attach him at my suit-arrest him!" cried the old man eagerly.

But ere the officers of justice could approach, the youth darted from the spot, and ran with full speed towards a long quay which led off from the main street. The pursuit was, how ever, immediate; and, encumbered by his long travelling cloak, his pace gradually slackened, and he was soon overtaken. At first on being arrested, he made the most violent and powerful resistance; but when he found from the strength and number of his assailants that it was impossible, he turned his whole attention to divesting himself of certain documents which he had concealed about his person; but in the very act of throwing a large pacquet of papers over the quay wall, his hand was arrested and rifled of its

contents.

Nothing could equal his rage and disappointment at this. He raved, stamped, and repeatedly swore he was not the person they supposed him, and demanded by what right, and at whose suit he was thus made prisoner.

"By mine-I will be responsible for all," said Isaac, as with his arms folded within his ample robe, he placidly looked on the desperate but ineffectual efforts the youth made to escape. "Now to prison," said he to the gens d'armes, and he marched on before them at a pace much quicker than his usual.

The enormous wealth of the Jew had acquired for him so much influence in a city where most men of rank and influence had been his debtors, that on his arrival at the prison, no examination or inquiry was entered into by the authorities, but the prisoner was at once admitted, and provided with an apartment whose high grated windows and strongly barred doors precluded every thought of escape. Thus was he left for the night-as Isaac had very properly supposed his own reflections would be the most unpleasant company he could have, and in his solitude, grief for the rash act he had committed would have a more lasting effect upon his mind. Morning, however, had scarcely dawned, when the bars of his cell were withdrawn, and the Jew entered. No sooner were the heavy doors closed behind him, and he found himself alone with his prisoner, than he proceeded to tell him the circumstances under which he was arrested; and after some further observations on the inutility of any effort at

escape, asked him what he had done with those bills and papers of which his father's letter spoke.

The youth endeavoured still to persuade him that he was not the person supposed; but when the old Jew deliberately produced the pacquet which was taken from the prisoner the evening before, he appeared overwhelmed and thunderstruck-he sat speechless and motionless before him, while Isaac drew a seat to the table, and proceeded to con over the papers one by one.

All was now still, save when the low muttering of the Jew was heard commenting on the contents of the pacquet before him. The papers were merely memoranda of various large sums of money bills, mortgages which had been invested and lodged in several banks, merchants' offices, &c.-no other documents being found on the prisoner's person.

"Ha!" cried the Israelite, as his eye glanced on a scrap of paper on which the words "30,000 livres sterling. 3d May," were written "ha! what didst thou with them? We have no mention of where they are."

66

Lent them out on usury, old Moses and Aaron,” said the youth, as a scowl of irony curled upon his lip.

"Out upon thee, out upon thee," said the Jew, who felt the reproof, and still went on with the search. "Here a bond mentioned here for 1700 guilders. What of that ?"

is

"Paid to a Jew who had lent me 600 guilders three weeks before. Lawful principle and interest was it not?"

The dark eye of the enraged Israelite cast one swarthy glance at his mocker, and then reverted to his task.

"Now tell me," said he, "what brought thee to Leipsic? Why come thus far out of your route, on your way to Russia?"

"Why in good truth, Moses, you seem to know all about me, and I will have no further concealment with you;" and with these words he drew his chair beside the old man, whose countenance now brightened up with the thought that he was about to elicit all his prisoner's secrets. The youth placed his arm on the back of his chair, and approached his lips to the old man's ear, and with a low confidential whisper said

"In fact, I only came here with another object--no less a one than to run away with a rich heiress."

Ha, good, good," cried the old man, losing his sense of the character

he was acting, in his admiration for one whose schemes for money making were far deeper and bolder than his own. Well, go on," said he eagerly, "go on. Who was she?"

66

Why, indeed," said the youth, laughing, "that is the worst of it. The girl, to be sure, they say, is handsome, for I have never seen her myself; but then her father-her father is an abominable old usurer, and, worse than all, will you believe it, a Jew."

"What! ha! ho! what said you? cried the old man, leaping from his seat, and retreating to a distant part of the room. "My daughter! my daughter!" but the imperturbable look of the young man, who never stirred from his place, gave the old man confidence that he was not known, and he muttered, as he resumed his place, “that is the daughter of my tribe, I should say."

66

Egad, my old friend," said the youth, "you seem surprised, and you may well be so; but, I'faith, to confess the truth, I'd much rather she were not a Jewess. But, then, the moneyold Moses, think of the money."

"But softly, softly, my friend," said the youth, as deliberately he folded up the letter after reading it-"How know you that I am the person here mentioned?"

"Of that I will take all the responsibility on myself," said Isaac.

"And do you know the consequences of falsely imprisoning a free student and a noble?" said the youth.

"I know, all, and am prepared for all the consequences," said the Jew hastily. "But now let me warn you, if you do not instantly confess yourself to be what I already know you are, and deliver up those papers and bills of which this letter speaks, I shall

despatch you under a guard back to Paris, and leave you to be dealt with there as the law may dictate."

"Well, and," said the youth musing, "what conditions are you prepared to offer, provided I say all quire?"

66

you re

Why, in that case, I will provide you with means to return to Paris, and shall be security in your passport against all arrest on the road; and more, I shall also obtain your father's pardon for the rash act you have committed."

"Why," said the youth, interrupting, "why, as to that, good Moses, it will not be a very difficult task. My father is not, by any means, the implacable old fellow you suppose; and I have every reason to hope he will soon forget and forgive this trick of mine. But as to the first part of the treaty, my liberty and the money, I agree. But how much am I to have? You must be liberal, for I am not accustomed to travel poorly."

"Well," said the Jew, "here are my conditions: I will advance you the sum of 500 guilders, and you will give me the receipt for one thousand, and thus neither of us will be losers; and your father is rich, and he will not object to paying it."

Execrable old knave," muttered the youth, and then added aloudWell, it is a bargain; I consent; but as to the passport-you must not insert my name, for this affair must, as far as possible, be kept a secret."

"I will care for all that," said the Jew. "Write the receipt, and here is the money in this bag. And here," said he, "is a blank passport,” producing one as he spoke What name shall I write ?"

No, not mine," said the Jew, hastily; "bethink thee of some one thou knowest.”

Whosoever you like, then, old Moses; and if one does not soon strike you, bethink you of the wildest 'scapegrace of your worthy students, and his name will do me for a season as well as a better."

It wanted but few minutes to ten o'clock on that same evening, as the youth, of whom we have so lately spoken, approached that part of the ramparts on which the door of Isaac Amstein's garden opened. A female figure, completely enveloped in a large travelling cloak, awaited most anxiously his coming. As he drew near she asked, in a voice trembling with agitation," Adolph, is't you?"

"It is, dearest Rachel," said the youth, and all is arranged, and let us now lose not an instant."

"One word, Adolph, ere I leave the home of my fathers for ever. I have trusted you-believed you in all things, how coufidently, let the very place we meet in say. Tell me, has my father been deceived by you? Suffers he aught of ill?"

Adolph hung over his head-his arms fell listlessly to his sides, and in a low and broken voice replied

:

"It is true-too, too true.” "Then," said Rachel proudly, "what all the prayers of all my tribe had not effected, the words you have spoken now will accomplish the spell is dissolved, and for ever. Oh! had I met this from any but you! I will not ask how you have wronged him it is enough that your own poor heart rebels at its treachery. But why should I upbraid you? I was his daughter-for me he toiled and labored-for me he bore the reproach and scoff which bowed him to the earth-and I dare to call another by the name that better suits myself. But stop! We part not thus I would ask one favor-my first, my last. Will you refuse me this? No, no; you will let this kindness be your parting gift to me-that when far, far away in the gay world you are destined for, I may lay it to my heart and be comforted. Adolph, you consent?"

To all, Rachel, all and every thing you ask," said Adolph, passionately.

"Come, then," said she,
VOL. XII.

come to

my father-tell him, that despite all the wrongs you have borne from him, you could not, would not injure him. Comfort him, for he has fears-his sleepless nights of watching tell this too plainly. Say that you would repay evil with good, and that you sacrificed the love you bore me rather than be dishonored. Say this, and ask forgiveness. Ay, start if you will, and strain your proud figure to its loftiest limits; but again I say, and to your swelling heart repeat-ask his forgiveness for the wrong you would have done him. You say shall the proud baron of the empire kneel and bow his fourteen quarterings beneath the footstool of a usurer, a miser, and a Jew? Ay, you would have injured him whose daughter would have died for you!"

Adolph scized her hand, and pressing it ardently to his lips, led her within the gate. They walked through the garden without speaking, and in silence trod the dreary and desolate hall of the ruined mansion. Rachel stood at a door, and as her hand grasped the lock she turned one look of mingled sorrow and affection upon her lover.

"Adolph," said she, "here for the last time we speak, methinks. But no, it is not a dream, and in another hour and we are as though we never met-farewell!"

The door opened as she spoke. The old man sat in a remote part of the room, weighing gold coins which lay about him in shining heaps. The lovers stood for a moment, resolving how they should proceed, when Rachel slowly approached the table. Father! said she. What! bah!

Who's there?" said the old man, springing from his chair, and holding his lamp at arm's length towards the door.

"It is Rachel, sir-Rachel, your daughter. And here, sir, comes one who is leaving Leipsic this evening, perhaps for ever. He has come to ask your pardon for wrongs which, though only designed, well demand such atonement."

"What! who is he? Ah! what does he here? Is mine house, then, open to every thief? Am I not protected within my walls? Say-speak -how came you here? But, methinks, thy face is not strange to me. Art thou not the son of my friend Le Brun ? Did I not guarantee thy passport? Why do you tarry in this city?" "Sir, it is true. I am the same you Q

spoke with, and here is my passport. There is a blank here for another name that was intended for your daughter. Even so. At her request am I now come to tell you this, and ask forgiveness of my crime."

"And does thy father, then, dare to think that the outcast of his house"

My father," said Adolph, "may have dreams of greatness, even as you say. But much may be forgiven him who claims that wild youth, A. Von der Decken, as his only son. Read this"-and with these words he placed in Isaac's hauds the commission aud appointinent to the embassy.

Isaac rubbed his eyes, looked from the paper to the youth again and again, and at last said

"And hast thou come to revenge thyself for the injury I have done thee? I know," continued he bitterly, "the punishment that awaits a Jew who dares to imprison a noble. But you shall have gold-much gold and jewels. Bring me not to the torture." "You have wronged us both," said Adolph. "I have come to ask pardon for my only crime against you. I loved your daughter, and would have stolen her from her home. For this I have stooped to the trick which has deceived you for this I forged the letter which you believed was from Le Brun for this I suffered the indignity of a prison-and for this I now kneel and ask your forgiveness.

The old man stood like a statuehe looked from one to the other as

they both knelt before him. He passed his hand across his brow, and seemed laboring to understand all he had heard then, gradually recollecting, he said

"You come not, then, in anger, Sir Baron ?”

"I come in shame and sorrow," replied Von der Decken. "It is true, I might not have sued for your forgiveness so eagerly did I consult my own feelings only; but"—and here he turned towards Rachel, whose look met his own beamingwith love and tenderness, and he stopped.

Father," said she," say you forgive him and me-say we are pardoned— speak, I beseech you."

"I do," said the old man, with an effort-" I do." And then, slowly raising himself from his chair, with clasped bands lifted above his head, he said

"God of my fathers! do I live to hear and see this! Can a Christian be merciful to a Jew?"

He then raised them both, and said: "Sir Baron, you said you loved my daughter."

"Dearer than life I love her."
"Then she is yours."

Adolph stood for a second, unable to speak, and then clasped his beloved bride to his bosom, while she whispered in his ear

"Alles was recht ist
Das best ist."
"Honesty is the best policy."

THOUGH SO many distinguished authors of the present day have devoted their talents to describing the habits and feelings of the Irish, there is, perhaps, no class of writers whose works exhibit greater variety, or who have infringed each so little on the province chosen by the others. It is almost as easy to know the works of Miss Edgeworth, Carleton, Banim, Lady Morgan, and, though last not least, Mrs. Hall, from each other, as it is to distinguish between the styles of Hudibras and Paradise Lost. They have, each, their peculiar merits and peculiar faults: with these, however, it is not now our busi

There

ness to meddle. It is at all times a most invidious kind of praise that extols one author at the expense of another; and Mrs. Hall's high character as an Irish writer, is so long established, and so generally admitted, that it could not add to her fame to depreciate her cotemporaries. are, however, one or two characteristics which distinguish her works from those of several other writers on Irish subjects, which we cannot avoid remarking. One is the total absence of all appearance of party prejudice, or, what on the stage would be termed " political clap-traps," from everything she

has published. It has become so much the fashion to associate the term Irish with certain principles in politics, that many who affix it to their books seem to consider it indispensable to make them the vehicle of violent political sentiments of the same stamp. Just as the title “Irish members" is assumed exclusively by the section of our representatives who profess liberal opinions, the epithet "national" is selected by authors who choose to purchase the approval of one portion of their countrymen by exhibiting a bigoted hostility to the other. No one can read the works of Banim or Lady Morgan, not to mention any more recent and more violent, without being painfully sensible of this. From this fault all Mrs. Hall's writings are perfectly free. She has no party objects in view; she can be national without being politically bigoted; she can shew herself the friend of Ireland without being the enemy of England; and can exert her talents to inform and interest her readers without pandering to their party prejudices. Her sole object seems to be, in truth, what it professes to be, "To make the character of the Irish more extensively known

and better understood-to excite a

generous sympathy for their sufferings, a kind indulgence towards their faults, and a just appreciation of their virtues."

Another characteristic which dis tinguishes Mrs. Hall's writings is, that she always dwells on the foibles of her countrymen rather as subjects of sympathy than of ridicule: her characters are calculated to interest our feelings, and not merely to excite our laughter. The time is, indeed, now past, when the unnatural absur dities of Teagues or O'Blunders can pass for genuine pictures of Irishmen ; and we now seldom find an Irish character introduced in a tale merely to amuse by his extravagance and discharge the humble task of the buffoon in an old play. Miss Edgeworth set the example; and modern authors can generally find something too solemn for ridicule in the strength of feeling that distinguishes the Irish peasant, and the forcible, though, perhaps, uncouth language in which Irish metaphor expresses it. But still it is too common an error to sacrifice the interest of a story for the sake of introducing too much that is ludicrous. This Mrs. Hall never does. Her sketches contain many scenes of genu

amply to entitle them to a republicafirst volume, "The Groves of Blarney,” The tale which occupies the has since its publication been adapted to the stage; but is too long to attempt its abridgement, so as to give any idea of its real beauties, in our tract, at random, from the chapter of We will make an ex

limited

space.

it as the best sketch in the volume; "Ruins," in vol. ii. We do not select but it is a good specimen of the author's old man whose sole delight is to restore style. It is part of the tale told by an the crumbling monuments of by-gone days. Like "Old Mortality," he wanders, lonely and desolate, from ruin to ruin, replacing the tottering stones and patching up holes in the old walls. His head is always bare, though, to use the language of his own forcible metaphor, "the four winds of heaven have been blowin' upon it for these sixty years, till they have hardly left a The poor grey hair to cover it." wanderer's name is Clooney Blaney. We have seldom met anything more pathetic than the picture he draws of what had passed in the scene of his O'Toole, of Mount Brandon, he desyouth. His former patron, Terence

cribes as

born in Ireland, and that's sayin' a to an excess, feared by his own sex and bould word," high-spirited and generous loved by the other. His father had left him "a power of lands and a power of debts," and his reckless generosity continues to increase the latter, at the expense of the former. After sketching his character, the old man proceeds:

"the handsomest man ever

“These were his young days, and, I suppose, he thought they could never have an end; and, to be sure, every one