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little woman. All Miss Smith's pupils are come back from the holidays, and they want their lessons, and they have brought the money to pay me, and I want the money to pay you, and I will bring you a pink riband as bright as your cheeks, and Louis

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"Oh, pray let me go with you, M. l'Abbé!" interrupted Louis.

"And Louis shall stay with you," pursued M. l'Abbé. “You must not go, my dear boy; stay with your mother; always be a good son to your good mother, and I will bring you a book. I will bring you a new Horace, since you get on so well with your Latin. God bless you, my dear boy! Allons, Bijou!" And M. l'Abbé was setting off.

"At least stay all night!" interposed Mrs. Duval; "don't come home in the dark, pray!" Bah!" replied the Abbé, laughing.

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"And with money, too! and so many bad people about! and such a dream as I have had!" again exclaimed Madame Duval. "I thought that two wolves

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"Your dream!-bah!" ejaculated the Abbé. "I shall bring you a pink riband, and be home by ten." And with these words he and Bijou departed.

Ten o'clock came-a cold, frosty night, not moonlight, but starlight, and with so much snow upon the ground, that the beaten pathway on the high-road to Chardley might be easily traced. Mrs. Duval who had been fidgety all through the day, became more so as the evening advanced, particularly as Louis importuned her vehemently to let him go and meet their dear lodger.

"You go! No, indeed!" replied Madame Duval- at this time of night, and after my dream! It's quite bad enough to have M. l'Abbé wandering about the high roads, and money with him, and so many bad people stirring. I saw one great, tall, dangerouslooking fellow at the door this morning, who seemed as if he had been listening when he talked of bringing money home: I should not wonder if he broke into the house-and my dream, too! Stay where you are, Louis. I won't hear of your going."

And the poor boy, who had been taking down his furred cap to go, looked at his mother's anxious face, and stayed. The hours wore away. - eleven o'clock struck, and twelve-and still there were no tidings of the Abbé. Mrs. Duval began to comfort herself that he must have stayed to sleep at Chardley; that the Miss Smiths, whom she knew to be kind women, had insisted on his sleeping at their house; and she was preparing to go to bed in that persuasion, when a violent scratching and whining was heard at the door, and on Louis running to open it, little Bijou rushed in, covered with dirt, and without his master.

"Oh, my dream!" exclaimed Mrs. Duval. "Louis, I thought that two wolves"

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"Mother," interrupted the boy, “see how Bijou is jumping upon me, and whining, and then running to the door, as if to entice me to follow him. I must go.'

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"Oh, Louis! remember!"-again screamed his mother-"Remember the great ill-looking fellow who was listening this morning?"

"You forget, dear mother, that we all spoke in French, and that he could not have understood a word," returned Louis.

"But my dream!" persisted Mrs. Duval. "My dreams always come true. Remember the pot I dreamt of your finding in the ruins, and which, upon digging for, you did find."

"Which you dreamt was a pot of gold, and which turned out to be a broken paintpot," replied Louis, impatiently. "Mother," added he, "I am sorry to disobey you, but see how this poor dog is dragging me to the door; hark how he whines! And look! look! there is blood upon his coat! Perhaps his master has fallen and hurt himself, and even my slight help may be of use. I must go, and I will."

And following the word with the deed, Louis obeyed the almost speaking action of the little dog, and ran quickly out of the house, on the road to Chardley. His mother, after an instant of vague panic, recovered herself enough to alarm the neighbours, and send more efficient help than a lad of eleven years old to assist in the search.

With a beating heart the brave and affectionate boy followed the dog, who led with a rapid pace and an occasional low moan along the high road to Chardley. The night had become milder, the clouds were driving along the sky, and a small, sleety rain fell by gusts; all, in short, bespoke an approaching thaw, although the ground continued covered with snow, which cast a cold, dreary light on every object. For nearly three miles Louis and Bijou pursued their way alone. At the end of that time, they were arrested by shouts and lanterns advancing rapidly from the town, and the poor lad recognised the men whom his mother had sent to his assistance.

"Any news of the poor French gentleman, master?" inquired John Gleve, the shoemaker, as he came up, almost breathless with haste. "It's lucky that I and Martin had two pair of boots to finish, and had not left our work; for poor Mrs. Duval there is half crazy with her fears for him and her dread about you. How couldst thou think of running off alone? What good could a lad like thee do, frightening his poor mother?-And yet one likes un for 't," added John, softening as he proceeded in his harangue; "one likes un for 't mainly. But look at the dog!" pursued he, interrupting himself; "look at the dog, how he's snuffing and shuffling about in the snow! And hark how he whines and barks, questing like! And see what a trampling there's been here, and how the snow on the side of the path is trodden about!"

"Hold down the lantern!" exclaimed Louis. "Give me the light, I beseech you. Look here! this is blood-his blood!" sobbed the affectionate boy; and, guided partly by that awful indication, partly by the disturbed snow, and partly by the dog, who, trembling in every limb, and keeping up a low moan, still pursued the track, they clambered over a gate into a field by the road-side; and in a ditch, at a little distance, found what all expected to find-the lifeless body of the Abbé.

He had been dead apparently for some hours; for the corpse was cold, and the blood had stiffened on two wounds in his body. His pockets had been rifled of his purse and his pocket-book, both of which were found, with what money might have been in them taken out, cast into the hedge at a small distance, together with a sword with a broken hilt, with which the awful deed had probably been committed. Nothing else had been taken from the poor old man. His handkerchief and snuff-box were still in his pocket, together with three yards of rose-coloured riband, neatly wrapped in paper, and a small edition of Horace, with the leaves uncut. It may be imagined with what feelings Mrs. Duval and Louis looked at these tokens of recollection. Her grief found in tears the comfortable relief which Heaven has ordained for woman's sorrow; but Louis could not cry-the consolation was denied him. A fierce spirit of revenge had taken possession of the hitherto gentle and placid boy to discover and bring to justice the murderer, and to fondle and cherish poor Bijou (who was with difficulty coaxed into taking food, and lay perpetually at the door of the room which contained his old mas

ter's body,) seemed to be the only objects for which Louis lived.

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I cannot name the Catholic gentry without paying my humble but most sincere tribute of respect to the singularly high character of the old Catholic families in this county. It seems as if the oppression under which they so long laboured, had excited them to oppose to such injustice the passive but powerful resistance of high moral virtue, of spotless integrity, of chivalrous honour, and of a diffusive charity, which their oppressors would have done well to imitate. Amongst them are to be found the names of Throckmorton, the friend and patron of Cowper, and of Blount, so wound up with every recollection of Pope, and of Eyston, of East Hendrid, more ancient, perhaps, than any house in the county, whose curious old chapel, appended to his mansion, is mentioned in a deed bearing date the 19th of May, A. D. 1323, now in the possession of the family. Nothing can be more interesting than the account, in a MS. belonging to Mr. Eyston, of the re-opening of this chapel during the short period in which the Roman Catholic religion was tolerated under James the Second; and of the

every exertion was made by the local police, and the magistracy of the town and country, to accomplish this great object. John Gleve had accurately measured the shoe-marks to and from the ditch where the body was found; but farther than the gate of the field they had not thought to trace the footsteps; and a thaw having come on, all signs had disappeared before the morning. It had been ascertained that the Miss Smiths had paid him, besides some odd money, in two £10 notes of the Chardley bank, the numbers of which were known; but of them no tidings could be procured. He had left their house, on his return, about six o'clock in the evening, and had been seen to pass through a turnpike-gate, midway between the two towns, about eight, when, with his usual courtesy, he made a cheerful good-night to the gate-keeper; and this was the last that had been heard of him. No suspicious person had been observed in the neighbourhood; the most sagacious and experienced officers were completely at fault; and the coroner's inquest was obliged to bring in the vague and unsatisfactory verdict of "Found murdered, by some person or persons unknown."

Many loose people, such as beggars and vagrants, and wandering packmen, were, how

These scenes are now matters of history, and of hispersecution which succeeded at the Revolution. tory only; since the growing wisdom and the humanizing spirit of the legislature and the age forbid even the fear of their recurrence; but as curious historical documents, and as a standing lesson against bigotry and intolerance, however styled, a collection of such narratives (and many such, I believe, exist amongst the old Catholic families,) would be very valuable. One of the most remarkable MSS. that I have happened to meet with, is an account of the life and character of Sir Francis Englefylde, Knt., privy counsellor to Queen Mary, who retired into Spain to escape from the persecutions of Elizabeth, and died in an exile which he shared with many of his most eminent countrymen. He also belonged to our neighbourhood; the family of Englefield, now extinct, being the ancient possessors of Whiteknights. The Catholic gentleman, however, of our own day, whom Belford has the greatest cause to rank amongst its benefactors, is our neighbour-I will venture to say our friendMr. Wheble, a man eminently charitable, liberal, and enlightened, whose zeal for his own church, whilst it does not impede the exercise of the widest and most diffusive benevolence towards the professors of other forms of faith, has induced him to purchase all that could be purchased of the ruins of the great abbey, and to rescue the little that was still undesecrated by the prison, the school, and the wharf. Of these fine remains of the splendour and the piety of our ancestors, the beautiful arch and the site of the abbeychurch are fortunately amongst the portions thus preserved from baser uses. It is impossible not to sympathize strongly with the feeling which dietated this purchase, and equally impossible not to lament, if only as a matter of taste, that there was no such guardian hand fifty years ago, to prevent the erection of the county jail, and the subsequent introduction of quays and national schools amongst some of the most extensive and finely situated monastic ruins in England, now irreparably contaminated by objects the most unsightly, and associations the most painful and degrading.

ever, apprehended, and obliged to give an account of themselves; and on one of these, a rag-man, called James Wilson, something like suspicion was at last fixed. The sword with which the murder was committed, an old regimental sword, with the mark and number of the regiment ground out, had, as I have said before, a broken hilt; and round this hilt was wound a long strip of printed calico, of a very remarkable pattern, which a grocer's wife in Belford, attracted by the strange curiosity with which vulgar persons pursue such sights, to go and look at it as it lay exposed for recognition on a table in the Town Hall, remembered to have seen in the shape of a gown on the back of a girl who had lived with her a twelvemonth before; and the girl, on being sought out in a neighbouring village, deposed readily to having sold the gown, several weeks back, to the rag-man in question. The measure of the shoes also fitted; but they unluckily were of a most common shape and size. Wilson brought a man from the paper-mill, to prove that the entire gown in question had been carried there by him, with other rags, about a month before; and called other witnesses, who made out a complete alibi on the night in question; so that the magistrates, although strongly prejudiced against him, from countenance and manner,—the down look and the daring audacity with which nature, or rather evil habit, often stamps the ruffian, were, after several examinations, on the point of discharging him, when young Louis, who had attended the whole inquiry with an intelligence and an intensity of interest which, boy as he was, had won for him the privilege of being admitted even to the private examinations of the magistrates, and whose ill opinion of Wilson had increased every hour, he himself hardly knew why, suddenly exclaimed, Stop until I bring a witness!" and darted out of the room.

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During the interval of his absence, for such was the power of the boy's intense feeling and evident intelligence, that the magistrates did stop for him, one of the policeofficers happened to observe how tightly the prisoner grasped his hat. Is it mere anger?" thought he within himself; “or is it agitation? or can they have been such fools as not to search the lining ?"-"Let me look at that hat of yours, Wilson," said he aloud.

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"It has been searched," replied Wilson, still holding it. "What do you want with the hat?"

"I want to see the lining." "There is no lining," replied the prisoner, grasping it still tighter.

"Let me look at it, nevertheless. Take it from him," rejoined the officer. "Ah, ha! here is a little ragged bit of lining, though, sticking pretty fast too; for as loose and as careless as it looks, a fine, cunning, hidingplace! Give me a knife- -a penknife!" said

the myrmidon of justice, retiring with his knife and the hat to the window, followed by the eager looks of the prisoner, whose attention, however, was immediately called to a nearer danger, by the return of Louis, with little Bijou in his arms. The poor dog flew at him instantly, barking, growling, quivering, almost shrieking with fury, bit his heels and his legs, and was with difficulty dragged from him, so strong had passion made the faithful creature.

"Look!" said Louis. "I brought him from his master's grave to bear witness against his murderer.

"Look!"

"Their worships will hardly commit me on the evidence of a dog," observed Wilson, recovering himself.

"But see here," rejoined the police-officer, producing two dirty bits of paper, most curiously folded, from the old hat. "Here are the two Chardley notes- the 101. notes - signed David Williams, Nos. 1025 and 662. What do you say to that evidence? You and the little dog are right, my good boy: this is the murderer, sure enough. There can be no doubt about committing him now."

It is hardly necessary to add, that James Wilson was committed, or that proof upon proof poured in to confirm his guilt and discredit his witnesses. He died confessing the murder; and Bijou and Louis, somewhat appeased by having brought the criminal to justice, found comfort in their mutual affection, and in a tender recollection of their dear old friend and master.

Note.-Not to go back to the dog of Montargis, and other well-attested accounts of murderers detected by dogs, I can bring a living spaniel to corroborate the fact, that these faithful and sagacious animals do seek assistance for their masters when any evil befalls them. The story, as told to me by Bramble's present mistress, whom I have the great pleasure to reckon amongst my friends, is as follows:

The blacksmith of a small village in Buckinghamshire went blind, and was prevented from pursuing his occupation. He found, however, a friend in the surgeon of the neighbourhood, a man of singular kindness and benevolence, who employed him to carry out medicines, which he was enabled to do by the aid of a dog and a chain. But old John was a severe master, and of his dogs many died, and many ran away. At last, he had the good fortune to light upon our friend Bramble, a large black-and-white spaniel, of remarkable symmetry and beauty, with wavy hair, very long ears, feathered legs and a bushy tail, and with sagacity and fidelity equal to his beauty. Under Bramble's guidance, blind John performed his journeys in perfect safety; wherever the poor dog had been once, he was sure

to know his way again; and he appeared to discover, as if by instinct, to what place his master wished to go. One point of his conduct was peculiarly striking. He constantly accompanied his master to church, and lay there perfectly quiet during the whole service. For three years that he formed regularly one of the congregation, he was never known to move or to make the slightest noise.

One bitter night old John had been on a journey to Woburn, and not returning at his usual hour, the relations with whom he lived went to bed, as it was not uncommon for the blind man, when engaged on a longer expedition than common, to sleep from home. The cottage was accordingly shut up, and the inhabitants, tired with labour, went to bed and slept soundly. The people at a neighbouring cottage, however, fancied that they heard, during the long winter night, repeated howlings as of a dog in distress; and when they rose in the morning, the first thing they heard was, that old John lay dead in a ditch not far from his own door. The poor dog was found close by the body; and it was ascertained by the marks on the path, that he had dragged his chain backward and forward from the ditch to the cottage, in the vain hope of procuring such assistance as might possibly have saved his master.

Luckily for Bramble, the benevolent surgeon, always his very good friend, was called in to examine if any spark of life remained in the body; and he having ascertained that poor John was fairly dead, told the story of the faithful dog to his present excellent mistress, with whom Bramble is as happy as the day is long.

It is comfortable to meet with a bit of that justice which, because it is so rare, people call poetical, in real actual life; and I verily believe that in this case Bramble's felicity is quite equal to his merits, high as they undoubtedly are. The only drawback that I have ever heard hinted at, is a tendency on his part to grow over-fat; a misfortune which doubtless results from his present good feed, coming after a long course of starvation.

Now that I am telling these stories of dogs, I cannot resist the temptation of recording one short anecdote of my pet spaniel Dash, a magnificent animal, of whose beauty I have spoken elsewhere, and who really does all but speak himself.

stalks hung with snowy bells, and amidst the shifting lights and shadows of the coppice, where the sunbeams seemed to dance through the branches, still more difficult to discover the few that there were. I went searching drearily through the wood, a little weary of seeking and not finding, when Dash, who had been on his own devices after pheasants and hares, returning to me, tired with his sort of sport, began to observe mine; and at once discerning my object and my perplexity, went gravely about the coppice, lily hunting; finding them far more quickly than I did, stopping, wagging his tail, and looking round at me by the side of every flower, until I came and gathered it; and then, as soon as I had secured one, pursuing his search after another, and continuing to do so without the slightest intermission until it was time to go home. I am half afraid to tell this story, although it is as true as that there are lilies in Silchester wood; and the anecdote of Cowper's dog Beau and the water-lily is somewhat of a case in point. Whether Dash found the flowers by scent or by sight, I cannot tell: probably by the latter.

THE TAMBOURINE.

A CHEESE FAIR ADVENTURE.

EVERY body likes a fair. Some people, indeed, especially of the order called fine ladies, pretend that they do not. But go to the first that occurs in the neighbourhood, and there, amongst the thickest of the jostling crowd, with staring carters treading upon their heels, and grinning farmers' boys rubbing against their petticoats,there, in the very middle of the confusion, you shall be sure to find them, fine ladies though they be! They still, it is true, cry "How disagreeable !”but there they are.

Now, the reasons against liking a fair are far more plausible than those on the other side: the dirt, the wet, the sun, the rain, the wind, the noise, the cattle, the crowd, the cheats, the pick-pockets, the shows with nothing worth seeing, the stalls with nothing worth buying, the danger of losing your money, the certainty of losing your time, all these are valid causes for dislike; whilst, in defence of the fair, there is little more to plead than the Every May I go to the Silchester woods, general life of the scene, the pleasure of lookto gather wild lilies of the valley. Lasting on so many happy faces, the consciousness year the numbers were, from some cause or that one day, at least, in the year, is the peaother, greatly diminished: the roots, it is sant's holiday-and the undeniable fact, that, true, were there, but so scattered over the deny it as they may, all English people, even beautiful terraces of that unrivalled amphi- the cold fine lady, or the colder fine gentleman, theatre, of woods, and the blossoms so rare, do, at the bottom of their hearts, like a fair. that in the space of several acres, thinly co- It is a taste, or a want of taste, that belongs vered with the plants and their finely-lined to the national temperament, is born with us, transparent green leaves, it was difficult to grows up with us, and will never be got rid procure half-a-dozen of those delicate flower-of, let fashion declaim against it as she may.

The great fair at Belford had, however, even higher pretensions to public favour than a deep-rooted old English feeling. It was a scene of business as well as of amusement, being not only a great market for horses and cattle, but one of the principal marts for the celebrated cheese of the great dairy counties. Factors from the West, and dealers from London, arrived days before the actual fair-day; and wagon after wagon, laden with the round, hard, heavy merchandise, rumbled slowly into the Forbury, where the great space before the school-house, the whole of the boys' playground, was fairly covered with stacks of Cheddar and North Wilts. Fancy the singular effect of piles of cheeses, several feet high, extending over a whole large cricketground, and divided only by narrow paths littered with straw, amongst which wandered the busy chapmen, offering a taste of their wares to their cautious customers, the country shop-keepers, (who poured in from every village within twenty miles,) and the thrifty housewives of the town, who, bewildered by the infinite number of samples, which, to an uneducated palate, seemed all alike, chose, at last, almost at random! Fancy the effect of this remarkable scene, surrounded by cattle, horses, shows, and people, the usual moving picture of a fair; the fine Gothic church of St. Nicholas on one side; the old arch of the abbey, and the abrupt eminence called Forbury Hill, crowned by a grand clump of trees, on the other; the Mall, with its row of old limes, and its handsome houses, behind; and, in front, the great river flowing slowly through green meadows, and backed by the high ridge of Oxfordshire hills;-imagine this brilliant panorama, and you will never wonder that the most delicate ladies braved the powerful fumes of the cheese-an odour so intense that it even penetrated the walls and windows of the school-house-to contemplate the scene. When lighted up at night, it was, perhaps, still more fantastic and attractive, particularly before the Zoological gardens had afforded a home to the travelling wild beasts, whose roars and howlings at feeding-time used to mingle so grotesquely with the drums, trumpets, and fiddles, of the dramatic and equestrian exhibitions, and the laugh, and shout, and song, of the merry visiters.

A most picturesque scene, of a truth, was the Belford cheese-fair; and not always unprofitable at least, I happen to know one instance, where, instead of having his pocket picked by the light-fingered gentry, whom mobs of all sorts are sure to collect, an honest person of my acquaintance was lucky enough to come by his own again, and recover in that unexpected place a piece of property of which he had been previously defrauded.

The case was as follows:

The male part of our little establishment consists not of one man-servant, as is usual

with persons of small fortune and some gentility, who keep, like that other poor and genteel personage, yclept Don Quixote, a horse and a brace of greyhounds, (to say nothing of my own pony phaeton and my dog Dash,) but of two boys-the one a perfect pattern of a lad of fifteen or thereabout, the steadiest, quietest, and most serviceable youth that ever bore the steady name of John; the other, an urchin called Ben, some two years younger, a stunted dwarf, or rather a male fairy-Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, for instance-full of life and glee, and good-humcur, and innocent mischief-a tricksy spirit, difficult to manage, but kindly withal, and useful after his own fashion, though occasionally betrayed into mistakes by over-shrewdness, just as other boys blunder from stupidity. Instead of conveying a message word for word as delivered, according to the laudable practice of the errand gods and goddesses, the Mercurys and Irises in Homer's immortal poems, master Ben hath a trick of thinking for his master, and clogging his original missive with certain amendments and additional clauses hatched in his own fertile brain.

Occasionally, also, he is rather super-subtle in his rigid care of his master's interest, and exercises an over-scrupulous watchfulness in cases where less caution would be more agreeable. At this very last fair, for instance, we had a horse to sell, which was confided to a neighbouring farmer to dispose of, with the usual charges against being overreached in, his bargain, or defrauded of the money when sold. "I'll see to that," responded Ben,. taking the words out of the mouth of the slow, civil farmer Giles,-"I'll see to that; I'm to ride the mare, and nobody shall get her from me without the money." Off they set accordingly, and the horse, really a fine animal, was speedily sold to a neighbouring baronet, a man of large estate in the county, who sent his compliments to my father, and that he would call and settle for him in a day : or two. This message perfectly satisfied our chapman the farmer, but would, by no means, do for Ben, who insisted on receiving the money before delivering the steed: and after being paid by a check on a county banker, actually rode to the bank to make sure of the cash before he would give up his charge, either to the amazed Sir Robert or his wondering groom. "I suppose, Ben, you did not know Sir Robert?" inquired his master, rather scandalized, when Ben, finding him out in the fair, handed him the money triumphantly, and told his story. Why, sir," rejoined Ben, "I knew him as well as I know

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The schoolmaster is abroad!" If ever he arrive at the point of teaching Greek to the future inmates of the kitchen, the stable, and the servants' hall, which really seems not unlikely, I hope he will direct their particular attention to those parts of the Iliad and Odyssey.

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