dreadful charge announced that he was the mur- | fore the court, Clifford shrunk from the object of derer of his own child, he fell senseless upon the beam which separated him from that part of the court appropriated to the spectators. He was, however, soon restored to a consciousness of his awful situation, and was furnished with a glass of water at his own request; which he swallowed with the most painful eagerness. Several times during the opening speech he was near falling. He continued, however, to retain his senses to the conclusion, when the prosecutor was ushered into court. Every eye was fixed upon the witness-box. After a short pause, Esther entered with a firm step, and a serene unembarrassed air; nevertheless, as soon as she was ready to be examined, the momentary quiver of her lip, and the transient flush upon her ashy cheek, showed that all was not at rest within. Her bosom heaved quick and heavily, but her self-command, evidently amid the most violent inward struggles, was truly surprising. She lost not her composure a single instant. Her clear, dark eye had in it an expression of lofty determination, blended nevertheless with a dignified respect, which excited the admiration of the whole court. Every person present felt a lively interest in her welfare; but in proportion as their sympathies were excited towards her, they were weakened towards her seducer. The contrast between them was remarkable. She stood before them in the severe dignity of her beauty-he in the untimely wreck of his. In her the hand of sorrow had shaded, but not eclipsed it: in him, the scourge of terror and the stings of remorse had marred it altogether. Although she had become the dupe of his artifice and suffered the penalty of her frailty, he, nevertheless, had been the greater victim: for while she had been the prey of another's guilt, he had fallen a victim to his own. It must be confessed she rejoiced that retribution had overtaken him. Her wrongs were too great to be easily forgiven; they had seared her sympathies-they had extinguished her woman's tenderness. Upon entering the box, Esther made a slight inclination of the head to the presiding judge, and then fixed her eye placidly, but keenly, upon the examining advocate. She exhibited no symptoms of timidity, but stood before him with an air of such settled collectedness, that he seemed rather disconcerted, as he cast towards her a glance of somewhat equivocal inquiry, and found it repelled by a quiet but indignant frown. She, like the prisoner, was dressed in the deepest mourning, which strikingly contrasted with the transparent whiteness of her beautiful countenance. Her hair was withdrawn from her forehead, and she wore neither cap nor bonnet, so that the whole face was conspicuously exposed, and every expression, therefore, visible to the spectators. She looked not pale from sickness, nevertheless she was pale; while in her tall, but round and well-proportioned form there was a delicacy and ease of motion, at the same time a sustained elevation in her whole deportment, which soon expelled those favourable sentiments at first awakened for the wretched Clifford, and excited in every bosom a feeling bordering upon detestation towards him as the seducer of so much loveliness. As soon as she appeared be his base perfidy, as if conscience-stricken at the unfavourable impression which he saw she was but too likely to excite against him. The blood rushed for a moment into his cheeks with a most distressing impetuosity, spreading there a deep purple suffusion; but immediately left it, when the skin resumed its dull parchment hue, while the quivering eye-lid closed over the sunken orb beneath it, as if to shut out at once from his view the world and its miseries. He listened with breathless anxiety to the evidence which was to decide his doom. It was brief but decisive. In a distinct tone, which was low, but neither feeble nor tremulous, Esther denounced Clifford as the murderer of her infant, by stabbing it in the breast with a knife. The knife was produced in court, and she swore to it as the same with which the prisoner at the bar had inflicted the fatal stab, that deprived her of her babe. Her testimony could not be overthrown, and evidently made a strong impression upon the hearers. Clifford did not once raise his eyes, whilst she was delivering it; but the convulsive twitches of his countenance plainly denoted what was passing within him. Esther seemed studiously to avoid turning her face towards him, as if she was determined not to be diverted from her purpose, by the silent appeals which suffering naturally makes to our sympathies and our compassion. She was most severely cross-examined by the counsel for the defence; nevertheless, with all his legal acuteness, he could not impeach the integrity of her evidence. Her answers were brief but unembarrassed; the facts which she had to communicate few, but conclusive. When she had retired, Clifford was asked if he had anything to offer in his defence. He was dreadfully agitated, but, after a short pause, recovered himself sufficiently to address the court. He spoke as follows: "My Lord, and Gentlemen of the Jury. I have but few words to say, and as I hope for mercy from that eternal Judge, before whom, if I am convicted upon this atrocious charge, I must soon appear, those words will record the truth. It is not likely that, standing in the fearful position in which I now do, I should rashly run the hazard of going into the presence of Him, who is the dispenser of justice as well as of mercy, with a lie upon my lips and with its taint upon my soul. Let this, then, be with you, the pledge of my integrity. The witness whom you have just heard, is forsworn. However cunningly falsehood may be disguised in the garb of simplicity, it is not, therefore, the less falsehood because it is so disguised. If I am condemned, 1 shall have become its victim. The following are the facts which the prosecutor has so atrociously endeavoured to turn to my undoing. At her own request I met her, on the night mentioned in her evidence, on the spot where the supposed murder was committed, for which I now stand arraigned before you. After reproaching me with her ruin, she affected to desire a reconciliation, and to part from me in peace. She held her babe before me, and entreated for it a father's blessing. I pronounced, in the overflowing sincerity of my heart, the paternal benediction. At this THE CONDEMNED. moment, the child, which had been for some time in ill health, became suddenly convulsed. I snatched a penknife from my pocket, to cut the string of its dress, when the mother, in the agitation of her alarm, stumbled, thus forcing the infant against the knife, which instantly penetrated its side. I recoiled with consternation at the accident; but she, wildly screaming, forced the little sufferer into my arms, streaming with its blood, alarmed the neighbouring cottagers, and taxed me as its murderer. These are the simple facts, and upon their truth I stake my soul's eternal security. I am the victim of a disappointed woman's vengeance." This address awakened no compassion for the unhappy man; on the contrary, it excited a murmur of indignation through the whole assembly. His countenance instantly fell as this token of popular feeling jarred upon his ear. The testimony of Esther had been supported by strong circumstantial evidence. The judge at length summed up, and the jury, without quitting the court, found the prisoner guilty. Upon hearing this fatal verdict, the wretched man fell back into the dock insensible. Esther, whose ear it had reached, for she was standing near the jurybox, after having long struggled with her emotions, was now so entirely overcome by them, that, when sentence of death had been passed upon the unhappy Clifford, she sunk upon the floor in convulsions, and in this pitiable state was taken from the court by her afflicted mother. 131 toim. He was to die, not the death of the righteous man, but of the condemned-the degraded criminal. He was to perish, not in hope, but in abandonment; not a repentant prodigal, but a rejected rebel. How willingly would he now make reparation to the injured Esther for the wrongs he had heaped upon her, but it was too late. Alas! that he could recal the past; how different should be the tenor of his future life. This conclusion was wrung from him by his terrors; but past recollections, in spite of his now bitter contrition, poured through his bosom a tide of the most agonizing emotions. Now the stings of conscience were felt, tipped with all their poisons. Remorse let loose her scorpions within him, which clung to and preyed upon his lacerated heart. The veriest wretch in the dark dungeon of the inquisition, groaning under his lately inflicted tortures, and anticipating the future rack, was a happy being, compared to him who had no better prospect than the endurance of sufferings that must be for ever, and shall be as great as they are illimitable. The morning appointed for the execution at length dawned, but Clifford's preparation for another world was no further advanced, than when he had received the warning that his term of life was fixed. He had been too much engrossed by his terrors to allow him sufficiently to abstract his mind from the awfulness of his situation, and to repose his hopes upon that divine mercy, which is denied to none who seek it with a right disposition of soul, even in the hour of their extremity. He could not seek it. He could not crush the worm within, and he already seemed to feel that it would never die. It had a fearful vitality which worked upon every fibre of his frame, and reached even the impassive spirit. His hopelessness increased as the awful period drew nigh, which was to terminate his earthly pilgrimage. He had no resource in reflection. His bosom was a volcano, which the lava of burning thought violently overflowed, streaming its scorching fires through every avenue of perception, and giving him, while yet upon the threshold of eternity, a terrible foretaste of hell. Clifford was now put into one of the condemned cells, and clothed in the coarse habit assigned to those who have forfeited their lives to the outraged laws of their country. He had only three days to prepare his soul for eternity. What a term for a wretch so immersed in sin, to prepare to meet his omnipotent Judge! Was there no escape? None! The court had denied him all hopes upon earth, and what had he beyond? What but a prospect too black even for the imagination of despair! Nothing can be imaged to the mind so fearful, as the reflections of a man about to be launched upon the illimitable ocean of eternity, with such a burden of unexpiated sins upon his soul, as a forced penitence cannot remove; and standing upon the very verge of his awful destiny, looking through the microscopic perspective of his imagination into a near prospect of undefinable horrors. We have seen, indeed, instances of criminals who have met their doom with that stern obduracy of spirit which has enabled them to smile at the dreadful array of death, and curse the very Omnipotent before whose august presence they were about to appear. Shall we imagine, however, that because the tongue blasphemed, and the countenance could assume a smile, when the shaft of death was on the wing, the heart was at peace? No! Whatever may be the influence of a daring resolution upon the body, it cannot stifle the tortures of the spirit. The latter may be agonized, and writhe under pangs too frightful for contemplation, when the former seems not to suffer. With Clifford, however, the keen scourge of remorse had visited both with its terrible inflictions. He could look nowhere for comfort, nowhere for peace. He now, indeed, clung to the consolations of religion; but they offered no consolation gress, Clifford, whose eyes had been closed in a Upon the fatal morning when his sentence was to be fulfilled, he rose from a feverish sleep, and threw himself upon his knees in agony. He could not pray. He had committed no prayer to memory, and his mind was in too wild a state of conflict with his terrors to enable him to frame one. He supplicated his God to have mercy upon him; but this was all the prayer he could offer up. The bell at length tolled the hour, when he was, according to the terms of his sentence, to be taken from his cell to the place of execu tion, there to expiate his crime by the forfeiture of his life. He was conducted to the press-room. His legs scarcely supported him; and he was obliged to avail himself of the assistance of one of the turnkeys, or he would have fallen. He seated himself upon a low bench, in a state bordering upon absolute stupefaction, whilst his irons were knocked off and his hands bound, preparatory to his execution. He could sca scarcely articulate intelligibly, in consequence of the excited state of his mind. While the preparations for the last eventful scene of his life were in pro paroxysm of mental excitation, heard his name | upon the drop, but so completely was he overpronounced in a low but distinct tone, and, sud- come, that he was obliged to be carried up the denly looking up, beheld the wretched Esther ladder to the platform. He was supported while beside him. She had undergone a considerable change in her appearance within the last three days. She now looked pale and haggard. There was a dark crimson spot on each cheek, but every other part of her countenance was colourless. The clear whiteness of her skin had assumed the sickly hue of disease; it was dull and sallow. The lustre of her eye, though still bright, had considerably faded; yet there was in it at intervals that same stern expression of resolved purpose which she had so frequently exhibited during the late trial, and which renewed in the bosom of the terrified criminal feelings little likely to soothe the desperate agonies of his heart. She approached him firmly. He shrunk from her, as he would have shrunk from a herald of the pestilence. "Clifford," said she at length, "my prophecy is about to be accomplished-the day of retribution is arrived. You are about to go where 'the prisoners rest together, and hear not the voice of the oppressor.' Let us part in peace." Clifford gasped-he spoke not, but turned from her with a convulsive shudder. A the executioner adjusted the cord, looking rather like a thing snatched from the grave, and into which the spark of animation had been just struck, than a creature in which that spark was about to be extinguished, and which the grave was ready to enclose. The foam oozed from the corners of his mouth, while the thin tear forced its way through the closed lids, fearfully denoting the horrors which were darting their thousand stings into his affrighted soul. There was a deathlike stillness among the crowd. Not a sound was heard, save the occasional sigh of sympathy or the sob of pity, whilst the awful preparations were making previous to withdrawing the fatal bolt. All this while, Esther kept her eye fixed, with anxious earnestness, upon the platform. The preparations were at length completed, and the cap drawn over the eyes of the criminal. Expectation had become so painfully intense among the crowd, that their very breathings were audible. The bolt was now about to be withdrawn, when a voice was heard from among the assembled multitude "He is innocent-I am tear gathered into her eye, and rolled silently forsworn!" Every eye was directed towards the down her cheek-she however dashed it aside, spot. The speaker had fallen to the earth-it and in an instant regained her self-possession. was Esther. She was lifted up, but no sign of "I pity thee," she resumed, "but there are crimes animation appeared in her now ghastly features. of which it were criminal even to seek to remit She was instantly taken to a neighbouring surthe penalty. I confess, too, that it is a dear though geon, but no blood followed the lancet-she was painful satisfaction to me, to witness the author dead. The sheriff happened to be on the spot, of my everlasting shame, the victim of his own and immediately ordered the execution to be misdeeds; and if, at this moment, I could pluck thee from the scaffold, still would I withhold from thee the arm of succour. Thou deservest to die. A thousand lives were all too little to atone for the wrongs which thou hast done me. Make thy peace with heaven, for the fearful day of audit is at hand-may God forgive thee!" The procession was now ordered to move towards the drop, and Esther was in consequence obliged to quit the prison. She left the pressroom, made her way through the crowd which had collected outside the walls, and placed herself almost immediately under the drop, whence she could obtain a perfect view of the execution, as if she anticipated a horrible satisfaction in witnessing the dying struggles of that man who had rendered her condition in this world one of unmitigated misery; and, perhaps, prepared for her one still more miserable in a world eternal. The vehement exacerbations with which she was struggling, were but too visible to those around her; their attention, however, was soon called to those more arresting objects which they had assembled to behold. Her breath came from her suspended, until more tangible evidence should be obtained. In the pocket of the unhappy girl, whom Clifford had so cruelly abandoned, was found a written confession, which confirmed, in every particular, what he had declared upon his trial. He was immediately respited, and eventually released; yet the blight of infamy was upon him. He was given back, indeed, to existence, but his peace of mind was gone. His life was inglorious, still not without fruit. It was a sombre and a chequered scene. He had been stunned by the shock, to which he had so nearly fallen a victim. He had reaped the bitter harvest of seduction. All his bright prospects had been blasted; he resolved, therefore, that the rest of his days should be spent in making atonement for the past, and preparing for that future which is eternal. He lived an outcast, but died a penitent. Duty is what goes most against the grain, because in doing that we are strictly obliged to, and are seldom much praised for it. Praise of all things is the most powerful incitement to commendable actions, and animates us in our enterprizes. Bruyere. Books.-Lord Bacon's advice is, "Not many, but good books;" which is, by the way, a very ill-considered phrase; for if he had merely said, "good books," he migh lungs in quick spasmodic gaspings, while the ," he might have spared himself the trouble of of saying "not many." The great advantage of books is, that they are both deaf and dumb, and that they never interrupt you or give FORBIDDEN LOVE-THE MERRY FRIAR. FORBIDDEN LOVE. EY BARRY CORNWALL. I have thee! Oh, the strife, the pain, O stars! that thou could'st read my soul. Look, love, upon me, with thine eyes! From the Comic Offering for 1833. "I am a friar of orders grey." -Song. On one of those warm evenings of July, when indolence reigns triumphant alike over the sunburnt labourer and the lord for whom he tills and toils, a sleek, though humble son of the church (one of the class denominated mendicant friars, who, in the olden time had a 'roving commission' to fight in the good cause of the established faith) was solacing himself in the agreeable shade of a wide-spreading elm, which extended its protecting branches over a most inviting nook of green turf, beside which trickled a tiny rivulet;-this worthy priest-errant, 1 say, was solacing himself with cheese of ewe's milk and dry crust from his scrip, when a young knight, unattended, came slowly winding through the green lane upon his steed; both, in truth, appearing travel weary. "Good even to thee, father," said the knight, courteously accosting the friar. "Good knight,-good even,"-replied the other. "By'r lady!-father, thou hast chosen a cool retreat." "And yet 'tis a marvel, sir knight, that thou shouldst admire that which thy valor would scorn." "How!-what should my valor scorn?" "Marry, sir knight, a retreat to be sure," quoth the friar; "for of a verity you of the sword and buckler notoriously prefer the use of your arms to your legs; while we, the servants of the church, have (like scolds) only our tongues for our weapons." "Beshrew me, sir friar, but thou art a wag," cried the knight, "and I'll have a word with thee." 12 133 "A quarrel!-by my knighthood! I'm more inclined to rest and good fellowship, holy friar." "And by my monkshood! so am I! and yet who shall look upon us twain and aver we are not hostile?" said the friar; "the merest clown, that hath no more brains in his costard than my walking-staff, regarding thy casque and my shaven crown, would in his obtuse perception, proclaim a difference between us; and what's a difference but a quarrel?" "Nay, then, let's fall too, and fair words be our weapons," answered the knight, falling in with his humour; and dismounting, seated himself down by the friar. "Agreed!" quoth the friar; "and so begins and ends the contest in an engagement! Now couch thee on this green sward comfortably; and far better is it for thee to be beside me, or even a sane beggar, than beside thyself, for then thou would'st be mad of a surety!" "By my fay! an' thou be'st not as droll a clerk as ever girded up his loins in sackcloth and hemp. But, father, how fits this humour with thy serious vocation?" "Truly like a light heart and a clear conscience upon a full stomach. Garb him as ye list, a man's still a man. It's my nature to be blithe; and, therefore, do 1 hold it sinful to sport a mask of gravity. Some who wear the cowl look upon it as a symbol of sadness as well as sanctity; for my part I honestly confess I regard my cool only as a lively-hood! and yet-" continued the friar, with mock-seriousness, placing his palms upon his capacious corporation "behold how my mirthfulness and good-humour runneth to-waist! O! it's a knight." sad world we live in, sir The knight laughed heartily at the jocose conceits of the jolly friar, and almost imperceptibly began to quibble in the same strain; albeit, he preferred rather to prove the good-humoured garrulity of his companion than to hear himself discourse. "Only to see how wit engendereth wit," cried the friar, "as naturally as bears bear bears, or wolves and churchmen-prey! By St. Mary, sir knight, we are well met, and by thy good will we'll part not ere we drink a chirping-cup together. A league hence stands a hostelrie, where I purpose to spend the night and a mark to boot, for beshrew me an' there be not as good a flagon of wine to be had there as ever made a dull eye or a light heel." "Have with thee, then," replied the knight, "for 1 lack refection after a hard day's ride; and would fain reach our destination ere nightfall." "And yet nightfall can have no terrors for thee," said the friar, "for in thy time thou must have seen many a knight fall, even at noonday!" "Ay, truly many a brave knight have I seen cast from his seat, who hath borne his discomfiture with a grace and equanimity worthy" "Worthy the thrown, naithless," interposed the friar, laughing,-"with nothing but a crack ed crown to support his dignity withal! And this is what you men of valor term sport. Heaven save me from such jests, quotha! A doughty knight making another appear foolish, wherefore peradventure the king maketh him a foolish peer, and thus the game runs!" "Nay, I charge thee-" "Charge me not, 1 pray thee, sir knight," quickly retorted the friar,-"for lo! I am unarmed; I bear neither arms nor malice, albeit, in a sort, I may myself be termed a buckler-seeing that'1 am a priest of Hymen, and licensed to tack together the sexes. "Go to, friar, I am no match for thee." "No, by St. Mary! the church allows us no match. The priest tacks, but doth not tax himself with a wife. The progeny of mother church are all children by adoption! But, beseech thee, mount, sir knight, and let us jog on; and thanks to thy company that will make the wayfarer's way fairer." Having, after a short progress, rendered shorter by the pleasantry of the friar, arrived at the aforenamed hostelrie, where the mendicant was instantly recognised and right heartily welcomed; the knight provided his steed with good quarters, and a liberal supply of corn, unarmed, and sat down with the friar to the discussion of the promised flagon, which was agreeably accompanied by the corner of a coney-pie and the remnant of a delicious pasty, to which a healthy appetite gave unusual relish. Filling a horn with the sparkling wine, the knight said, "I'll give thee, friar, the Church of England!" "And I the-belles!" replied the friar significantly, quaffing his measure at a single draught; and it was evident enough by the thickness of his speech and the stupid glare of his small grey eyes, that his wit was tottering on the very brink of inebriation. "I fear me, most delectable friar," said the knight, who was drooping as fast as his boon companion, "that thou art incorrigible. Thou wilt assuredly drop into the embraces of sleep with a jest in thy mouth." "It's all nature-and nature-the force of nature, most valiant knight, is irresistible. I confess my errors-my errors; and here's a parallel-a parallel 'twixt my profession and my confession. My profession is-medicant;-my confession is-mend 1 can't!" And so saying, down rolled the burly friar and the sturdy knight upon the floor of the hostelrie, in the rushes whereof they found a sweet and sound repose! In 1825, one of Mr. Carroll's grand-daughters was married to the Marquis of Wellesley, then Viceroy of Ireland; and it is a singular circumstance that one hundred and forty years after the first emigration of her ancestors to America, this lady should become Vice Queen of the country from which they fled, at the summit of a system which a more immediate ancestor had risked every thing to destroy; or, in the energetic and poetic language of Bishop England, "that in the land from which his father's father fled in fear, his daughter's daughter now reigns a queen." [From the New York Gazette.] I was much gratified at seeing lately in the Gazette an article under the head of Mechanics Rising in the World. Such pieces serve as an incentive to the young and vigorous intellects with which our country abound among those in the humbler stations in society. There is no situation too low, provided the subject be of good character, to gain the highest elevation. Asa proof of my position, I will point you to a few instances. They did not all, however, spring from families of low grade, but none of them could have anticipated in their youth, the advancement they gained in early life. Count Rumford, whose name was Nathaniel Thompson, was born in New England, and was an apprentice to a piece-goods merchant, John Appleton, Esq., of Salem. John Adams, the Ajax of the Revolution, and the successor of Washington as President of the United states, was, in 1755, an humble teacher of youth in a country village. Nathaniel Bowditch, the most enlightened of mathematicians, was in early life a common sailor, without education, and was more than twenty years ago appointed Professor of Mathematics in Harvard College, which, however, he did not accept. Lord Eldon, of England, was bred a collier. John Prince, the venerable pastor of the first Church in New England, now nearly ninety years of age, received the degree of Doctor of Laws from the University of Edinburgh, for the invention of the air-pump. This gentleman was a pewterer, and entered college after he became of age. Governor Sullivan, of Massachusetts, was a wood-cutter in the forests of New Hampshire, and owed his elevation in life to the fact of his breaking both legs in the falling of a tree, which incapacitated him for work. He afterwards, having received a collegiate education, became a lawyer of eminence, Attorney General, and Governor. Louis Philip, King of the French, after the French Revolution, was a select school-masterin the United States. These are a few instances that occur to my mind at present, and by giving the facts publicity, you will oblige A FRIEND TO YOUNG MEN. MARRIAGE. The marriage ceremony is the most interesting spectacle social life exhibits.To see two rational beings, in the glow of youth and hope, which invests life with the halo of happiness, appear together, and openly acknowledging their preference for each oth other, voluntarily enter into a league of perpetual friendship, and call Heaven and Earth to witness the sincerity of their solemn vows-to think of the endearing connexion, the important consequences, the final separation-the smile that kindles to extacy at their union, must at length be quenched in the tears of the mourning survivor! but while life continues, they are to participate in the same joys, to endure the like sorrows, to rejoice and weep in unison. Be constant, man; be condescending, woman; and what can earth offer so pure as your friendship, so dear as your affection! |