nought but love triumphant, he handed Editha into the boat, contented to be with her and to behold her, and set sail for Dieppe. The next day they were on their road to Rouen. "There! that was your prison!" said Editha to Dunbar as they entered Rouen; and as she said this, she grasped his hand almost convulsively, and neither of them spoke till they reached Madame Altieri's house. where after waiting sometime, he saw Editha enter the promenade, Madame Altieri leaning on her arm, and he hastily set off to meet them. But he found himself seized by some one, and looking round he beheld Apreece and another gentleman! This dreadful rencontre deprived Dunbar of all presence of mind, and he stood silent and motionless, looking the picture of consternation. 'By St. David!' exclaimed Apreece, 'it is very strange that the sight of me always makes you ill, Dunbar! On my soul, I believe you are going to faint again! Danvers!' said Apreece (who had been drinking freely) to his friend, 'who would think that this pale-faced shaking fellow as he is now, should be one of the bravest officers in the service, and should face a cannon with the boldest? Why, Dunbar, recover But he spoke in vain. Editha was near at hand, and to prevent Apreece from see. ing her was impossible. Dunbar, having handed them out, went in search of lodgings for himself in their neighborhood. He soon procured apartments; and having entered a public room to take some refreshment, he heard a gentleman say that the footman who was supposed to have murdered his master, a German baron, was taken up in Holland, and was then in prison at Rouen; that he had been examined, but that, though he confes-yourself, man; what the deuce ails thee?' sed having gone off with all his master's effects, there seemed no proof of his having murdered him; and that he declared himself to be as ignorant of his fate as any one else was. Dunbar listened to this conversation with the most horrible fears. It ⚫ seemed as if Editha had returned to Rouen at this critical moment, on purpose to be given up to the mercy of the law, whether justly or unjustly; for he had no doubt but that the German baron, Editha's former lover, was the man murdered in the field; and he did not know but some facts might come out on the trial which might tend to criminate her. The next day he went to Editha's house on purpose to try to see her alone, and tell her what he had overheard; but he found her in company, and he started and turned pale when he saw that she was going out dressed in her French hat and shawl! 'I meant never to wear this dress again,' said Editha, coming up and blushing, 'as I know that for many reasons it displeases you; but we are going to spend the day with an old lady, a dear friend of mine; and as she gave me this unfortunate dress, she will be pleased to see that I wear it still; therefore I have put it on, though very much against my feelings, believe me. Farewell! Meet us this evening on the public walk.' So saying, she gave her hand to a gentleman present, and stepping into a carriage drove off immediately. 'Oh! how long will the hours seem till see thee again!' thought Dunbar. I When evening came, he eagerly and impatiently repaired to the public walk; Heavens! what a beautiful creature! cried Apreece's friend at this moment, turning, and beholding Miss Arundel.— Apreece followed the direction of his friend's eyes; when, as soon as he saw Editha, he rushed towards her, exclaiming-'It is she! by heaven, it is she herself! it is the murderess of the nunnery field.' Dunbar heard no more, for he fell senseless on the ground; while Editha, aware who Apreece must be, for she had seen the distress depicted in Dunbar's face as she approached, crossed her hands meekly on her breast, and neither spoke nor moved. "Who is this madman?" cried Madame Altieri; 'take him away directly.' But Apreece, piqued at the epithet madman, told her he was in his perfect senses, and that before any tribunal in the world he would arraign the young lady as a mur deress. By this time a crowd had collected; and a gentleman stepping forward told Apreece that he must be mistaken in the person, for that the lady was Miss Arundel, a lady of the most exemplary character. 'Arundel! Mademoiselle Arundel!' cri ed a woman coming forward; that is the name of the lady whom the went by appointment to meet the night he disappeared, and was no doubt murdered, though not by my husband.' "Why, who are you?' cried another gen tleman. 'I am the wife of Gerandi, who is now in custody on suspicion of having murdered Baron Holstein, his master; and he has found today a note from a Mademoiselle Arundel, begging the baron to meet her at dawn in the nunnery field-and he will produce it on his trial.' On hearing this, Apreece exclaimed, that what the woman said completely substantiated the charge; and Madame Alieri, finding that Editha said not a word to repel the charge against her, threw her daughter's arm from her with a sort of frantic violence, and was carried in a swoon from the promenade into the nearest restaurateur's. An officer of justice at this moment approached Editha, and said that he was under the painful necessity of taking her into custody, and carrying her before a magistrate, that a commitment on the evidence of the gentleman might be made out, and she be conveyed to prison. "Thy will be done!' cried Editha, lifting her meek eyes to heaven and giving her hand to the officer. Yet when she passed Dunbar, who, still insensible, was lying on a bench on which they had laid him, 'Poor, dear Dunbar!' she exclaimed; then pressing his cold hand fondly between both hers, she sighed deeply, and followed whither she was led. Apreece, though with evident reluctance, now made his deposition, and Editha was conveyed to prison. to him with his life for the life of Miss Arundel. You may say what you please, and do' what you please to me,' replied Apreece mournfully, and I shall not resent it. I am as sorry for what I have done as you can be; for, oh, had you seen her and heard her as I did!' 'Seen and heard whom?' del. When I had made my deposition, and 'Why, this dear unfortunate Miss Arunthey led her away to prison, she turned to me, and said with the voice and look of have probably been the means of my death, a saint, I thought, 'Sir, I forgive you; you but you have only done your duty in giving up a supposed murderess to justice; and let the award of your conscience support you under the compunction which you may one day feel for what you have under the expectation of the sufferings done, as my conscience now supports me which await me.' By St. David I thought I should have fainted! Not a word could I speak, but at that moment I could have laid down my life to prove her innocence, though I am pledged in a few days to prove her, as far as in me lies, guilty of murder.' 'Then now you believe her innocent, do you?' eagerly interrupted Dunbar. 'Why really I-I-I don't exactly know what to believe; but this I know, that I wish from the bottom of my soul that I was not her accuser. I do not wish to afflict you, Dunbar, more than I have already done; and God knows that is more than is pleasant to me; but you are partly to blame in this.' 'I to blame?' cried Dunbar. Dunbar, soon after she departed, was carried into the same house to which they had removed Madame Altieri; and when he recovered his senses, and heard what bad passed during his swoon, and that the 'Yes, you. I have long been convinced wretched mother of Editha was in the next that you took pains to deceive me, and room, he desired to be led into her apart- make me believe myself delirious when ment, that he might speak comfort to her. you knew that I was in my senses, in order But he found her in a tempest of passion, to save Miss Arundel from danger; and and so unwilling to believe Editha inno- you may suppose, that when on reflection cent, that Dunbar found it vain to argue I was convinced this had been the case, I with her; and unable to bear the oppro- felt piqued and hurt, and felt my love of brious epithets which this cruel mother justice, and my hatred of the crime of murbestowed on her unhappy daughter, he der, made still more acute by a sense of took his leave of her abruptly, and went personal injury; whereas, if you had been to gain, if possible, admission to the prison- ingenuous with me, and had said, 'I believe But that he soon found was impossi- you, Apreece, you could not imagine this ble; and he was returning to his lodgings-but, my dear fellow, my life is bound up in a state of the most terrible dejection, when he met Apreece and Mr. Danvers oing in search of him. The sight of Apreece roused him from his despondency; nd seizing him roughly by the arm, he wildly exclaimed, that he should answer in hers; I love her so madly, that by exposing her life you will probably destroy mine;' why then, though I should have thought you a great fool, I should have weighed the importance of your life and peace against the life of the man murder ed, and the latter would, no doubt, have kicked the beam; and my conscience would have been satisfied to have let Miss Arundel live unaccused. I will tell you another thing, too; your servant told mine at Brighton, it seems, that he believed your illness was all a sham, to get me off the Steine, and prevent me from seeing a Miss Arundel, who was with you; for he had overheard you one day say to yourself, "if I can but prevent Apreece's seeing her, should he come in her way, all will be safe.' So I found I had been your dupe a second time; and though I could not imagine who Miss Arundel was, and why I was not to see her, I felt that you had not used me well.' 'Say no more,' cried Dunbar, 'unless you have a mind to drive me frantic. I see and feel the justice of what you say.Never yet did disingenuousness and artifice succeed, nor should they succeed. Oh, had I told the truth, had I thrown myself on your generosity and your humanity, I now feel that this dreadful moment would have been spared us; nay, you, like me, would have distrusted the evidence of your senses, and believed your wretched victim to be innocent.' 'My victim! my victim! Call her not so, Dunbar; for by heaven I cannot bear it' replied Apreece, rushing out of the house; and Dunbar, more miserable still, returned to his lodgings. I will not dwell on the misery of Dunbar, the restless compunction of Apreece, and the angry emotions of Madame Altieri, during the three succeeding days, the days which preceded the trial of Gerandi and Editha, nor the calm and dignified resignation with which the latter supported herself under her calamity, but will proceed to the day of trial. Gerandi was put to the bar first, on the charge of having murdered and then robbed his master, the Baron Holstein. To the robbery he pleaded guilty; and his counsel said that he confessed, that finding his master had disappeared, either because he was dead, or because he had committed some crime, and seeing that no inquiry was instituted concerning him, he had been tempted to go off with his money and valuables; that it had never occurred to him that he was likely to be suspected of having murdered the baron, he had therefore neglected to collect proofs of his innocence; but he declared that he had now in his possession a note which he had lately found, and could produce, which would, by criminating the lady in custody, clear him of the charge of the murder. The note was produced, and read in court; it was in French, as follows: 'I have something of importance to pro pose to you, dear baron, but I now rarely 1 see you, and never alone; there is, how ever, a method of seeing you without dan ger of interruption;-You know the stree the field behind the convent of the White there is a gate in it which leads into Nuns. I enclose you the key of that gate and an hour before dawn to-morrow (Thursday, the fourth of August,) there will expect you. Be punctual, and be se cret. 'EDITHA ARUNDEL.' Two or three witnesses were then brought, who swore positively, though very reluctantly, that the note was in the handwriting of Miss Arundel. Witnesses were next called to prove that the baron to their certain knowledge went out alone an hour before dawn, on the very day of the week and month mentioned in the note, and was never seen or heard of after. They also swore that Gerandi had set up for his mas ter, and had never left the house till the middle of the next day; when, being alarmed for his safety, he had gone in search of him. He was acquitted therefore of the charge of murder-and pardoned the rob bery, on condition that he should make good his assurances of being able to bring forward certain proofs to fix the crime of the murder on Editha Arundel. Editha was then summoned to the bar She entered, leaning on the arm of Dunbar who had resolved to conquer his feelings so far as to enable him to support by his pre sence the courage of the prisoner. Aprecce was first sworn-and, in a faltering an hurried manner, he described what he ha seen, and the dress as well as the conduc of Editha. The dress was immediately produced in court; and Apreece swe positively that at the time he saw her the side of the body, she wore that hat and shawl-both too remarkable not to be ob served by him, and known again whereve he saw them. 'But you did not see the prisoner sta the gentleman? said the judge. did stab him,' he eagerly answered. Oh, no, my lord-and perhaps she neve (TO BE CONTINUED.) THE FALLS OF THE WILBERFORCE IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS. the difficulties they had to encounter in ascending this river, in his Journal of the 26th of August, 1821, says; 'We walked along the banks the whole day, and the crews labored hard in carrying the canoes, thus lightened, over the shoals, and draging them up the rapids, yet our journey, in a direct line, was only about seven miles. In the evening we encamped at the lower end of a narrow chasm, through which the river flows for upwards of a mile. The walls of this chasm are upwards of two hundred feet high, quite perpendicular, and in some places only a few yards apart. The river precipitates itself into it only a few yads apart. The river precipitates The falls of Wilberforce, one of the most romantic natural scenes that the Arctic regions presents, was discovered during the late voyage of captain Franklin to the shores of the Polar Seas. When the loss of his guides, the want of provisions, and the severity of the season, compelled captain Franklin to relinquish the survey of the coast, he determined on returning by way of the Arctic Sound, where he had found the animals more numerous than at any other place, and entering Hood's river, to advance up that stream, as far as it was navigable, and then construct small canoes out of the materials of the large ones, which could not be carried in crossing the barren grounds to Fort Enter-itself into it over a rock forming two magprise. Hood's river rises in Esquimaux Land and runs into Arctic Sound. It is from one hundred to two hundred yards wide, and bounded by steep banks of clay. The shoals and rapids in the river are so frequent, that the party could make but little progress. Captain Franklin, describing nificent and picturesque falls close to each other. The upper fall is about sixty feet high, and the lower one at least one hundred, but perhaps considerably more, for the narrowness of the chasm into which it fell prevented us from seeing its bottom, and we could merely discern the top of the spray far beneath our feet. The lower fall is divided into two by an insulated || column of rock which rises about forty feet above it. The whole descent of the river at this place probably exceeds two hundred and fifty feet. The rock is very fine felspethose sandstone. It has a smooth surface and a light color. I have named the magnificent cascades Wilberforce Falls,' as a tribute of my respect for that distinguished philanthropist and christian Messrs. Back and Hood took beautiful sketches of this majestic scene, which are combined in the annexed plate.' It is from the plate' to which Captain Franklin thus refers in his valuable Narrative' that our present correct and spirited view of the Falls of Wilberforce is engraved. THE MARVELLOUS HISTORY OF blesome one of flesh and blood. And, in good truth, if you had seen how very handsome and delicate were the understandings fashioned by the skilful artificer, you would have been puzzled to settle the question yourself, the more especially if, in your real toes, you were ever tormented with gout or corns. One morning, just as Master Turningvort was giving its final smoothness and polish to a calf and ankle, a messenger entered his studio, to speak classically, and requested that he would immediately accompany him to the mansion of Mynheer Von Wodenblock. It was the mansion of the richest merchant in Rotterdam, so the artist put on his best wig, and set forth with his three-cornered hat in one hand, and his silver-headed stick in the other. It so hap pened that Myuheer Von Wodenblock had been very laudably employed, a few days before, in turning a poor relation out of doors, but in endeavouring to hasten the odious wretch's progress down stairs by a slight impulse a posteriore (for Mynheer seldom stood upon ceremony with poor relations) he had unfortunately lost his bal He who has been at Rotterdam will remember a house of two stories which stands in the suburbs just adjoining the basin of the canal that runs between that city and the Hague, Leyden, and other places. Iance, and tumbling headlong from the top say he will remember it, for it must have to the bottom, he found, on recovering his been pointed out to him as having been senses, that he had broken his right leg, once inhabited by the most ingenious ar- and that he had lost three teeth. He had tist that Holland ever produced, to say no- at first some thoughts of having his poor rething of his daughter, the prettiest maiden lation tried for murder; but being naturalever born within hearing of the croaking ly of a merciful disposition, he only sent of a frog. It is not with the fair Blanche, him to jail on account of some unpaid debt, unfortunately, that we have at present any leaving him there to enjoy the comfortable thing to do; it is with the old gentleman reflection that his wife and children were her father. His profession was that of a starving at home. A dentist soon supplied surgical-instrument maker, but his fame the invalid with three teeth, which he had principally rested on the admirable skill pulled out of an indigent poet's head at the with which he constructed wooden and rate of ten stivers a-piece, but for which he cork legs. So great was his reputation in prudently charged the rich merchant one this department of human science, that hundred dollars. The doctor, upon exthey whom nature or accident had curtail-amining his leg, and recollecting that he ed, caricatured, and disappointed in so very necessary an appendage, to the body, came limping to him in crowds, and, however desperate their case might be, were very soon (as the saying is) set upon their legs again. Many a cripple, who had looked upon his deformity as incurable, and whose only consolation consisted in an occasional || sly hit at Providence, for having entrusted his making to a journeyman, found himself so admirably fitted, so elegantly propped up by Mynheer Turningvort, that he almost began to doubt whether a timber or cork supporter was not, on the whole, supérior to a more commonplace and trou was at that moment rather in want of a subject, cut it carefully off, and took it away with him in his carriage to lecture upon it to his pupils. So Mynheer Wodenblock,. considering that he had been hitherto a customed to walk and not to hop, and be ing, perhaps, somewhat prejudiced in favour of the former mode of locomotion, sent for our friend at the canal basin, in order that he might give him directions about the representative with which he wished to be supplied for his lost member. The artificer entered the wealthy burgh. er's apartment. He was reclining on a couch, with his left leg looking as respect |