accordingly provided. One of them was a hair-brained young man of fortune named Powis, who, complaining of a violent headach, besought his host to allow him to retire to rest a little earlier. The request being complied with, the beau was conducted to his chamber; he knew not that it was the one in which the wife of his entertainer had been so foully murdered-Mr. Aspinall dared not sleep in that. The guests dropped off one by one, till at length those only remained, who had resolved to pass the night where they were, when suddenly, a loud shout was heard, and some one hastily ascending the stairs, burst into the room. It was Mr. Powis: his right hand, which shook violently, grasped the candlestick from which the candle had escaped in his flight; his cravat and perriwig were left behind, and he stood before them in an agony of affright, without the power to articulate a word. "Powis! Powis!" said Mr. Aspinall, affecting a composure which he was far from feeling, "What ails thee man! art thou mad?" t Aye, I believe so." faultered the beau, "but if I be not, I have seen that which would turn the head of a wiser one than I; give me I beseech you, a glass of brandy (he sunk into a chair) or I shall surely faint with terror." "This is foolery, Powis," said Aspinall, whitening with alarm, "one of thy mad pranks.' " "Yes, it was a mad prank, to follow a ghost into your wine cellar, Aspinall; I'll say with the school-boys, that I'll never do so again-some foul play has been acted in this house. I believe I was drunk just now, but this has sobered me." "Let us know what you have seen,' said several of the company, pressing round him. In the meantime, Mr. Aspinall unobserved, left the room. "Let me have breathing room, then," said Powis, "and you shall hear all. You must know that I had stolen off to bed, in the hope that a sound sleep would rid me of the cursed headach, which I feel returning. I had fastened my chamber door, and hung my perriwig on a chair-back, when, finding my cravat had become too tightly knotted, I approached the glass and endeavoured to unfasten it. I had not been engaged thus many seconds, when, Oh Heavens! I became conscious that some one was standing near me, and turning my head I saw, as plainly as I see you all before me, a lady with a little child in her arms." "A lady and a child?" echoed half a dozen voices. 66 Ay, a lady and a child," said Powis, "but hear the issue of it; I was disposed to be a little merry with the intruder, but when I looked in her face, there was an expression in it which assured me-unbeliever as I have hitherto been-that my visiter was not of this world. I was about to address the figure, when it laid its finger on its pale lips, and glided out of the room, not through the keyhole nor the pannel of the door, for it flew wide open at her approach, and then proceeded down stairs. I was literally confounded, but, after a moment's pause, I snatched up the candle, and followed the figure.A rushing wind, which seemed to fill the house, extinguished my light; but I had no need of one ;-a pale glimmering guided my steps, and I followed my conductor into the cellar, when she appeared to enter one of the vaults;-[ pressed forward, and striking my head violently against the door, fell backwards. My fit of courage, or rather desperation, had now ended; and quickly regaining my perpendicular, I flew up stairs, and entered the room just as you beheld me." All who heard this wild tale stared for a moment on the narrator, and then each began to make his comments.One agreed with Powis, that it told of some foul deed of murder; another voted for an investigation of the cause of the fearful visitation; while a third inquired for Mr. Aspinall, who they then found had quitted the room. A servant was desired to request his attendance; but the messenger returned in a few seconds, and informed them that he had been to the door of his master's chamber which was locked, and that he had heard a low moaning within. All flew to the chamber: the door was immediately forced, and Mr. Aspinall was found stretched on the floor deluged in blood, and quite insensible. He had with his penknife severed the radial artery with such fatal determination, that his wrist was fairly cut to the bone. A surgeon was summoned, but the hemorrhage had been too great; the wretched suicide was lifeless before his arrival. A scrap of paper lay on his dressing-table, and on it was written in pencil a confession of his crime. It expressed his resolution rather to perish by his own hand, than be made a spectacle for the multitude. The bodies of Mrs. Aspinall and her infant were discovered in the vault, and consigned to a more hallowed spot; whilst that of their destroyer, was interred in a neighbouring cross road with the customary formalities and the quick lime. the stake *** |