evidence had been heard, and Ruth was condemned other she unclosed the only window of her habitato perish as a witch. tion to admit the air. Young Marsden was rendered almost frantic by the fatal intelligence, and ran from house to house madly calling upon the populace for aid; but in place of encourage.nent, cold words and averted looks were alone accorded him. Suddenly he be thought him of the fortune teller, and having ascertained with great difficulty that her cabin was built upon a desolate island adjacent to the village, he hastened to seek her out-convinced that she was at the bottom of the infamous business. "You see, it was no idle boast I made, and you may thank my forbearance in not punishing your temerity to the extent of my power," she said, as he recovered. "Who, and what you may be, I know not," he exclaimed when he was at length able to speak," that you are endowed with attributes beyond the ordinary grasp of common minds is evident; but if I fail in my attempt to-night, it matters little what befals me here." "What brings thee here, then?" "Are you a conjurer, and yet ask this?" "Tell me, then; for I am convinced that it is through you that Ruth Standish is now under condemnation for a witch ;-is there no hope of saving her? I will give you money in plenty--be your demand what it may-so you will save her from the fate which threatens.” It was the night preceding the day appointed for the execution of the sentence, when young Marsden set forth upon his hazardous expedition. It was to- "I claim only power over men's bodies. I do not wards the close of September, and a storm had aris-guide, though I can sometimes read their actions," she en, accompanied by south-easterly winds, rain and returned with a sneer. hail-yet the young adventurer, tossed upon the angry waves in his frail shallop, recked not of the anger of the elements, nor the dangers of his mission. Long ere midnight he had reached the island designated as the abode of the hag, and without much difficulty, owing to a torch which she kept burning at night before her rude lodge, but which was visible for many miles, serving as a beacon for those who, for sport or some more serious motive occasionally visited her, he had reached the spot where was situated her domicile. A few abrupt raps immediately opened the door to him, and he found himself, saturated with rain, in the presence of the fortune-teller; who, standing over cauldron in which she was mixing some preparation, in her capacity of herbvender and maker of love philters, etc., resembled an evil spirit brooding over the scene of its nightly incantations. Defiance, too? But thou'rt a boy, and know'st not what thou say'st. Begone while there is yet safety for you. Your hour has not yet come?" "In spite of your mysterious jargon," he repled, "I am resolved to be heard; the people look upon you with suspicion, and already your practices have become the theme of comment in the village. By one act you may preserve yourself." The woman smiled contemptuously, as she answered: "You exhibit a strange interest in my welfare; but know, silly boy, that it is beyond the power of man to harm me. Around this spot I have drawn a charm which places completely at my disposal all who may enter here with evil purpose. Would'st try it ?" "I scorn your money, Geoffry Marsden; for I need it not. Look! here is that would buy thy means thrice told”—and plunging her hand into a small box as she spoke, she drew it forth filled with gold and jewels ;-think you I'd barter my revenge for that of which I have such plenty. No, Geoffry Marsden: the fiat has gone forth; years-years ago the oath was registered; the hour of its accomplishment is at hand," and she muttered as to herself: "The last of his race in his son I see, And the last of his race he is doomed to be. "Your anger appears to be particularly directed towards me, yet I have never done aught to merit it? Why should you thus persecute me for a crime of which I am ignorant-which I could never have committed ?" "Boy," she replied;--listen, and I will tell thee that, which never until this day my lips hath passed. Time was when this wrinkled and tottering form was young and fair-when these gray scanty locks were black and glossy,-these features straight and lovely; men bowed then at my feet, and I might have been a princess had I so chosen. But love took root in my heart, and I foolishly allowed myself to be persuaded into a secret marriage-which I afterward discovered was but a mask. The sequel is but a repetition of the old story; like many an other, I was betrayed, deceived. The author of my ruin wedded another, whose offspring thou art. father fell by the hand of assassins-it was by my instigation that he fell, but the triumph was not yet complete. I felt that while my rival livedwhile a son of him who had wronged me walked the earth, my revenge was not half accomplished. Thy mother sickened suddenly, and died—thus foiling me, in part, of my revenge; but thou wert left, and on thy ruin I became resolved. The arrest of thine intended bride was but a step towards this end. Tomorrow she shall die, and, shortly, thou!" "Woman-had'st thou no child, that thou art thus remorseless?" he exclaimed in sudden anguish. Thy "A child I had," she replied, abating the violence of her manner at the recollection; "but it is forever lost to me, and fate has left me but one passion to cherish amid my solitude,-revenge!" "Miscreant! should Ruth Standish perish, as it seems like she may, a thousand tortures shall await thee! compared to which her sufferings shall be light." 66 Ruth Standish!" exclaimed the woman, eagerly; "is it thus the wretched girl is named ?" "Such is the name of the family with which she was adopted; for I believe she is a foundling." "Oh! hasten, back-I will go with thee, too. Be assured, she shall not perish. I did but jest, good youth-she shall not perish!" And disregarding his amazement, with an energy which he did not deem her to possess, she hurried him from the spot, and almost ere he had recovered from his surprise they were both at once afloat upon the waters. The hour of condemnation had arrived, and Ruth, with a countenance pale, yet resigned, was brought into the crowded court room once more to hear her sentence preliminary to its execution. Mr. Standish had done all that lay in his power to ward from her the dreadful fate which impended-no hope appeared to cheer the unbroken gloom of the sad scene. Suddenly there was a confusion without, and in defiance of the tipstaves who guarded the door, the fortune teller rushed into the apartment in which the seene was transpiring. Release the girl!-release her on your lives!" she exclaimed to the wondering officers of the law; who by their looks seemed fearful of being themselves bewitched. "She is innocent, it is I, her accuser, who am the witch!" There was a sullen murmur around the crowded court-room, and then broke forth a deafening roar of applause. "Is this so?" asked the friendly magistrate--not sorry, in truth, to be relieved from the unpleasant duty before him. "It is; she bears upon her back a blood mark, does she not?" The simple shawl which enveloped Ruth's shoulders was suffered to fall, upon a word to that effect from one of the officers, and there was exposed upon the right shoulder a small red spot, not larger than a shilling. ""Tis she!" she cried, in a transport,-“: my child! my long lost, new found child!" and Ruth, to her half-terror, half-astonishment, found herself embraced in the arms of the fortune teller. The scene which ensued might beggar description; Ruth was immediately restored to liberty, and left the court-room escorted by her lover, amid the deafening cheers of the assembled multitude. On the succeeding day, the officers entrusted with the duty, went to the cell of the fortune teller for the purpose of conducting her to the stake which had been prepared for her; but she was dead. The panic excited in the public mind by events of which the above is at least but a feeble description, was many months in subsiding, and it was not until charges of whitchcraft had been brought against the principal instigators of the infamous proceedings by which the whole affair throughout had been characterized, that the country resumed its former peaceful aspect. MUSINGS BY MOONLIGHT ON THE SUSQUEHANNA. DEDICATED TO HER WHO INSPIRED THEM. BY A. D. D. 'Twas moonlight o'er the Susquehanna's waves, Of the pure infant which knows not the pang Shot from its native sky, and with a slow [ORIGINAL.] And graceful flight, sank as 'twould seem Its home to win. Were I the brightest star Our noble bark Sped bravely onward, and the puffing steam Which woke not at the sound. And yet sometimes I almost thought the dashing vessel felt The tranquilizing spirit of the hour; Each time her rushing bow with ruthless speed Rose on the top of the long rolling swell, She seemed to pause, as loth to plung into The tranquil calm, until the willing wave Rolled from beneath, and beckoned, as it were, Th' reluctant steamer onward. As I sat Upon the stern, I gazed down at the path Was that sweet picture. The unbroken calm Which reigns within the breast of childhood, seemed It leaves upon the once smooth peaceful surface While thus I mused, Methought we neared a leafy isle, which stretched By the soft moonlight it appeared to sleep Which, as the poets say, is sometimes seen Always receding, and as yet unstained By foot of mortal man. Its thick leaved boughs With graceful curve drooped o'er the water's edge, As if they longed to kiss the element Which guarded their abode. Their feathery tops And glancing down from leaf to leaf shone through Which seemed to have escaped the with'ring touch 41. THE old Cathedral City of Norwich is said to contain a greater number of Churches and places of public worship than any other city in the world. We call Brooklyn a City of Churches, but it is quite destitute, in this respect, when compared with this fine old City of Churches. The view of the bridge, which we give in the above engraving, presents one of the architectural curiosities of this old town. It was built in 1295, and belonged to the see of Norwich till 1393, when it was transferred to the citizens. It is a strange patched up structure of stone and flint and brick. It has three odd-looking arches: over the central arch is a rude representation of the city arms, and inside the arch are some grotesque heads. Fairs used to be held on the bridge at Easter and Whitesuntide; the former is now kept in the castle. terior of the spire, till he reached the highest window, through which he made his way to the exterior, and assisted only by the crockets, which are above a yard apart, climbed to the finial that crowns the summit of the spire. On this narrow footing, at a height of above three hundred feet, he walked twice round, and then, in the presence of the vast crowd who had assembled, and were watching him with breathless anxiety, he amused himself for some time in twirling round the weathercock. He at length descended in safety, in the same way that he had ascended. In our last number we gave an engraving representing one of the curiosities of architecture still remaining in this old city. St. Ethelbert's Gate. But, The tower of Norwich Cathedral is the loftiest and notwithstanding it contains many monuments of the most elaborate of the Norman period remaining in past, Bale, writing in 1549, cries out lustily against the England, and has an appearance of richness and citizens of Norwich for their disregard of their antisolidity that is very admirable. The spire is the quities. "O city of England," he says, " whose glory loftiest in the kingdom, with the exception of that of standeth more in belly-cheer than in search of wisSalisbury Cathedral, to which it must also yield in dom godly, how cometh it that neither you, nor yet grace of proportions. This, however, is a very hand- your idle mass-mongers, have regarded this most some one. It is encircled with several horizontal worthy commodity of your country-I mean the conbands, and the angles are richly crocketed. A remark-servation of your antiquities, and of the worthy labours able instance of hardihood is mentioned in connection of your learned men? I think the renown of such a with this spire. On a Sunday in July, 1798, a sailor notable act would much longer have endured than of boy, thirteen years old, obtained permission of the all your belly-banquets and table-triumphs, either yet sacrist to go up into the tower during the performance of your newly-purchased halls to keep St. George's of the service. From the tower he ascended the in-feast in." THE FIRST PATIENT. [ORIGINAL.] ANASTASIUS BAKE was a singular little body: sin-[ gular in his appearance, singular in countenance, with singular expression, singular dress, and, in short, singular all over. Far from being a bad man, good nature and humour lurked in his small twinkling grey eyes, in his hasty voluminous speech, in his incessant uneasiness, and even in his tongue, which protruded from the corners of his mouth in a very funny twist or distended his cheeks in a comical manner. Residing on the Connecticut river, somewhere between its source and mouth, he kept all sorts of irons in the fire. His business was various, often heterogeneous, but no matter how pressing the engagements, or how frequent the demand, no one complained of his negligence or inability to satisfy their wants. Bake's eyes, rivetted to the stranger, ceased their twinkle-his tongue for once was still. Deep thought, hidden knowledge, wond'rous secrets, a mysterious something seemed concealed beneath that demeanour, and Bake for the life of him could not tell whether it raised feelings of awe, of abhorrence, or a growing affection in his bosom for the stranger; but there was an attraction of some kind, so strong that the little Bake began to feel it in his veins. The repast was ended. Turning suddenly around, he accosted Bake with "a-a-a wor-wor-word wi-wiwith y-y-you, s-s-sir, i-i-in pri-pri-private !” "Me-e!" answered Bake. "Ye-yes, s-s-sir, i-i-in pri-i-i-vate !" Now fear was one of those base. ingredients which Among other accomplishments, he kept tavern, let mingled not in his blood, but there are times when the horses, run stages, bought and sold produce, practised boldest heart will quail, and the boldest mind hesitate. the veterinary art, was general agent for the sale of Superstition hath always battled with, and always various machines, and a sort of Encyclopedia for the vanquished bravery, often bringing to the dust heroes country generally, for consulting the pedigree, stand-whom no mortal foe could daunt. Bake paused a ing, number and wealth of families and individuals. Yet all these occupations consumed not his time-the active little man actually sighed for employment. The stage-horn's long swelling notes floated in the distance. Bake was here and there and everywhere at the same time-now arranging this thing, now that, with his accustomed alacrity. Soon the halfmelted horses and dust-covered stage thundered up to the door : "Step out, gen'l'm-step out-step out-supper s'r -supper s'r?" rattled so incoherently from his tongue, it might have passed for High-Dutch. Ye-yes s-s-sir," answered a tall, raw-boned, dried-visaged, black-eyed passenger, dressed in a full suit of black, as he strode majestically across the porch with a huge bundle under each arm. 66 Eh, eh!" ejaculated Bake, catching a view of the retreating form. Seldom, very seldom any one appeared in those parts unless Bake called him by name, shook hands, inquired after his family, friends and neighbours-how far he had come and how far he should go to-day; but that voice, that form, he could not localize or identify. Supper being ready, the grave stranger seated himself near the centre, at the side of the table, opposite Bake. "Pleasant weather," said the latter, endeavouring to attract the former's attention. 86 Ye-es." Corn, I suppose is backward?" "Ye-es." But with all his attempts, Bake failed of eliciting more than "ye-es." With lofty mien the stranger took his meal in silence, eating with the greatest precision-each piece of evenly buttered bread, each piece of meat cut to an exact cube, alternately followed by a swallow of tea. I moment, and (it being warm and early evening towards the middle of July) proposed taking a stroll along the bank of the river. They soon reached a quiet, secluded grove, when Bake, seating himself upon a hillock, informed his companion "he was ready to hear him.” Ye-es s-s-sir!" It was one of those lovely spots where Nature seems to excel herself; where animate and inanimate creation, although in a different language, fills us with the liveliest pictures of happiness and beauty-where the earth, veiled in the thin gause of evening, borrows from heaven her lustres, which richly blend the shadows of the trees above with the waters beneath. The distant hills, towering aloft, scarcely preserve a line of demarcation in the heavens; and the opposite shore strives to kiss the shadow of her sister shore, whilst bright rays of light, dancing upon the ripples, forever separated their embrace. Both Such was the evening and such the scene. were absorbed in contemplation, whether reflecting upon these charms of nature, or whether the one revolved a method of procedure in his mind, whilst the other wondered what the communication might be, may possibly never be known; but the reverie was broken by the stranger inquiring: "Do you wish to become famed and wealthy?" The thoughtless Bake, making no particular objection to so reasonable and harmless a proposition, he continued: "Well, then, it is in your power-the gold is before you-honours will follow: reach forth your hand and receive them." Bake had read, with some degree of credulity, of an enchantress, who was in the habit of surprising her favourites or enemies every fine evening, the first with every manner of good, the latter with every manner of evil; and, beginning now to look upon his mysterious companion as a magician who had assumed this form, perhaps to enrich, perhaps to impoverish him, he nervously clutched for a casket of jewels, but he clasped a phantom only. The sweet vision dissolved like a morning mist-instead of a talismanic |