and complaisant to us in the country." "The instant the man dies," replied the Duke, "set out, post-haste, for London; drive directly to my house, and be it by night or by day, thunder at the door; I will leave word with my porter, to show you up stairs directly; and the employment shall be disposed of according to your wishes."

3. The parties separated; the Duke drove to a friend's house in the neighborhood, without a wish or desire to see his new acquaintance till that day seven years; but the memory of a Cornish elector, not being burdened with such a variety of objects, was more retentive. The supervisor died a few months after, and the Duke's humble friend, relying on the word of a peer, was conveyed to London post-haste, and ascended with alacrity the steps of that nobleman's palace.

4. The reader should be informed, that just at this time, no less a person than the king of Spain was expected hourly to depart; an event in which the minister of Great Britain was particularly concerned; and the Duke of Newcastle, on the very night that the proprietor of the decisive vote arrived at his door, had sat up anxiously expecting dispatches from Madrid. Wearied by official business and agitated spirits, he retired to rest, having previously given particular instructions to his porter not to go to bed, as he expected, every minute, a messenger with advices of the greatest importance, and desired he might be shown up stairs, the moment of his arrival.

5. His grace was sound asleep; and the porter, settled for the night, in his arm-chair, had already commenced a *sonorous nap, when the vigorous arm of the Cornish voter roused him from his slumbers. To his first question, "Is the Duke at home?" the porter replied, "Yes, and in bed; but has left particular orders, that come when you will, you are to go up to him directly." "Bless him, for a worthy and honest gentleman," cried our applicant for the vacant post, smiling and nodding with approbation, at the prime minister's kindness, "how punctual his grace is; I knew he would not deceive me; let me hear no more of lords' and dukes' not keeping their word; I verily believe they are as honest, and mean as well as any other folks." Having ascended the stairs as he was speaking, he was ushered into the Duke's bed-chamber.

6. "Is he dead?" exclaimed his grace, rubbing his eyes, and scarcely awakened from dreaming of the king of Spain, "Is he dead?" "Yes, my lord," replied the eager expectant, delighted to find the election promise, with all its circumstances, so fresh in the nobleman's memory. "When did he die?" "The day before yesterday, exactly at half past one o'clock, after being confined three weeks to his bed, and taking a power of doctor's stuff; and I hope your grace will be as good as your word, and let my son-in-law succeed him." 7. The Duke, by this time perfectly awake, was staggered at the impossibility of receiving intelligence from Madrid in so short a space of time; and perplexed at the absurdity of a king's messenger applying for his son-in-law to succeed the king of Spain: "Is the man drunk, or mad? Where are your dispatches!" exclaimed his grace, hastily drawing back his curtain; where, instead of a royal courier, his eager eye recognized at the bed-side, the well known countenance of his friend from Cornwall, making low bows, with hat in hand, and "hoping my lord would not forget the gracious promise he was so good as to make, in favor of his son-inlaw, at the last election.”

8. Vexed at so untimely a disturbance, and disappointed of news from Spain, the Duke frowned for a moment; but *chagrin soon gave way to mirth, at so singular and ridiculous a combination of circumstances, and yielding to the impulse, he sunk upon the bed in a violent fit of laughter, which was communicated in a moment to the attendants.

9. The relater of this little narrative, concludes, with observing, "Although the Duke of Newcastle could not place the relative of his old acquaintance on the throne of His Catholic Majesty, he advanced him to a post not less honorable, he made him an texciseman."

1. O YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West,
Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
And save his good broad-sword, he weapon had none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so +dauntless in war,
There never was knight like young Lochinvar.

2. He staid not for +brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where +ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late :
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

3. So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all;
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor, craven bridegroom said never a word.)
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?

4. "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
And now, am I come with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to young Lochinvar."

5. The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and threw down the cup.
She look'd down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could +bar,
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

6. So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bridemaidens whisper'd ""T were better by far,
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

7. One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,

When they reach'd the hall door, and their charger stood near, So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar,

8. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby +clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;

There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

CLXVI. SPEECH ON THE TRIAL OF A MURDERER.
FROM WEBSTER.

1. AGAINST the prisoner at the bar, as an individual, I can not have the slightest prejudice. I would not do him the smallest injury or injustice. But I do not affect to be indifferent to the discovery and the punishment of this deep guilt. I cheerfully share in the topprobium, how much soever it may be, which is cast on those who feel and manifest an anxious concern, that all who had a part in planning, or a hand in executing this deed of midnight +assassination, may be brought to answer for their tenormous crime at the bar of public justice.

2. This is a most extraordinary case. In some respects it has hardly a +precedent any where; certainly none in our New England history. This bloody drama exhibited no suddenly excited, ungovernable rage. The actors in it were not surprised by any lion-like temptation upon their virtue, overcoming it before resistance could begin. Nor did they do the deed to +glut savage vengeance, or *satiate long-settled and deadly hate. It was a cool, calculating, money-making murder. It was all "hire and salary, and not revenge." It was the weighing of money against life; the counting out of so many pieces of silver against so many ounces of blood.

3. An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of butcherly murder for mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson for painters and poets. Whoever shall hereafter draw the portrait of murder, if he will show it, as it has been exhibited in an example, where such example was least to have been looked for, in the very bosom of our New England society, let him not give it the grim +visage of +Moloch, the brow knitted by revenge, the face black with settled hate, and the blood-shot eye temitting +livid fires of malice; let him draw, rather, a decorous, smooth-faced, bloodless +demon; a picture in repose, rather than in action; not so much an example of

human nature in its depravity and in its paroxysm of crime, as an +infernal nature, a fiend in the ordinary display and +development of his character.

4. The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. The circumstances now clearly in evidence, spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen on the +destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to whom sleep was sweet; the first sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft but strong embrace. The +assassin enters through the window, already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this, he moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges; and he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given! and the victim passes without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death!

5. It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work; and he yet +plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the heart; and replaces it again over the wounds of the +poinard! To finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse! He feels it, and ascertains that it beats no longer! It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder; no eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it is safe!

6. Ah! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds every thing as in the splendor of noon; such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that