knowing what to make of these perplexing circumstances. "I mean," said I," the coffin-that is the coffin I drew over upon me when I fell." "I do not know of any coffin," answered he, laughing heartily; "but I know very well that you have pulled upon yourself my good mahogany table; there it lies." And, on looking, I observed the large table which stood in the middle of the hall, overturned upon the floor. Doctor Wunderdudt (he was professor of anatomy to the college) now made me retire, and had me put in bed till clothing could be procured. But I would not allow him to depart till he had unravelled the strange web of perplexity in which I still found myself involved. Nothing would satisfy me but a philosophical solution of the problem, "Why was I not buried alive as I had reason to expect?" The doctor expounded this intricate point in the following man

ner:

"The day before yesterday," said he, "I informed the resurrectionists in the service of the university, that I was in want of a subject, desiring them at the same time to set to work with all speed. That very night they returned, assuring me that they had fished up one which would answer to a hair, being both young and vigorous. In order to inform myself of the quality of what they brought me, I examined the body, when, to my indignation and grief, I found that they had disinterred my excellent friend, Mr Frederick Stadt, who had been buried the same day."

"What!" said I, starting up from the bed, "did they disinter me?the scoundrels."

"You may well call them scoundrels," said the professor, "for preventing a gentleman from enjoying the pleasure of being buried alive. The deed was certainly most felonious; and, if you are at all anxious, I shall have them reported to the Syndic, and tried for their impertinent interference. But to proceed. No sooner did I observe that they had fallen upon you than I said, 'My good men, this will never do. You have brought me here my worthy friend, Mr Stadt. I cannot feel in my heart to anatomize him, so just carry him quietly back to his old quarters, and I shall pay you his price, and something over and above."" "What!" said I, again interrupting doctor, "is it possible you could

be so inhuman as to make the scoun drels bury me again?"

"Now, Stadt," rejoined he, with a smile, "you are a strange fellow. You were angry at the men for raising you, and now you are angry at me for endeavouring to repair their error by reinterring you."

"But you forget that I was to come alive?"

"How the deuce was I to know that, my dear boy?"

"Very true. Go on, doctor, and excuse me for interrupting you so often." "Well," continued he, "the men carried you last night to deposit you in your long home, when, as fate would have it, they were prevented by a ridiculous fellow of a tailor, who, for a trifling wager, had engaged to sit up alone, during the whole night, in the church-yard, exactly at the spot where your grave lay. So they brought you back to the College, resolving to inter you to-night, if the tailor, or the devil himself, should stand in their way. Your timely resuscitation will save them this trouble. At the same time, if you are still offended at them, they will be very happy to take you back, and you may yet enjoy the felicity of being buried alive."

Such was a simple statement of the fact, delivered in the Professor's goodhumoured and satirical style; and from it the reader may guess what a narrow escape I had from the most dreadful of deaths, and how much I am indebted, in the first instance, to the stupid blundering of the resurrectionists, and, in the second, to the tai lor. I returned to my own house as soon as possible, to the no small mortification of my cousin, who was proceeding to invest himself with all that belonged to me. I made him refund without ceremony, and altered my will, which had been made in his favour; not forgetting in so doing his refusal to let my body remain two days longer unburied. A day or two afterwards I saw a funeral pass by, which, on inquiry, I learned to be Wolstang's. He died suddenly, as I was informed, and some persons remarked it as a curious event that his death happened at precisely the same moment as my return to life. This was merely mentioned as a passing observation, but no inference was deduced from it. The old domestic in Wolstang's house gave a wonderful account of his death, mentioning the hour at which he said he was to die,

With respect to myself, I excited a great talk, receiving invitations to dine with almost all the respectable families in Gottingen. I had the honour of being waited on by Doctor Dedimus Dunderhead, who, after shaking me by the hand in the kindest manner, made me give a long account of my feelings at the instant of coming alive. Of course, I concealed everything connected with the Metempsychosis, and kept out many circumstances, which at the time I did not wish to be known. He was nevertheless highly delighted, and gave it as his opinion (which, being oracular, was instantly acted upon), that a description of the whole should be inserted in the Annals of the University. I had the farther honour of being invited to dinner at his house-an honour which I duly appreciated, knowing that it is almost never conferred except on the syndics, burgomasters, and deacons of the town, and a few of the professors. These events which are here related at

except indeed the affair of the coming alive, which everybody in Gottingen knows of. If any doubt the more unlikely parts of the detail, I cannot help it. I have not written this with the view of empty fame, and still less of profit. Philosophy has taught me to despise the former, and my income renders the latter an object of no importance. I merely do it to put my fellow-citizens on their guard against the machinations of the old fellow with the snuff-coloured surtout, the scarlet waistcoat, and the wooden leg. Above all, they should carefully abstain from signing any paper he may present to them, however plausible his offers may be. By mere thoughtlessness in this respect, I brought myself into a multitude of dangers and difficulties, from which every one in the same predicament may not escape so easily as I have done. I shall conclude with acknowledging that a strong change has been wrought in my opinions; and that from ridiculing the doctrines of the sage of Samos, I am now one of their firmest supporters. In a word, I am what I have designated myself,

"A MODERN PYTHAGOREAN."

AMONG all the youths that attended Divine service at the church of St Alphage, there was none, at least in my day, to be compared, either in point of manly beauty or rustic accomplishments, with Will Brockman. Will was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. His father, who, to use the colloquial phraseology of this coast, had followed the sea from his childhood, perished one stormy night, in a vain though gallant attempt to bring assistance to a vessel in distress; and Will, who was then an infant, formed from that hour the only solace of a kind-hearted and amiable mother. The elder Brockman had, it appeared, been successful in his speculations. Whether these were always such as to defy scrutiny, or whether,

in common with the rest of his townsmen, he deemed it no act of dishonesty to defraud the revenue as often as circumstances would allow, I cannot tell.

All that I know is, that at his death he left his widow in possession of a comfortable dwelling, situated on the extreme edge of my parish-of a sum in ready money, the amount of which no one accurately knew-of the whole and sole property in a barge and a pinnace-together with a couple of shares in a neat lugger, famous for its fast sailing, and called the Dreadnought. Possessed of this fortune, Mrs Brockman naturally became an object of desire to such of her late husband's companions as were bachelors. The father of her boy had not been in his grave a year, before she was im

portuned on all hands to change her condition; but to such proposals she turned a deaf ear, and transferring to her son all the love she ever felt for her husband, she continued in her widowed state up to the hour of her decease. At the period of which I now write, Will had attained his three-and-twentieth year; in height, he measured rather more than six feet. His form, though apparently slender, was well knit and put together; his step was light and free, and gave notice of a surpassing degree of agility and vigour; no man along the coast could pull a better oar, or more skilfully manage a rudder or a sail, when the wind was high and the sea rough. Will's hair was of a raven blackness, and hung about his temples and forehead in thick short curls; his eye was of the hue of the sloe when it is fully ripe; his complexion was a clear olive, slight ly tinged with vermilion ; and his skin, notwithstanding a frequent exposure to the elements, as well in summer as in winter, still retained the purity and delicacy of its texture. Yet he was not critically beautiful. His was a countenance which pleased more be cause of its general expression of good humour and high courage, than that the features were strictly regular; for his nose was perhaps too long, and his mouth rather too wide. But then his teeth were pieces of the brightest and most polished ivory, and there was a beam in his eye, and a lightening up of every feature when he smiled, which few maidens could watch with indifference. Such was Will Brockman when first I saw him, about four years after my arrival in the parish; and I must say, that when he stood in the church-yard, in his jacket and trowsers of fine blue cloth, his white stockings and well-cleaned shoes, I could not wonder at the degree of honest pride with which his widowed mother regarded him.

The events of his short life, previous to the commencement of our acquaintance, may be related in few words.

Like other youths brought up by the sea-side, Will early exhibited a predilection for a maritime life; and as Mrs Brockman appeared to consider the coasting trade, and the business of a dredger, as of all others the most perilous, she determined to send her son into the service of a company of mer

chants, whose ships navigated between London and the Baltic. At the age of thirteen he accordingly entered upon his apprenticeship. This expiring in four years, he was taken, when seventeen years old, as an able seaman on board the Neptune, where his attention to his duties, and his general activity and intelligence, soon recommended him for favour and promotion. He had hardly reached his twentieth year, when he received the appointment of second mate-his preferment to the rank of first mate occurred the year after-and when he and I met for the first time, he was on leave of absence of an indefinite extent, waiting till the brig Britannia should be fitted out for service, of which he was to be put in command. Right joyous had the widow's heart been many days before he made his appearance, at the prospect of once more having her boy under her roof, safe and sound from the perils of the deep. No fewer than five years had elapsed since her arms last embraced him; and now he was to return to them loaded with honours, and what was of far more weight in her eyes, worthy to be honoured by all good men. Happy woman was she, when, at a late hour on Saturday night, her brave and handsome son burst into her parlour; and proud was her bearing when she entered the house of God, leaning upon his stalwart arm, on the morning after.

There dwelt in the parish at this time a family of the name of Petley, of whom, from the father down to the youngest child, no one thought well. The old man was by trade a marketgardener, but he paid so little attention to the cultivation of his land, that it would have been matter of surprise how he contrived to live, had not his neighbours been pretty well assured, that he looked to it but little for a subsistence. He was a widower. His domestic circle consisted of three sons and a daughter, the eldest about thirty, the youngest, Harriet, hardly nineteen. The boys professed to be fishermen. They owned a boat among them, with which they made frequent voyages, no one cared to inquire whither; but if these voyages were made in search of fish, they were generally far from being successful. The fact, indeed, was, that fishing constituted a mere excuse for the prosecution of another, and a more perilous vocation.

They were smugglers, daring, intrepid, unprincipled smugglers-men who were known to carry arms about their persons whenever they set out upon an adventure, and who professed, and professed truly, not to set their own lives, or the lives of others, at a pin's value. They were men of viofence from their youth up, dissolute in their habits, proud and bold in their deportment, and what, in the eyes of their neighbours at least, was worst of all, they were men without one particle of honour. No one herded with them, no one dared to trust them. They stood perfectly alone, for they had on various occasions betrayed a companion in illicit transactions, and were universally shunned in consequence.

Of the daughter Harriet, it grieves me to speak in the terms which truth requires. Never have my eyes rested upon a female face or form more perfectly beautiful. Her brown hair hung in glossy ringlets over her neck, and parted upon a forehead purer and whiter than the purest alabaster, in which every blue vein could be distinctly traced, like streaks in the polished marble. Her eye of dark hazel could languish or laugh, as suited the humour of the moment, with equal effect; her little mouth spoke volumes, as the smile or the sneer curled it; her figure, neither tall nor short, was a piece of the most exquisite symmetry. Yet, with all these outward charms, Harriet was a bad girl; and she was not the less bad, that she was absolutely chaste. Cold, calculating, and hypocritical, she had been taught from her childhood to square every action, and to fashion every look, according to the dictates of interest. All the lads in the parish admired her, and almost all had, for a time, dangled after her. But they gradually ceased to court one, who favoured their addresses only so far as she found them pliable; and who made no other use of her power over them, than to entangle them into a ruinous connexion with her brothers.

Young Brockman had been so long absent, that of the character of this family he knew nothing. The sons had all been his school-fellows; one was about his own age; and when they last parted, no such stigma was known to attach to them. It was therefore but natural that he should meet their

advances with the cordiality of other days, and freely accept their invitation to come and partake of the produce of the farm. This was given after divine service, on the very first Sunday which he spent amongst us ; and coming as it did, from the ruby lips of Harriet, no one could feel surprise that it was not declined; for with the precipitancy of his years, Will's admiration grew at once into passion, and before he had exchanged two sentences with his old acquaintance, he became her devoted slave.

From that unlucky hour, Will became a constant visitor at the house of John Petley. His mother, from whom the state of his feelings could not long remain a secret, did her best to break off the connexion. She took, I believe, the injudicious course which most mothers take, when their sons or daughters chance to form an improper attachment; that is to say, she never neglected any legitimate opportunity of

speaking slightingly of Harriet, nor greatly scrupled to invent one, when it occurred not of its own accord. But her plans proved as fruitless as such plans generally prove, and the more she railed at the object of his attentions, the more devotedly and warmly attached to that object he became. Matters went, indeed, so far at last, that she absolutely longed for the arrival of the communication which was again to separate her from the only being upon earth whom she truly loved; so firmly was she convinced, that her son's intercourse with the Petleys could end in no good, and would probably lead to his ruin.

Nor had much time elapsed before the consequences of his misplaced attachment began to appear in the habits and behaviour of young Brockman. Whole days were now spent at Petley's house, and some of the lowest and worst characters along the coast were his companions. Many a time his mother sat up, in expectation of his return, till long past midnight; and when he did return, was shocked to find him in a state of outrageous inebriety. His money, too, began to run short; cards, of which the good woman entertained a grievous horror, became his favourite diversion; and a rumour gradually gained ground that much of it was lost at play. When Sunday morning came round, he had always some excuse ready, why he should

not accompany her to church; his head ached, or he had received a communication from his employers, which must be answered by that day's post; in a word, Will Brockman was an altered man. The very expression of his countenance was changed, and even his style of dress was no longer what it used to be. The effect of all this was, to cause the widow's heart, of late so light, to sink within her; her days were accordingly devoted to useless complaining, and her nights to watch fulness and terror.

In the meanwhile, a thousand stories were abroad respecting her son, His letter of appointment, it was reported, had arrived; but he had rejected the situation, at the suggestion of Harriet and her brothers. He had been frequently seen, of late, at the dead of night, on the beach; and more than once he was known to have been absent from home for twenty-four hours successively. The Dreadnought, which had hitherto been navigated by a stranger, was called in, and who was to command her, or in what service she was hereafter to be employed, no one knew. Men whispered and smiled, women looked grave, and lamented, and all felt persuaded, that Will Brock, man was entangled in a net from which he would never free himself. Not that the good folks on the coast of Kent look with an evileye upon an ordinary smug gler-very far from it; I believe that not a few of the leading families in that part of the kingdom, owe their rise entirely to what is called free trade; but the party with which Will had connected himself, or was supposed to have connected himself, were so notoriously bad, that their very brother smugglers dared not trust them. Even of the little honour which belongs to thieves, they were known to be devoid; and hence Brockman's ruin was predicted, not so much on account of the danger necessarily attendant upon his pursuits, as because it was surmised, that his new associates would deliver him over to the officers of go

vernment, on the very first opportunity which should promise to make it worth their while.

Of all this his poor mother was duly informed. Her fears were accordingly excited beyond endurance, and the more, that she knew not how to proceed in order to save him. The effect of her personal remonstrances had been to drive him almost entirely from his home. The spell of the syren was over him, and to her he fled for comfort and support when the reproaches and tears of a kind parent stung too deeply. This the latter saw, and, determined to risk everything for his preservation, she fell upon a remedy so desperate as only to be justified by the desperate state of his circumstances. She resolved to become herself an informer-she made up her mind to instruct the Excise officers when and where they might arrest the Petleys in their illicit proceedings, and she delayed it from day to day, only in the hope, the remote and uncertain hope, of finding an opportunity to do so when Will might be absent from their meetings; but that opportunity came not-Day and night they were together, and the poor woman, worked up to a pitch of frenzy, at last gave information of an intended landing of smuggled goods, in which she had somehow discovered that Will was to take part. The goods were, indeed, to be brought over in the Dreadnought, which her son was to steer; yet, such was her horror of the proceedings in which he had embarked, and such the conviction, that if she did not extricate him by a desperate chance like the present, he would undoubtedly fall a victim to the inte rests of his more crafty comrades, that without hesitation she dispatched an anonymous letter to the Customhouse, in which the plans of the smugglers were, as far as she knew them, communicated. The letter was not cast aside because it bore no signature, and what the consequences of it were, it shall be the business of the following chapter to detail.

Ir was now the month of August; I had retired to bed one night at my usual hour, but, partly from the effect of delicate health, and partly because my thoughts were still too apt to wander back into past scenes, I felt no inclination to sleep. After vainly toss

ing about for some time, I rose, and, opening the window, looked out. The air was soft and mild, and the moon, in her third quarter, shed a faint and silvery light over external objects. My little church, with its neat churchyard and white fences, appeared to