country singing godless ballads, and selling cabbage nets, if nothing worse but Ollfred wouldn't work either for his own living or her's; he called himself 'a jantleman,' and I suppose found enough to do in snaring hares and rabbits, and laying night-lines for eels and pike:-Well, you may believe me, but she wanted to persuade Alice to marry such a thief as that, 'steads of her own honest Harry!—And oh! to think how, by her arts, she made the poor young dears look cold upon one another, and sorely wrung their tender hearts! Wella-day! as sure as I am a sinner, she got John Hearty hanged too by her wicked stories. Farmer Rouse went to ax her who'd stole his yow and her three-day-old lamb,-so she said John Hearty, having a grudge agen him; he, poor fellow, was sent to prison, tried, and cast, and hung; for what 'tis most like Ollfred did all the while. But what I were going to say is, that I noticed for a long time Harry and Alice quite down in the mouth, poor dears, and one day as he was leaning, sorrowful-like, over the gate of our bean-field: Harry, my boy,' says I, what ails ye? That good-fornothing cretur has been saying something to ye I know, and don't be silly now, but tell me.' Mother,' says he, 'I will tell you: she's told me that if I don't marry her, I'm lost, body and soul, for ever!-she says, 'tis vain for me to think on Alice Pearce, for she cares not a groat for me, and even did Alice love me ever so well, she has knowledge and power to keep us asunder: moreover, she says, that Alice has given consent to marry Ollfred, and the devil's curses, and a murrain of plagues will fall upon us both, an we do not her bidding; and she can send, she says, a legion of foul ones to torment us, and stry our rest night and day!'-' Trust in the Lord,' said I, He is good, and stronger than Satan ;'-but poor Harry drooped his head over the gate, covered his face with his hands, and burst out crying. I cried too, for I was mortal vexed to see him thus come over by a fiend of a woman, and then I went to Alice;-with her the artful hussey had been up to the same game, and she wouldn't be com forted anyhow, but said that Harry was false-hearted, and that she'd often seen him walking in the wood with Milly, by moonlight, with his arm round her neck. I told this to Harry, who fell into a great rage, called her a lying jade, and bade her go, and caress, and kiss the witch's son, as he'd many a time seen her do, to her shame! "The Lord only knows who spoke the truth, but mayhap Milly conjured up apparitions to terrify 'em! What does I then, but, with neighbours Tibbitts, and Goodwill, and Sam Jones, these gossips' husbands, goes up to the Manor-house, and 'cuses Milly of all her wickedness? whereupon she flatly denied it, and with shocking bad words, called Harry and Alice liars, said she hardly know'd 'em to speak to,—that she wouldn't bear the blame of lovers' silly quarrels, and that if she heard more of such rubbuge, she'd inform agen us. Now if she'd done that, she'd have beat us to nought, for she'd a tongue like a lawyer, so I went my ways and said nothing. Well, next night, poor Harry came into our cottage, like mad, his eyes staring,—his hair dripping with persp❜ration, and his face as white as a sheet: he threw his arms about me, and kissing me, cried : 'Oh mother! mother! Heaven bless you! and good bye!' then turning to his cousin, he kissed her more fondly than ever, and axing her to forgive him if he'd ever affronted her, that he might die in peace, darted out of the house like a hare! O God!' shrieked Alice, he's gone to murder himself,-and 'tis all-all for me!' and off she bolted after him like a greyhound. What happened next, I can't say, for I fell on the floor in a swound,-but when I came to myself—(here Mrs. Wood paused to wipe her eyes, and then in a faltering voice proceeded) I was a lone woman ;— nor son, nor kinswoman had I;-both drowned-both dead! The Crowners sat on the bodies, and brought in a verdict of Wilful Murder agen themselves: Oh what a day of sorrow was that! and so our parson, who couldn't in conscience bury 'em in holy ground, some how got off laying 'em at the crossroads, and having the cruel stake run through their tender hearts, poor dears, and put them under a young oak on the heath; which, as true as I'm a living woman, has never had a bit of blessed green on it since, as these gossips can witness. Good reason Peter, you see, had we to hush up this sad tale, for fear of bringing disgrace on our village, and trouble upon worthy Mr. Webster; and good reason had I to hate this wicked witch: (stamping on the grave) God forgive me, for doing so!" Why then did you tend her when she was sick?" asked Peter. "Because I did hope she'd have told how she enchanted their poor senses: but she was mad; and they came to trouble her, and Satan too: and an awful death she died; may I never see such another!"-" And what became of the lad?" "Goodness knows: we missed him out of the village, and nobody cares to ax after such a scamp; but from what she let out on her dying bed, I s'pose he went to sea, and was drowned." Here the church-clock struck, and the gossips, with an exclamation of astonishment at the lapse of time, separated: I also retraced my steps to Gambol Grange, resolving shortly to pay an exploratory visit to the haunted Manor-House, and to make a pilgrimage to the Blasted Oak, the monument of the unfortunate lovers. THE PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. A wealthy young lover once sought for his bride, "Excuse me, good sir, but I've vowed," she replied, "Then think not of wedlock," he answered, "my fair, Your vow was Diana's suggestion, Since none but a fool, it is easy to swear, Would venture to ask you the question!" THE WIDOW OF LUZI. AN ANECDOTE FROM THE FRENCH.* I have read that a warlike monarch, after a brilliant victory, shed tears when he beheld, on the field of battle, the vast multitude of men who had been deprived of existence by a premeditated design, by his deliberate wish and express command. Historians inform us, with admiration, that the susceptibility of this prince was so extreme that he wept instead of rejoicing when he saw the enemy's army completely annihilated, and his own half destroyed. Thus must sovereigns ever pay for brilliant victories, for crowns of laurel and the enthusiasm of poets. But a tear from the eye of a prince, shed at the proper moment, is sufficient to expiate and repair all the ravages and massacres of a campaign, and even of a reign. However, an old captain, a person rarely met with in the courts of victorious kings, advanced and said, in a firm tone of voice :-"Yes, Prince, it is indeed horrible to look on these bleeding and mutilated bodies: these conquerors disarmed by death, and stretched on the bosoms of the enemies they sacrificed! but the unseen consequences of a battle may nevertheless present a spectacle a thousand times more appalling than the one before us. These brave warriors, thus heaped together and levelled with the dust, no longer suffer; they are released from the horrors and the tyranny of sanguinary ambition! but how dreadful is the fate of those who loved them, and who are destined to survive their loss!...... What would be your reflections, Prince, if that innumerable legion of your distressed fellow creatures suddenly appeared before you? if the fathers and mothers of these ill fated soldiers, their widows and their children, overwhelming with their cries and imprecations the joyful hymns of victory, should throng round you with horrible tumult, and demand an * The event which forms the subject of this story took place in 1814, at Luzi, a little city of Burgundy. account of all the blood you have shed? whither would you fly to evade their fury? To your car of triumph? alas! the avenging hand of despair would have reduced it to atoms." We know not what reply the prince made to all this, but it is more than probable that the old philosophic captain was sent to moralize on some desert island, far from courts, kings, and heroes. Every mother in France has however shared the sentiments of this old soldier, and particularly since the commencement of the nineteenth century! yet they have not been insensible to the brilliant victories gained by our intrepid armies; a Frenchwoman is equally attached to her country and to glory. The inability of bestowing on their children an education conformable to their natural dispositions was a powerful cause of affliction. The government held out encouragement only to soldiers; this was a just subject of regret to all families, and it was keenly felt in every class of society. No mother was more grievously afflicted by this state of things than the good widow of Luzi, whose affecting history would lose half its interest were it related in a style of affected eloquence; in this artless narrative the simplest language must be the best, because it will always accord with the character, conduct, and sentiments of the heroine. Madame Miller was the widow of a merchant who resided in the pretty little city of Luzi, in Burgundy. This merchant, who was understood to be rich, had towards the latter end of his life embarked in various unsuccessful speculations; he left so many debts, that his property was barely sufficient to discharge them. His widow, however, satisfied the demands of all his creditors; and from a feeling of respect to the memory of her husband, she generously surrendered her own dowry. This conduct excited admiration; yet her relations represented that, as she could not be compelled to make these sacrifices, she ought to reflect on the welfare of her child. I do reflect on it," she replied; "but is it not better that my son should be poor and enjoy a spotless reputation, than rich " |