lately passed the night is on one side so dilapidated, that you might, if you felt so disposed, walk across the rubbish into an adjoining room; well, I have occupied that room for some time past, and as I said, men sometimes talk in their sleep, besides uttering their thoughts aloud when they fancy none can hear them."

"I have been a precious fool, I dare say," remarked Laithwaye, in a vexed tone.

"You need be under no apprehension about me," continued the woman. "Knowing, as I partly do, your intentions with regard to this old city merchant, I would not warn him of his danger for his wealth ten times told-he is no husband for Alice Greystock."

"I see I must enter into a league with you," said Laithwaye; "and as we are fellow-lodgers, let us hasten on; this is no place for the discussion of such matters."

Passing on, the two crossed several streets, and threaded many dark alleys, and shortly entered the wretched attic chosen by both as an occasional resting-place. The woman procured candles, one of which she placed in a broken bottle, and they stood for some minutes looking at each other in the dim light.

"As you are used to the accommodation here, I need make no apology," said Laithwaye, pushing towards his companion a broken stool, and seating himself on the heap of straw that made up the furniture of the place.

"All places are alike to me," said the woman. "I only live for a purpose; when that is achieved, I have done with life. Look at me well; for the last eighteen years I have eaten and slept like a dog, from mere instinct; think you that I could have endured such an existence without some strong motive to bear me up?"

"It takes only half an eye to see that you have something odd about you," said Laithwaye, looking at the woman curiously. "I suppose, as you seem to know most things, you are aware of the visit I have been making to-night?”

66 'Aye, aye, and no matter; let Sir Richard Steele attend better to his own business, and leave other people to mind theirs. But it is not of him I wish to speak; no, nor of her he seeks to find-let him do that if he can."

"You have a motive, you acknowledge, for keeping that girl out of the way?"

"I acknowledge nothing. I wish to befriend Mrs. Greystock. I have money, and a resolution that will go through anything; both these are at your serv ce, if you are inclined to act in concert with me."

"To do what?" asked Laithwaye.

"You trifle with me. To proceed with your own purpose in the first instance: prevent this marriage, planned by a heartless woman, and sanctioned by a man yet more heartless, who seeks to escape from need at the price of his daughter's destruction." "You seem to have got the rights of it, somehow," said Laithwaye.

"I know every tittle of their histories," said the woman, speaking rapidly; "I know nothing else. Here is money,' she continued, drawing a full purse from beneath her cloak, and holding it out, and clinking the gold it contained, “and any sum you want, I will supply you with; only go on! go

on !"

"I don't want your money," said Laithwaye, motioning her hand back; "I have enough for present purposes, and like to be independent, myself. Since you are inclined to be liberal, I don't think you could do better than supply Sir Thomas with a little cash, for he is just now in great want of it."

A strong spasm shook the woman's frame, and distorted her face.

"Hark you!" she exclaimed; "I meddle only with the daughter. To promote her interests, I would give up my life. I have been inactive too long-I must work now-and you must help me to save her!"

Laithwaye was too much interested in the welfare of Alice not to listen attentively to one apparently so like-minded with himself. For some time, the two continued in earnest conversation, and with the early dawn they quitted the house, each bent on a different course, but both pledged to effect the rescue of Mrs. Greystock.

300)

THE HART'S BELL.*

BY MRS. CHARLES TINSLEY.

On a stone, originally placed over the door of the hunting-lodge at Wharncliffe, is an inscription, which tells us, that it was built by Sir Thomas de Wortley, knight, groom of the bed-chamber to King Henry VIII. and Edward VI., " that he might hear the pleasant sound of the hart's bell."

"WE will build it here," to his list'ning train,

Said the lord of Wharncliffe's wide domain;

Here, on high, like an eagle's nest,

Where the breeze may come when the tempests rest."
And there they built him a trysting place,

When willed to join in the merry chace;

And the work went on, amid right good cheer,
For him that in courts had pined to hear
The sound of the hart's bell:

"The pleasant sound of the hart's bell,"
In the merry hunting time.

Methinks I see thee, thou brave old knight,
Buskined, and up with the earliest light;
Chasing the deer on the upland track,
Bounding away to the steep vales back :
Urging the hounds as they blithely pass,
Starting the hare from the rustling grass :
Wakening the echoes far and near,
And pausing oft in thy sport to hear
The sound of the hart's bell,-

"The pleasant sound of the hart's bell,'

In the merry hunting time.

Slight is the change o'er the glad scene cast,
Since thou beheld'st it in beauty last;

Down on the earth, as up in the sky,

Little of strangeness would meet thine eye :

Grandly wild, as in days of old,

The broad, free vales from the heights are roll'd;

And the tangled woods hide the covert deer,

As they did when thou wert nigh to hear
The sound of the hart's bell,—

"The pleasant sound of the hart's bell,"
In the merry hunting time.

* A peculiar sound made by the hart at a certain season of the year, is so called.

And still, in the scenes thou lov'd'st to trace,
The joyous pastimes of old have place;
Still to the sound of the cheery horn,
The hunters gather at eve and morn.
And the deer find shade, as they did of eld,
Ere the parent growths of the wood were fell'd;
And many a dreamer, lingering near,
Even for thy sake, has joy to hear,

The sound of the hart's bell,

"The pleasant sound of the hart's bell,"
In the merry hunting time.

CIGARS AND TOBACCO.

BY THE EDITOR.

"Miss Tox.-'You won't mind me ;-you'll make yourself quite at home, won't you, Mr. Toodle?'

"MR. TOODLE.-'Thankee, mam, I'll take my bit of baccy.'

Dombey and Son.

Happy words,-golden dialogues,-short, yet expressive,redolent of youth, and plenty, and joyousness, not altogether incompatible with clearness of head, and elasticity of heart. Of the man who thus speaks, the waiter has hopes, he knows him to be no croaker, no mawworm, no cynic, with a front of brass; but one of those pleasant ones, who believe that life has its joys as well as its cares, its time for relaxation as well as for work, who think that occasionally it is sometimes quite as good to be merry as it is to be wise; in short, that he belongs to those sensible men, who feel that they have two natures, and who think it to be their duty fairly to develope both.

Such is our philosophy, we avow it; what is more, we have practised it, and have found it answer us "indifferently well." To us, our much-loved meerschaum has been as a Jacob's ladder, by which angels have ascended and descended, and heaven has been brought near to earth; and we glory in the fact, that we can and do, (since on the sandy banks of the Elbe, we were first initiated into the mysteries of the divine art,) smoke. This is man's proud prerogative. Here he stands unapproachably alone. Does he eat? do not the beasts that perish the same? Does he drink? so does the ass that brays by his side. Does he walk erect, or on convenient rump gracefully sit? cannot the monkey do the same? But who can smoke but man?— None. He alone can sing with Wright:

"Other gents there may be, who are handsomer far,
But none can more gracefully puff a cigar.”

Let us extend our line of remark. Where does ancient history terminate, and modern begin? What is the broad line of demarcation? The fall of the Roman empire?-pooh, pooh, no one would give such an answer, save—

"tutors in hall and college,

Who have a great deal of learning, but little knowledge."

No: it was not that; but the introduction of tobacco. Modern history begins with Sir Walter Raleigh. Then Bacon taught how to question Nature, and interpret her replies; then all that was great in English literature sprang into existence; then were born constitutional governments, colonies, commerce, and civilization. Nor is this to be wondered at. Tribes in a nomade state never progress much. In all countries, and in all ages, we find their condition much the same; so long as they lead a migratory life, will their state be barbarous in the extreme: not amongst them will the graces and soft humanities of life find a congenial home. And in like manner, when men began to smoke, they began to sit still, to reflect, to improve,-a philosophy better than that of the Peripatetics arose. No wonder the ancients knew so little, after all: they were on the wrong track. How could you, my young and inflammable reader, get on with your Euclid, or your differential calculus, had you to do them out in the sunshine, "all on a summer's day," with flowers beneath, and the blue heavens above, and voluptuous zephyrs round, and tall, graceful, almond-shaped eyed, Athenian nymphs, looking slily at you all the while? No wonder the grave Socrates had in his class such gay dogs as Alcibiades; the wonder is, there were not more of them. Real philosophy,