wherever jewellery could be placed; and there was much rejoicing at the slopseller's at Portsmouth. Aaron wore very unblushingly the airs of an innocent and injured man. All the account that he deigned to give of his liberation was, that he had been much wronged, as there was not a tittle of evidence against him. Very little indeed was said of the man who had twice saved his life. The world at length said, that Aaron could not have been guilty, "For see, he has again set up his gig."

So Edmund Desborough was once more penniless. He staid in town nearly three months, endeavouring to make interest for the restoration of his commission. The only reply to all intercession was "Prosecute." The public voice was not with him. He had now to cast about for the means of supporting his existence. He resolved, at least, to see Dinah Myers before he selected his next course of life, and was not a little curious to discover in what manner she and her family would treat him.

In rather shabby plain clothes he arrived one wet and muddy day at the slopseller's door, at which was then standing Aaron's fancy gig. As Edmund was about to cross the threshold, the dashing Jew sprang into his vehicle, smiled triumphantly, kissed his hand graciously to the wayworn traveller, then, with a knowing touch with his whip on the flank of his high-bred horse, he caused him to rear and plunge, so that he splashed Edmund from head to foot with mud; at which he again smiled, and then squaring his elbows, he drove off rapidly. Dinah and her father were at the doorway. At the appearance of the ex-lieutenant, the father looked nervous and shy, and the daughter, taking the hand of Edmund, and respectfully kissing it, led him into the old back-parlour, weeping as if her heart was breaking. She seated him in the chair of honour, and before he could utter one word, she thus addressed Moses Myers:

"Now father, arouse yourself. For once shake off this torpor, or never more awake to the beautiful sensibilities of life-to the love and tenderness of your daughter. Hear the truth-appreciate, love it. and you, Edmund Desborough, I conjure-I implore you explain to us this very moment all that has been done, and all that you have done; and, at what sacrifice, in order to save the life and reputation of one so dear to this wretched family-and God forgive him!-of one so ungrateful. Alas! Edmund, you have suffered much-you look illyour raiment is worn, and you no longer appear in uniform. Indeed, you are distressingly thin. Speak! Say all!"

And Edmund Desborough, with his eyes fixed on the exalted beauty, simply discovered everything.

Then Dinah, with her radiant eyes flashing forth indignant fires, arose, and going to her father, gently shook him, saying,

"Moses Myers, have you heard? Have you understood? This glorious youth has beggared himself—has thrown away all his hopes in his profession, to save you and me from ignominy-your only son from the hangman! All your immense fortune is too-oh! wretchedly too small to repay this soul-deep debt. What say you, my dear father!— quick-quick-is not all that we have his? Are you not his bondsman, and I his unworthy servant?"

As far

To all this energy of appeal the old man answered, stupidly, "I'll consult Aaron about it. You are too violent, Dinah. as one hundred pounds-or even one hundred and fifty-" Here a direful shriek interrupted the calculating Jew. "Dinah, you are so violent—and the expenses of his journey to and from town-nothing more, no, no, no."

All this was uttered in his usual slipshod English.

"Edmund," said Dinah, "I see visibly the finger of the Divinity directing me. I obey. Take me, and take all that is mine. I have much independent property. Let me leave this dwelling, and as we go out let us shake the dust from off the soles of our feet. There must be a curse upon it. Lead me forth to my maiden aunt, Rachel. She is well stricken in years, and loveth me much. Edmund Desborough, henceforward I will say unto you, 'Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee, for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge, thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God.""

Some ten years after we find Edmund Desborough possessed of one of the largest and most beautiful estates in one of the middle counties of England, and of the handsomest wife, supposed to be a foreigner. There is domesticated with them a very happy but imbecile old man, the father of the lady, which old man often affords his merry and lovely grandchildren much amusement by sticking upon his head three or four hats, one upon the other, and crying for the hour together "Old

clo' !"

ON A NATIVE SINGER.

(AFTER HEARING MISS ADELAIDE Kemble.)

As sweet as the Bird that by calm Bendemeer,
Pours such rich modulations of tone-

As potent, as tender, as brilliant, as clear-
Still her Voice has a charm of its own.

For lo! like the skylark, when after its song
It drops down to its nest from above,

She reminds us her home and her music belong

To the very same soil that we love.

T. HOOD.

PHINEAS QUIDDY; OR, SHEER INDUSTRY.

BY JOHN POOLE, ESQ.

66

AUTHOR OF PAUL PRY," &c.

CHAP. XVII.

A HAUNTED HOUSE" THERE NEEDS NO GHOST:" SHAKSPEARE-AN ARRIVAL.

ABOUT the time when our hero was employed in the manner noticed at the conclusion of the last chapter, Mc Squills received from Sweenie an alarming account of the state of poor Janet. She had all along borne her sufferings, not with patience only, but with cheerfulness. The removal from her bed to her sofa in the morning, and back to her bed at night, was always effected with difficulty, and generally with pain to her; yet never did an angry or a peevish expression escape from her lips.

For several weeks past she had been unable to endure even this slight removal, and had constantly remained on the sofa, lying on her right side so as to prevent any pressure on her injured limb. At her elbow was a small table whereon lay the Bible which had belonged to Mrs. Sanderson-the spectacles, Janet, with mingled feelings of piety and affection, still retained in the very place where the old woman had left them-and it was in reading that throughout the day, and in conversing with the family, or listening with deep interest to Sweenie's stories (which were mostly of the marvellous) in the evening, that she passed her time.

In short (as Sweenie wrote to our doctor) it seemed now to be nothing but her beautiful temper that kept her alive. For Janet herself, she felt that she could not live long, but expressed no fear of dying. On the contrary, she thought it was merciful to her to be taken from the world before she should do any more harm in it"-she, poor girl, who never, either in deed, word, or thought, had harmed created thing!-and all she seemed to regret was, that she should never again see the good doctor (for as such she always spoke of Mc Squills), who when she lost her benefactress had been as a father to her.

"But that is hopeless," she would say; "I cannot expect that he should leave his business, and come all this way to see a poor girl like

me.

In this she was mistaken.

It is remarkable that throughout her illness the name of Quiddy she never mentioned.

The doctor was deeply grieved at this account of Janet's condition, for he entertained a sincere regard for her. After some reflection, he resolved to go and judge for himself of her case. We cannot with truth say that this motive alone would have induced him to undertake so long, and, for him, so expensive a journey; but, co-operating as it

did with another, he scarcely hesitated about the matter. He immediately wrote to Sweenie, that having some business to transact at Aberdeen he would take that opportunity of seeing Janet, and that a day or two after the arrival of his letter, his visit might be expected.

It happened that in that city he possessed a house which, for several years past, had been a source of very considerable annoyance to him; for, though an excellent house, he could neither let it upon any terms, however moderate, for which he might offer it, nor sell it, except by such a sacrifice of its value as he deemed it imprudent to make. Sweenie himself, indeed, was amongst the number of those who had declined to inhabit it.

Many years ago, when about to take unto himself a wife, and, in consequence, like the Alderman, he was busy "untin' an 'ouse," this was offered to him at a third of the rent which he was paying for his present very inferior residence; but, after one terrible visit to it, he declared, with horror depicted on his countenance, that no temptation on earth would ever induce him " to put his head into the accursed house again."

The circumstances which had occasioned this mysterious aversion he would sometimes be prevailed on, though never without reluctance, to relate; and his narrative exactly corroborated the story told by some few others who had ventured as he had done. He will presently be prevailed on to relate them once again.

Janet, it will readily be believed, was delighted at the promised visit of Dr. Mc Squills.

"And how considerate of him!" said she: " to lessen the weight of my obligation to him for his kindness and trouble, he pretends to have business here."

"He has business here, Janet, and I suspect what it is," said Sweenie; adding, after a pause, and in a grave and impressive tone— That house, that awful house belongs to him."

66

"Would to Heaven the house were burnt!" exclaimed his wife.

66

"It won't burn-fire won't burn it," said he, in the same impressive tone as before. When, eleven years ago, two houses, one on one side of it, and one on the other, were both reduced to ashes by one and the same fire, that accursed house escaped uninjured.* He that prompted the fearful deed protects it."

And as he uttered the emphasised word, with his finger he significantly pointed downwards.

"What house-and what about it?" inquired Janet.

"Have you never observed it?" asked Sweenie. "That large house standing alone in Broad-street, and looking right down Queen-street." "I have," replied Janet; "and good reason have I to remember it, for it was just in front of it that I met with my accident."

"There again!" said Sweenie; " I said at the time to my wife, that there was a curse upon the very spot."

Janet continued:

"It is an old house, very dirty, with its lower shutters always closed, and the frames and glass of the upper windows broken. And now,"

* A similar curious fact is recorded as having happened at the great fire at Ratcliffe, which occurred on the 13th of July, 1794.

(added she, after a moment's pause)" and, now, I recollect observing that two windows on the third floor, were always closed also."

"That was the room-it was there," said Sweenie, in a hollow voice.

"There?—what?" exclaimed Janet, startled by the manner of the

speaker.

"In that room the foul deed was committed-murder," answered Sweenie.

Janet shuddered.

After a few moments of silence, she inquired"And was the murderer discovered?"

"He, the only one that was suspected of the deed, was tried for it, but, upon the clearest evidence in his favour, acquitted. He shortly afterwards went from Aberdeen to London, where for a few years he lived in good repute, and died at last on a bed. Yet he was the murderer!"

"How was that discovered?" inquired Janet.

"It is known-I know it," was the somewhat evasive reply. "But how-how ?" eagerly cried Janet.

Sweenie made no direct reply, but, as if from a feeling of repugnance to approach the point, said

66

Shortly after the murderer had quitted this place, he sent directions for the sale of that house (for it was his), and it was purchased by a relative of Doctor Mc Squills, to whom that relative, at his death, bequeathed it. But it is a profitless incumbrance-an awful possession -a curse hangs upon it."

"Tell me tell me," cried Janet, who was powerfully excited.

Sweenie hesitated; and then, with an involuntary but momentary shudder, whilst his countenance betrayed that the utterance of the words cost him a disagreeable effort, he said, in a tone of solemnity

"Janet-that house is HAUNTED."

Janet was startled by the word, but presently she smiled and gently shook her head, as if with incredulity.

Mrs. Sweenie, who had noticed the gesture, said, in a manner so serious as to remove all doubt from Janet's mind

"Janet, my dear child, do not doubt what he tells you. It is true -fearfully true. It is too awful a subject to jest with. What he has said, he knows to be true, and Sergeant Wilkie, who was with him, is still alive to vouch for it."

Then turning to her husband she said

"And now, as you have told her so much, you may as well tell her all. You have excited her curiosity, and I'm sure she will be restless unless you do."

"No, not to-night," said he, "it is too late. The dreadful tale is not long, but you know, Moggie" (addressing his wife), "I don't like telling it late in the evening."

"To-morrow, then," said Janet.

"Perhaps," said Sweenie.

"No-you must promise," said Janet.

"Well," said he, with some hesitation, "well-I promise."

"That's enough," said Janet; "when you promise, I know you will

keep your word."

Jan.-VOL. LXIV. NO. CCLIII.

E