When Stanford reached the lodgings of Clara and her mother, he immediately told her what he had been doing; and although Clara was so economical that she made her own bonnets, and turned her own gowns, she did not express the least disapprobation at her lover having encumbered himself with a probable pensioner on his Mr. Trafford is a ruined man; the bubble bounty; on the contrary, she was glad to think "Company" which was to prove to him a short that he had been of use to a fellow-creature-cut to incalculable wealth burst some months glad that he should have given a portion of his ago; and his whole property being liable little store to one who had still less of the goods to the casualties of the concern, his name of life; for Clara, like her lover, considered appeared among the list of bankrupts. The moneyas a positive good, and was accustomed, kindness of friends has enabled him again to playfully, to quote the saying, that "a narrow begin business in a small way, and he has now income is just as great an enemy to ease as a practical means of testing the aphorism of the tight shoe." ancient philosopher once so triumphantly quoted by him, that "there is but three inonths' differ

young friends, in her occasional morning visits to them, to avoid her fate, not by abstaining from making a mercenary marriage, but by taking very good care that their mercenary views in marriage shall be realized !

ence between the best table and the worst," but | limited an extent, that money even for the comI am sorry to say that he now declares the phi- mon necessaries of life is doled out to her in the losopher to be decidedly in the wrong, and most grudging and parsimonious way; she is maintains that no lapse of time can possibly almost secluded from society, because keeping persuade him that his mutton chop and Mar-up society is expensive; and she warns her sala can bear any sort of comparison with the made dishes and Champagne in which he luxuriated during his days of affluence. Mrs. Trafford was never able to procure the diamond tiara; she found the skill of her card-playing coterie completely triumphant over her own lightning flash of good fortune, and she was compelled in a very few weeks to apply to her husband for the payment of her gaming debts. He gave her the money required, but with so many bitter reprimands, and caustic sarcasms on her folly, that she derived a little consolation in their subsequent misfortunes from having the power of reminding him that "it was much better to lose a few hundreds at cards than to sacrifice your whole property in a ruinous speculation." I am sorry to say that Mrs. Trafford does not show any inclination to imitate the character of the "Wife" in Washington Irving's beautiful tale; and that there is no instance on record of her ever having, like that lady, welcomed her husband to his humble home after the toils of business, with a song to the harp, and a banquet of strawberries and cream!

Nelcombe, after having made himself for ten months a perfect slave to the whims and fancies of Mrs. Dennison, received at length the welcome information of the old lady's sudden demise; the will was forthcoming, and the cousins from Somersetshire attended at the reading, their hearts alternately throbbing with hope and fear. The latter feeling, however, predominated, when they witnessed the assured bearing of Nelcombe, who addressed them in tones of the most condescending patronage, and told them "not to be depressed at the contents of the will, for he was perfectly assured that dear Mrs. Dennison had always entertained the highest esteem for them!". Such, indeed, proved to be the fact; for when the old lady's will was opened, it appeared that the whole of her money was left to the Brownlows, and that Nelcombe's name was not even mentioned in it! Nelcombe immediately called on the friend at whose house the fair damsel from the country had been staying, who had made a decided impression on his heart a year ago, and inquired if she was likely again to revisit London; he was told that she had been a resident in it for some months, having married a gentleman who had taken Nelcombe's place in escorting herself and her party to the various amusements of London. Nelcombe has now turned woman-hater, and rails unceasingly against the deceptions, caprices, and perversities of the whole sex.

Miss Otley has succeeded in her wishes; she has been for some months the wife of the wealthy Mr. Witherton, and is a miserable woman. The aunt, as she surmised, declined saying anything about a marriage settlement; consequently, she is quite dependent on the generosity of her husband, which is of so very

Harville completed the pamphlet that he had promised to write, and doubtless Lord would, as the publisher had predicted, have requested an introduction to him, had he not gone out of office at that precise time; his successor not having, like himself, quarrelled with his relations, was encircled by such a host of brothers, nephews, and cousins, that nobody could hope for his patronage for at least seven years to come. Harville is blamed by some of his friends, and laughed at by others, has quarrelled with his publisher, and is now working off his feelings in a satirical novel, which he means to print on his own account.

Having thus disposed of the " gold-seekers," I must now say something about Stanford. He continued for some months to exert himself vigorously in his profession, and his gains increased surely, although slowly, but matrimony seemed still at an indefinite distance from himself and his prudent Clara. His kindness to old Jervis continued unabated, for it had not arisen from a sudden capricious impulse of generosity, but was based on steady principle. The old man's constitution appeared gradually giving way. Stanford did for him all that medical skill could do; attended to his last comforts, and received his last sigh. "And now, Mrs. Atkins," said Stanford to the landlady, "all that remains to be done is, that a respectable, although economical funeral should be provided for our poor old friend, of which of course I shall defray the expenses." Mrs. Atkins now produced a slip of paper, which she said had been given to her by the old man a few weeks after his accident; it contained the name and direction of a person to whom he desired an immediate communication might be made of his death, whenever that event should take place. Stanford was somewhat surprised at this circumstance, old Jervis having constantly asserted that, with the exception of Stanford, there was not a human being for whom he cared, or who cared for him. It appeared that the name of this mysterious friend was Rothwell, and that his residence was in the next street; therefore Stanford deemed it best to request Mrs. Atkins, who was still more curious on the subject than himself, to go there immediately, and make the desired communication. In a very short time she returned, accompanied by an acute-looking, well-dressed man, who announced himself as Mr. Rothwell, and who certainly did not exhibit such tokens of grief as he might well have been supposed to do, from the distinction conferred on him by the deceased in singling him out as the only person to whom his death might be

supposed to be a matter of interest. Stanford began to speak of old Jervis in terms of pity and kindness.

"A very eccentric old gentleman!" said the stranger.

Stanford was rather surprised at this singular commentary on the character of the deceased. "Supposing," continued Mr. Rothwell," that you would wish immediately to inspect the will of your late friend, I have brought it with me." "Is there not some mistake?" asked Stanford with a half smile, as he thought on the meagre "properties" of the attic; "the money that the poor old man would have paid to a solicitor for making his will would, I think, have exceeded that which could be realized by the sale of all that he had to bequeath."

"Perhaps, sir, you may find yourself mistaken in your conjecture," said the solicitor, for such he was ; 66 you must have occasionally heard of the existence of misers."

"In my juvenile days I have read of such beings," said Stanford, "but I thought that the race had become completely extinct; I am sorry to hear that my poor old friend (for a friend I really considered him to be) was one of that class."

"I do not think you have any reason to be sorry on that account," said the solicitor, with a shrewd professional smile; "Mr. Jervis has, indeed, proved himself to be a friend to you, and a very valuable one, by bequeathing to you the whole of his handsome property."

Stanford persisted in his opinion that there must be some mistake in the business, and

Mr. Rothwell continued

tatiously, consigned to the earth; and Stanford shortly engaged a pretty house in the Regent's Park, and busied himself in choosing furniture for it, in the selection of which he was greatly assisted by the taste of Clara Belson. The circumstance of the miser's will had, in the dearth of other news, been caught up by a newspaper reporter, and Stanford's old friends were speedily enlightened as to the exact particulars of his acquisition of fortune.

"What a lucky speculation Stanford has made of it!" sighed Mr. Trafford, casting a rueful glance on a dusty pile of the prospectuses of the defunct Joint Stock Company; he has ventured a few pounds, and gained thirty thousand in exchange for them."

"What a lucky thing for the portionless Clara Belson, to get a husband who can give her a good establishment!" said Mrs. Trafford, sadly watching the receding steps of the lodginghouse maid, who had just finished laying the cloth in their only sitting-room.

"Stanford would not have met with this noble recompense," soliloquised Nelcombe," had he shown kindness to an old woman instead of an old man; the sex are imbued with the spirit of contradiction, and the ruling passion' is with them strong in death.'”

"Happy Clara Belson!" said Mrs. Witherton to her aunt; "she has a mother living, who will doubtless condition that she shall have a settlement of ten thousand pounds at the very least."

Harville said nothing at all, but introduced the story of the miser as an episode in his satirical novel, representing that the young surgeon had known all along of the miser's wealth, but had had the discretion to keep his information to himself.

their class, and little anticipated that the gold which I had prepared to earn so slowly and painfully by my professional exertions, would descend upon me at once in a rapid shower. I must take warning by my poor friend Jervis, and not grow too fond of the glittering dross,' as the poets call it."

"A few months ago, an old man waited on me, whose appearance gave me the idea that he "Dearest Clara," said Stanford, on the evenhad come to ask charity. I was surprised when ing of their wedding-day, "how little, a year ago, he told me that he wished to have his will made; could I have hoped for the happiness that I now still more so, when he mentioned that he had enjoy. I remember I was then defending goldproperty to bequeath of the value of thirty thou-seekers, and openly avowing myself to be one of sand pounds. I believe I gave him to understand that I was somewhat astonished at the disparity between his appearance and his riches, for he frankly told me that he had outlived relations who were very dear to him, that the friends whom he had hoped would have supplied their place had deceived his trust in them, and that he had resolved to retire from the world, living in the simplest and quietest manner, in order thereby to escape the hypocritical adulation always shown to the wealthy. He added, that as the love of saving, like the love of spending, increases by indulgence, his frugality had, he was conscious, gradually degenerated into parsimony. A few months antecedent to his visit to me, he had met with an accident; a young surgeon had accompanied him home, and had ever since treated him with the utmost kindness and generosity; he could feel no doubt as to the purity of his motives, and he thought he could not do better than reward him for his disinterestedness by the bequest of his property."

A week after this conversation, old Jervis was handsomely and respectably, although not osten

"There is little fear that such should be the case," replied Clara; "the comforts of life you are well justified in enjoying; and in regard to its luxuries, none, I am aware, will ever be so estimable in your eyes as the luxury of doing good.' Thus rightly knowing the uses of property, a sudden acquisition of fortune will not have the power of transforming you either into a spendthrift or a miser; but you will rather verify the words of Solon, who says, 'That house is the happiest where the estate is got without injustice, kept without distrust, and spent without repentance."

999

Appositely quoted," said Stanford; "such is exactly my own theory."

"And with you, dear Stanford," replied the bride, Theory' is always exemplified by Practice.""

DARK SUSPICIONS.

by an elderly man, who carried a roll of parchment in his hand; he reached it to Cromwell, who read it with great earnestness. "This," said he, " is but for seven years; it was to have been for one-and-twenty-and it shall be for that time." "But for seven," was the reply. "It shall be for fourteen years," again exclaimed Cromwell-" it shall be for fourteen years." "For seven years," was again answered; " and if that did not satisfy him, there were others whom it would." Cromwell then took the parchment, and returning to Colonel Lindsay, with a triumphant air exclaimed,

There has been scarcely a discovery in science, or an invention in art, which has not been asscribed to the suggestion of the evil one. Obloquy and persecution have attended their development their votaries have been slandered, stigmatised, driven from their homes, persecuted, imprisoned, and put to death; but time has justified the names of the benefactors of mankindto enumerate even a few of them would require more space than we can command. In the tradition of Doctor Faustus, whether it be true or not, there is nothing exaggerated so as to throw the slightest doubt on its probability: the facility with which he multiplied copies of the Bible," Now, Lindsay, I long for the onset-the battle by the introduction of printing, where only manuscript copies were found before, subjected him to the darkest suspicions; his lodgings were broken into, his copies seized, and the red ink with which he embellished his pages was pronounced to be his blood, and he was obliged to fly from Paris to save his life, having been found guilty of being in league with the devil.

The sudden turns of fortune in the career of some individuals, has been ascribed to unhallowed assistance: there was no superstition more common than the belief of regular compacts between certain individuals and the devilendorsed, sealed, and signed. The favour which he was to grant was to extend to a limited time, and to be purchased by the possession of the person to whom it was granted, from the moment of its expiration; the shadow of the obliged party was sometimes required as a token of the agreement.

The story told by Echard, of Cromwell, is certainly curious; it was furnished by Colonel Lindsay, who was Cromwell's intimate friend. On the morning of that day when the king's troops were vanquished at Worcester, Cromwell -as the Colonel stated-was accompanied by him and a captain of his own corps to the wood side, within a short distance of the army; he desired his companions to dismount and follow him, and to mark all they heard and saw. They alighted, secured their horses, and followed Cromwell into the wood: they had penetrated but a short way, when Lindsay, turning deadly pale, felt his blood run cold, and an unaccountable horror seize him. Cromwell inquired how he felt? He replied, that in the whole course of his life, in all the battles in which he had been engaged, in all the dangers he had ever encountered, he had never experienced such "a dreadful consternation and trembling" he could not divine its cause-whether from the gloominess of the place, or any sudden ailment. Cromwell rallied him, and bade him proceed; but he had not advanced many steps, before he felt himself riveted to the spot, and utterly unable to stir. Cromwell accused him of being faint-hearted, but bade him remain where he was to be a witness. Cromwell then proceeded alone, but had not gone far when he was met

is our own." Lindsay now determined to withdraw from Cromwell as soon as possible; and after the first charge, setting spurs to his horse, never slackened his speed till he reached the house of Mr. Thoroughgood, the minister of the parish of Grimstone, in Norfolk. The horse and his rider were thoroughly travel-spent as they entered the court. Mr. Thoroughgood hastened to welcome his friend; and observing his agitation, asked if there had been a battle. "There has been a battle," replied Lindsay, "and I'm sure the king is beaten; but if ever I strike a stroke for Cromwell again, may I perish eternally, for I am sure he has made a compact with the devil, and the devil will have him in due time-Cromwell will die on the day seven years on which the battle was fought." As soon as Cromwell missed Lindsay, he had him sought for in all directions, offering a large reward to whoever would bring him back, dead or alive. Echard adds, Cromwell died on the day seven years on which the battle was fought-so the story goes, as he said he had it from Lindsay. We offer no explanation, but leave it to the reader to account for it as best he may.

Not only in important concerns has it been believed that these compacts have been entered into, but they have been imagined to have been resorted to on matters of little consequence; and there are many legends of those who have bartered themselves for the attainment, for a short time, of perfection in some accomplishment.

The wonderful dancing of Richard Dugdale was ascribed to the influence of the evil one, to whom it is said he applied in a fit of jealousy, having been rejected as a partner at a dance by a girl whom he admired, in favour of one who was a better dancer. Richard, however, was made to perform such feats in dancing as had never been seen before: it was confidently asserted that he could dance in the air without once touching the ground, and that he cut so high, that but to look at him made one dizzy.

In late years, some of us may remember the suspicion with which Paganini and his marvellous performance were regarded. Some years before he appeared before the public, there were reports of one who had been incarcerated for some dreadful crime, who employed all his