back to their ale; and, as a huge fire blazed in the grate, grew snug, and determined to make a night of it.

The pedlar's absence was not unnoticed; but the more immediate and momentous subject of their disquisitions was of a nature too exclusively engrossing to admit of participation with another topic; and Peter Tapeyard's absence was speedily forgotten by all, save only the fair Miss Simkins, who, as she busied about, cast many a glance around, to ascertain if the truant swain had not yet appeared.

There is an easy, comfortable coziness in an inn— especially if a country one-and prevailing mostly in the kitchen, towards evening, that mellows the temperament of a guest into a pleasing and indifferent indolence. There is a freedom from all controul -a lolling leg-stretching liberty, that comes sweetly, as the dimness of the latter winter grows into darkness, and the chill descending frost gives zest to the ruddy blaze of a roasting fire. There, between cup and lip, there is no slip-no balk-no hindrance of the passive luxury. There time ambles withal; and the measured tick of the family clock comes, with a friendly and home-breathing voice, to the ear. Should the cold wind whistle without, with what added delight does the guest cherish his palms, and edge still more encroachingly on the hearth! Or, if one of a circle, how rejoices he in the kindly fellowship and participation in the good things within his power! How gaily rises the song-how freely the

laugh! How briskly the mantling cup pours forth its contents, lending light to the eye, and smiles to the lip! The guests of the Crow and Teapot were of a class peculiarly fitted to enjoy the pleasing delirium of the spot,-men whose enjoyments were all social, and qualified, neither by nature or education, for refined pleasures. So, they ate, and drank, and rejoiced, jollily; and were, indeed, in the very riot of their felicity, when the door opened, and the pedlar, with starting eyes, pale cheeks, perpendicular hair, and quivering frame, fell flat on the ground, exclaiming, with a voice that was almost a shriek of terror, “Brass, and not gold!”

When raised and interrogated, no answer could be obtained from him but an iteration of those words; nor, from that hour to his dying day, could any explanation be got from him of the cause which had so bereaved him of his faculties. It is probable, from the short sentence he uttered, that the box purloined from the dead was, in truth, of base material; and the representations held out by the stranger designed only to answer some private end of his own, in the removal of the amulet. The further cause of the pedlar's violent agitation we presume not to guess at; nor does history afford any, the remotest, light on the subject. However this may be, a strong impression remained on the minds of the spectators that all was not right with Peter Tapeyard;-one consequence of which was, that, in the course of the following month, Miss Simkins re

signed her hand and name to a substantial and Godfearing dealer in small wares, in the neighbouring town of Crowdundle.

That night, the landlord and parish-clerk determined to watch in the chamber of the former, which commanded a prospect of the church-yard. The stranger had not, yet, made his appearance; the black steed, much to the host's annoyance, remained in his stable, unclaimed. They sat patiently: at last, they started, for both heard a noise, seemingly proceeding from the stable. They were, yet, undetermined whether to descend the stairs or not, when the hollow tramp of the horse was heard, under the window; and, looking forth, they beheld the stranger, leading his steed in the direction of the church-yard! It was a bright, beamy, moonlight night; and the figures of the horse and his leader seemed doubly dark and black, as they intercepted the beams. Arrived at the church-yard, the stranger abandoned his horse, and entered the place where the grave-stones were shining in the light.

The gazers were cold with terror.

"There, there!" said the landlord, "he's at the grave! listen, hear him calling the dead!" And they listened, and fancied they heard the summons that was to break the bonds of death.

"See, see!" said the clerk," the ground is moving, like the burrow of a mouldy warp! He's there!—— he's there! Gripe Gibbons himself! Fire, man!fire the blunderbuss!"

Absurd as this suggestion was, the landlord instantly complied. The echo was followed by the deep, high, unnatural laughter of the stranger; but the recoil of the weapon prostrated both the host and his companion, with a violence that left them, for a moment, senseless. The thunder-beat of the strong black horse aroused them-they rushed to the casement:-far away, the horse sprung over hill and hollow, under a double burthen!

"Gripe Gibbons has paid his reckoning this night!" said the clerk, at length.

"I wish," said the landlord, after a pause,

"the

other had done so, too."-For, the horseman had forgotten to discharge his shot.

TO THE PICTURE OF A DEAD GIRL,

ON FIRST SEEING IT.

BY T. K. HERVEY.

THE same-and oh, how beautiful!—the same
As memory meets thee through the mist of years!—
Love's roses on thy cheek, and feeling's flame
Lighting an eye unchanged in all-but tears!
Upon thy severed lips the very smile
Remembered well, the sunlight of my youth;
But gone the shadow that would steal, the while,
To mar its brightness, and to mock its truth !—
Once more I see thee, as I saw thee last,
The lost restored,—the vision of the past!

How like to what thou wert-and art not now!
Yet oh, how more resembling what thou art !
There dwells no cloud upon that pictured brow,
As sorrow sits no longer in thy heart;

Gone where its very wishes are at rest,

And all its throbbings hushed, and achings healed ;

I gaze, till half I deem thee to my breast,

In thine immortal loveliness, revealed,