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or bequest of some dear and much shorter friend. An attempt had been made to forcibly compel them to approach nearer to the ankle by the wearing of straps; but, like all coercive measures in a free country, it had failed of success: for though the left leg was still in equivocal subjection, the right, scorning to submit to the dominion of the strap, had resolutely broken loose, leaving, however, a few fragmentary trophies in the possession of the enemy. As regarded the other outward appurtenances of my friend, his waistcoat was not exactly "worn i' th' newest gloss;" it had evidently seen better days: his shoes wanted mending very much, and the verdure had departed from his hat.

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'Stop a moment until I dress," said he, as I prepared to set forward, and he vanished with his linen, behind the furzebush.

In a few minutes he reappeared, arrayed in a clean shirt, (at least as far as public display was concerned,) and a starchless collar. He then gave his hands and face a partial ablution in the brook, and which he said the sun would dry as we walked along; (what a greatness of idea, to use the sun for a towel!) drained a little oil from a bottle which he produced from his pocket, rubbed it on his hair, adjusted his hat on one side, buttoned his coat as far as such a feat was practicable, and exclaiming "now, then, all's right!" started off at my side.

I could not help admiring my new acquaintance as we walked along. Notwithstanding his apparently forlorn con. dition, his confident air, brisk step, and lordly swagger, plainly proclaimed that he was on exceeding good terms with himself. He was a man that had evidently made up his mind to have nothing to do with misfortune: others might grapple with her, but he would slip aside and let her pass. He was, to use his own expression, "a gentleman out of luck;" but his sky was clearly still filled with rainbows of the most brilliant character; and I could not help contrasting, to his advantage, the happy buoyancy of his temperament, which stood him in place of the most refined or stoical philosophy, with that of others who revert regretfully and mournfully to the past, dwell despondingly on the present, and look anxiously and doubtfully toward the future.

Yet, for all this, he informed me, in confidence, as we proceeded, that he con

sidered himself, by odds, the most "illused gentleman" on the face of this green and good-looking earth.

After the third plate of our country cheer (fried ham and eggs) had disappeared, and the fourth bottle of ale had gone to attend upon it, my friend began to stretch himself in a luxurious picktooth fashion, and wonder if there were any filberts in that part of the country. Mine host professed his ignorance of such a vegetable, but said he had some capital milk-cheese. In the absence of filberts, milk-cheese was not to be despised; and after about another quarterof-an-hour's labour at the cheese, and the evanishment of two more bottles of ale, the "gentleman out of luck" began to manifest decided symptoms of communicativeness. Like a vast number of good-tempered fellows, the more he drank the stronger became the infusion of the pensive and sentimental in his discourse. His conversation assumed a mixed cha

racter:

"'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was

wild;"

and, like that of most theatrical people, it was simply, solely, and entirely about himself: what he had seen, said, done, and suffered; the losses, crosses, trials, and tribulations he had endured; the neglect and contumely he had put up with from mercenary managers and misjudging audiences; and this, together with a goodly list of broken engagements, unpaid salaries, and profitless benefits, united to a fondness for good living, a social glass, and "genteel" company, had reduced him to his present circumstances, which he assured me were crazy and unmanageable enough, in consequence of the paltry notions of tradesmen in provincial towns, who scrupled, he could not, for the life of him, surmise why, to give gentlemen in his line credit. His prospects, however, he said, were capital, if he only had five pounds; but the want of this insignificant sum prevented his reaching the metropolis, and realising a handsome fortune. Of this he did not entertain the slightest doubt. In fact, he assured me, that if he had only had fair play, he would have been at the top of his profession, and wallowing in wealth, long ago, because, as he pretty plainly hinted, there not being a man on the British stage, with the exception of himself, that could render full

and complete justice to Shakespeare, there was little or nothing to prevent him easily attaining greatness.'

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"Of course you have seen my Macbeth?" said he.

I confessed that I had not had that pleasure. Indeed, I was obliged to own that I was ignorant of even the name of the distinguished tragedian in whose company I had the honour to find my self.

"Name, my good sir-my professional name, at present, is Stanley-Marmaduke Stanley: how do you like it? Noble name! fine associations! 'Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on!'and egad I will 'on,' as soon as I get those five pounds."

"Professional name!" said I, taken rather aback.

"Oh, true! My real name—that is, the name my ancestors were contented to put up with, and obliging enough to transmit to me, was Wiggins-actually Wiggins! (think of that!) to which they had the excellent taste to prefix Timothy, in compliment to my uncle the barber, Timothy Wiggins! Hamlet, by Timothy Wiggins! Good heavens, sir, it was not to be endured! Could the great Garrick himself be resuscitated, and play Hamlet under the name of Wiggins, the critics would sneer, and the audience laugh at him!"

I cordially admitted that, as far as euphony was concerned, Wiggins was not exactly the thing; and wishing to take at least a seeming interest in the fate of the said Wiggins, alias Stanley, inquired if he had any existing engage

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troublous voice, and with a peculiar expression of countenance, which induced me to surmise he must himself have been entrapped sometime or other in the snare of matrimony" sir, Weazle is a married man!

"The devil!"

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'Ay, you may say that—and such a woman! Alas! poor Weazle! Now I happen to be most disgracious in the eyes of Mrs. W. for sundry reasons. In the first place, I have interfered more than once-when I certainly had no business-and prevented her beating her liege lord; and in various other matters.

"You understand me. She despises Weazle, and suffers her eye to hunt after new fancies.' And a fellow of the name of Brown, that takes the seconds in tragedy, sings comic songs, paints scenes, plays harlequin, and makes himself generally useful, has hit Mrs. Weazle's fancy; and the unchaste virago takes every opportunity to elevate him and disparage me. Why, sir-but you will scarcely credit it-on his benefit night, she actually wanted me-me! (emphasising every word,) to play Macduff to Brown's Macbeth!"

I was horror-struck, of course, and looking him incredulously in the face, exclaimed, "impossible!"

"Why, doubtless, it appears so to you and all the world"-(nearly all actors have an impression that the great business of the world is suspended when any squabble occurs among themselves, and some labour under the hallucination to an almost incredible extent) —“I knew you would not, could not believe it but (rising from his seat and laying his hand upon his heart) I do solemnly assure you upon my word and honour as a gentleman, such was the FACT."

:

My countenance indicated that the world was coming to an end, but I faltered out, "Compose yourself, my dear fellow."

"I will try. Much injured shade of Shakespeare! Brown's Macbeth! Landlord, another bottle-and because I indignantly spurned the damning degradation, she commanded Weazle to dismiss me."

"And did he comply?"

"He must have done it-legally married-no choice, you know. But luckily there was a third penalty in the way in case of breach of covenant, which of course rendered the thing impossible." "Infamous woman!"

"Ay, you may say that-exceedingly infamous, and what is worse, ugly to boot-five feet, clever, and a beard, besides being partial to liquor, as I am a tragedian! But that is not all-your health, sir-she now takes every opportunity of marring my points and ruining my effects. It was only the other week we had to enact Hamlet. I, of course, was Hamlet. Well, you shall hear;Weazle ought to have played first gravedigger; but what does this incarnationMrs. Weazle-do, but take advantage of her husband's partial intoxication to persuade him he would make a hit as the ghost of Hamlet's father! I saw her design at once-it was to kill me!" "Kill you !"

"That is, professionally kill me; and I told Weazle so; and what do you think was the reward of my candour?" "We live in a base and ungrateful world, my dear sir-it is almost impossible to say."

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"Why, the vain-glorious blockhead told me that I was not the only man of ability in the world-others, he flattered himself, (he did flatter himself indeed!) had talent-the ghost had been too often intrusted to inferior actors, and he was determined the part should for once have justice done it! Justice! Think, sir, of a shrimp of a fellow scarcely five feet high, very asthmatic, with a crablike shuffle in his gait, one leg being shorter than the other, and a voice like unto that of a penny trumpet, personating the buried majesty of Denmark !' How self-love will blind a man. Don't you think so?"

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"I do, indeed! as you anticipated?" “Worse, sir—much worse! Why as soon as the spirit appeared, and I commenced, (in capital voice,) my 'Angels and ministers of grace defend us!' there was a universal grin all over the house; and when the trifling abortion went on to speak of his brother as a wretch whose natural gifts were poor to those of his,' derisive cries of Well done, Weazle! bravo, little Weazle!' shook the theatre. All this, would you believe it, the misguided man took in good faith, and has since talked of trying the part in London! Well, this went on-very pleasant, was it not?-until he made his exit, squeaking out 'adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me!' amid a tumult of noise and uproar which he calls applause! Now this was excellent

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sport, and all very agreeable, I dare say, to those who were enjoying themselves; but only imagine my situation! you conceive it? There was I standing gazing after my father's spirit, with a countenance on which love, fear, pity, awe, horror, reverence, indignation and amazement were most vividly and expressively depicted, and the whole house convulsed with laughter!"

"Shameful! shameful!"

"But what vexed me most was, that it entirely killed my attitude. I had taken some pains with it—it was, in fact, supremely good-and as I had made up my mind that it would produce a sensation, I was of course unwilling to change it until the audience should have sufficiently recovered from their ill-timed mirth, to be able to appreciate its elegance and originality. This they were in no hurry to do; and I remained standing still in the same posture until an impatient bumpkin in the gallery bawled out-'I say, Measter Hamlet, be'est goin' to speak or noa?' This was rather too much, and so disconcerted me that I forgot the text, but went on, (appropriately enough,) apostrophising the spirit,

'Remember thee! ay thou poor
ghost!'

and egad I will not forget him in a hurry!"

But I am afraid I grow tiresome. It is a very different matter enjoying the good-humoured detail of a gentleman's ludicrous distresses over a bottle, and coldly retailing them to the public on paper. Suffice it to say that we enjoyed each other's company mightily; and on his informing me, among other matters, that his "benefit was fixed" for the ensuing week, when he proposed electrifying the inhabitants of B with his Ŏthello, I begged to know where tickets were to be procured. Upon this he produced from his pocket sundry dirty pieces of card, on which were written"Mr. Stanley's Night-Boxes." these I took half a dozen, at two shillings each, paying the money for the same, the unexpected and unusual feel of which so elated the worthy tragedian, that he pressed me to walk toward the post road, where we would find an inn, and he would treat me to a beef-steak and a bottle of wine. This, however, I declined; and promised faithfully next week to see him make his grand effort,

Of

I shook hands and parted with the happiest and most amusing "ill-used gentleman" I had ever met with.

(To be concluded in our next.)

THE GIRL OF THE FOREST. A PEN AND INK DRAWING.

I WAS lingering about the White Mountains of New Hampshire on a September day, which I well knew was the very last I could afford to spend in the Highlands. Whenever I caught, through vistas of the forest I was threading, glimpses of the snowy summit of Mount Washington, my heart was filled with indescribable regret, for I felt that when I bade adieu to the grandeur of its scenery, I must plunge amid the dust and toil of life without the hope of speedy disenthralment. The day, for all its heavenly splendour above and green foliage below, seemed to me gloomy and ill-omened. My gun hung idly on my arm, and my spaniel dog and I explored the covers of the wood without success. At length he made a point. My gun was at my shoulder with a sportsman's promptitude, and I drew the trigger as the bird arose. The singular report of the piece, and a sensation of pain in my shoulder, convinced me that my gun had burst, and that one of the fragments of the barrel had struck and wounded me. A few drops of blood oozed from the hurt, and I could not help regretting having left my stub and twist" in the hands of the gunsmith, and accepted his own wretched weapon as a temporary substitute for my excursion. What was to be done? I had strayed from my path, and the inn was at a distance. Meantime certain twinges of pain made me desirous of getting balsam and bandage for my shoulder.

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I wandered on disconsolate enough with my poor dog following my footsteps, his tail drooping to the ground. It was with great joy that I beheld an opening in the forest, and, struggling through the underbrush, stood upon the shelving shore of a little lake, that lay like a dark mirror in the lap of the woody highland. "It was a cove or huge recess, That keeps till June, December's

snow;

A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn below."

But the dark tarn and its surrounding woods were not without a living enchantress. On the margin of the little lake sat a lovely female, youthful and bright as Hebe, who might well have been mistaken for the Naiad of the place, so lonely and so lovely did she

seem.

"She was a phantom of delight,
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament.
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilights, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May time and the cheerful dawn.
A dancing shape, an image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and waylay." She was seated on a mossy rock on the bold shore of that mountain pool, with her delicate white feet plashing in the crystal wave. The music of the water, agitated by her motions, prevented her from hearing my approach. At length my rambling dog broke up the charm, the girl of the forest started from her seat, and gazing around her for an instant timidly, dashed away like a startled fawn; but her image still flitted before

me.

"Ah, Selim!" cried I to the spaniel, who, having plunged into the pool and emerged again, stood shaking his long glossy ears and looking into my face"you have done some mischief now. But away, lad! if we frightened the Naiad from her lake, we may again behold her.”

In truth, I entered on the path into which the fair fugitive had struck, and was soon agreeably surprised at finding myself in front of a rude house, which promised shelter. It was on the outskirts of the forest, and from the doorsill you had a view of many an acre of cleared and cultivated, though hilly land, frowned over by the giant crags of the mountain. But I had little time to observe this, for my knock at the door had brought one of the inmates of the building to the threshold. It was the lassie of the forest. Her cheeks glowed with recent exertion, and her dark tresses fell in lovely profusion and disarray around her neck of snow; but the delicate feet which had so lately made music in the tarn, were cased in neat black slippers. There was a mixture of mirth, modesty, and vexation in the expression of her countenance, but the style of her beauty was so sweet and so feminine,

her figure was so elegant and graceful, and the appearance of such a nymph in the rough heart of the mountains so surprising, that I acknowledged "the might, the majesty of loveliness," by a faltering voice.

"I am sorry to trouble you," said I, "but I have lost my way."

The girl of the forest glanced at Mount Washington, as if wondering how a traveller could lose his path with such a landmark in the neighbourhood.

"I am wounded by the bursting of my fowling-piece," I added.

In an instant an expression of alarm and pity escaped from the lips of the forest maiden. She flung the door wide open and begged me to enter, which I did. After seeing me seated in the most comfortable chair the house afforded, she flew from the sitting-room and presently re-appeared with her aunt, an old lady who had some pretensions to chirurgical skill, and who, having hurried her niece from the apartment, proceeded to dress my slight wound with the eagerness of a physician with few patients. She was apparently glad to find a docile subject, upon whom she could display her art, and what with her probing, and bathing, and swathing, I was heartily glad when the operations were concluded, and was still more pleased when I was informed that I must remain where I was for a day or two. The sturdy owner of the cottage, returning from the field, told me I was perfectly welcome to the shelter of his roof, and inquired with great feeling into the nature of my hurt.

I was thus for a time domesticated in the family of Mark Allen, as sturdy a mountaineer as ever laid his axe to the root of an oak, or brought his rifle to his shoulder. But his daughter-how came such a flower of loveliness to spring from such a rugged soil? It was one of those freaks of nature, which delight as much as they surprise us. I was thrown much in the society of Ruth-shall I confess I loved her? Yes, with all the strength of my spirit, with all the fervour of my nature, I loved the innocent and beautiful girl of the forest. On the

eve of my departure we stood together on the margin of the lake, which then reflected the ruddy glow of the sky above its centre, and the feathered edges of the woods around it.

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'Ruth," said I, "I must leave this spot, which has grown very dear to me, to-morrow." "To-morrow!"

"Yes, Ruth; and then when my head aches with care, and my body with toil, who will whisper words of comfort to me? None-none! I love you, Ruth -and what shall cheer me in your absence?"

"Our paths in life are differentthere is a gulf between us. Go-forget me. There are brighter eyes in the lowlands-by the shores of the sea. There is a wide gulf between us-between you, born in the busy city, and I, the poor forest girl, uneducated, unaccomplished."

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"I should sicken amid the noise and crowds of the city.'

"Then I will leave all, and come to the hills, Ruth. I can use the rifle, "and am strong enough to wield the axe."

"Madness! No, no, Charles, you will live to accomplish a higher destiny. For me, I shall live content in the hope that your exertions will obtain you fame and name; while I " she paused, dashed away a tear, and proceeded. "But I cannot, should not, repine, while the God of nature hath bounteously spread such scenes as these around me, while my father and my aged aunt call for my attention and my love."

I stood in mute admiration; I would have clasped her in my arms, but she waved me back.

"Forbear!" she said. "Let us not sully the purity of our love by aught of earthly taint-let not even one embrace be given or received. Thus this parting will be less bitter, and if deprived of the delights of earth, we may look forward with religious earnestness to the re-union in heaven."

These were the last words I heard her speak. We returned home in silence. She was absent from the evening meal, and when upon the morrow I bade her father and her aunt farewell, I looked in vain for the girl of the forest.

MADAME FIRMIANI.

(Concluded from page 128.)

CHAPTER II.

THE old mousquetaire very impertinently kept his place in Madame Firmiani's saloon, until every visitor had departed;

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