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To conclude these stray notes, we may mention that two "men of color" have sat in Parliament -Dyce Sombre and John Stewart-and that it was once the custom for sittings to take place on Sunday. No instance of this has occurred since the reign of Richard II. "The last occasion," says

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ance at debates is to cause a regard for per- by the admission of ladies. Perhaps, after sons rather than for principles, and the sub-this, fair politicians will be contented with stitution of private partiality for calm and the cage from which they are permitted to comprehensive judgment-in short, the ag- survey the mysteries. gravation of those very failings which are always observable in the politics of women. Women who take an interest in politics are commonly observed to be keener and bitterer in their partisanship than men. To make them spectators of political conflicts would be to aggravate the animosity with which they are too apt to regard the opponents of their own friends; and the harmony and peace of society, which have already too often been disturbed by political discord, would materially suffer." Another of the writer's objections was that it would be unadvisable "that the vanity of young members should be tempted to encroach upon the valuable time of the House, by the presence of an audience still more interesting than even the redoubtable phalanx of reporters." He even thought that the House would be lowered in the sight of the country

Mr. May, on which the Crown refused its consent to a bill was in 1807, when Queen Anne refused her assent to a bill for settling the militia in Scotland." While Cromwell was in power he gave his assent to bills in English, ignoring the French form used till then, and restored after his death. The House of Lords once passed a measure to do away with these French words, but the Lower House was for once more Conservative than the Upper, and refused to abolish the ancient custom, which is consequently still observed.

PIGGE

Here Lies
What is Mortal of

DE BLADUD, ESQ.,
Of this City,

He had a bad temper and a good wig:
He knew which side his bread was buttered:
was thought rich, and undeceived nobody :
Hence he was feared, admired, respected,

He

And made Churchwarden. And,
Dying on the Blank day of Blank,
And leaving next to nothing behind him,

Is now called an awful old Humbug,
And does not care a farthing what he is called.

DISCOUNTING ONE'S MARBLE.-We read in the Bath Chronicle that in the Abbey Cemetery (which we take not to be exactly the place where Mr. Acres thought there was "< snug lying") a citizen of Bath has erected unto himself a tombstone, upon which he has recorded all that is usually placed there, leaving a blank for the day of his demise. And this memorial by anticipation the brave Bath brick occasionally visits and reads. We do not hear whether he has indulged himself in epigraphic eulogy, but why should he not do so? He must know himself better than anybody else can know him, and may speak of his own virtues with the calmness of certainty, whereas his executors Now, there would be true courage in a man could only guess at them. Let him put up who should put up anything of that sort, and "R. I. P.", whether that mean Respected in we believe (unless seeing Robert le Diable has the Parish, or as in Roman Catholic inscrip- made us superstitious) that the hypocritical tions, implies an unpleasantly warm operation tombstones around this revelation would be undergone in the intermediate state. Or stay. found to have twisted round and turned their Why not take the other line? He is a strong backs upon such vulgar frankness. De mortuis minded man, and not afraid to rebuke tomb-nil nisi Verum is a rule to which we have not stone flatteries. We have not the slightest or faintest idea who he is, and therefore cannot annoy him by our wildest supposition. Let us suppose him a Humbug. His decorous executors may or may not know the fact, but certainly will not allege it, vid chisel and hammer. What a splendid moral lesson he might read

thus:

yet attained; but if the living took to writing their own epitaphs, we might approach that wholesomeness. At any rate we are obliged to our friend at Bath for putting the notion into our minds, and in return we will hope that it will be a good while (if such be his wish) before the date is chiselled into the stone mentioned in the Bath Chronicle.-Punch.

From Once a Week.

WHAT I HEARD at the COFFEE PARTY. I BELIEVE there is no country in the world utterly devoid of superstition in one form or other. Germany is generally considered to be the land of legends and traditions, yet the part in which I have lately resided, is, I think, the least poetical corner of Europe. In Silesia, which was formerly a Polish province, scarcely is a vestige of ancient grandeur to be found, and nothing can be more matter of fact, unrelieved by the least fancy or imagination, than both the habits and tastes of its inhabitants; yet even there, amidst those unpoetic plains, romance, tradition, fiction, call it what you will, has found some small channel, and from time to time threads its way through the commonplace tittle-tattle of this most prosaic era.

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have been torn to pieces, or matches made or
even unmade, on that afternoon, had not our
good hostess chanced to express her admira-
tion of a pearl necklace, of great value, worn by
one of her guests: "It is more curious than
beautiful," rejoined the wearer;
66 you know
it is the famous Malzahn necklace."
"What, the necklace!" exclaimed all the
ladies in chorus.
"Oh,
1, pray let us see it!"
I inquired into the cause of all this curi-
osity, and as a few besides myself professed
ignorance of the generally well-known story,
the countess was kind enough to relate it for
our benefit.

"You must know, then," said she, "that one of our ancestors, a Count Malzahn, inhabited, at a very remote period, the Castle of Militsch, in Silesia. He was married to a very beautiful young lady, and in due course of time became the happy father of a son and heir, whose birth was greeted by the most joyous festivities in Castle and Hall.

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Whilst staying at the small garrison town of N- I was invited to a "coffee party," an entertainment generally given to ladies alone, the unfair sex being rigorously excluded. The Frau Landträthin von G'Shortly after the child's birth, as the had assembled round her hospitable board a young mother had fallen into a deep slumnumerous party of ladies from the neighbor-ber, she had a strange dream or vision, which hood, and extensive were the preparations made for their delectation. The younger members of the circle might probably have considered that an invasion of some of the uniformed youths, of whom the town was then full, would not altogether have marred the enjoyment of the endless refreshments set before them; but the rule of exclusion was stringent as the laws of the Medes and Persians, so they were fain to make the best of existing circumstances, and wile away the time by discussing the respective merits of absent friends-male and female. A little scandal, or "klatschen," as it is called in German, is a necessary ingredient in all small assemblies, and if report speaks truly, is an amusement not exclusively confined to the weaker sex.

On this occasion the conversation became all the more lively for being interspersed with repeated sips at that delectable composition called "Bowle." This is a beverage of which Rhine wine, pineapple sugar, and champagne form the principal ingredients; when mixed with due skill and science, the flavor is ambrosial, and it is particularly favored by the ladies as being more delicate and refined than the ordinary vinous beverages.

Who knows how many characters would

made so deep an impression on her mind, that she could not refrain from relating it the next day. She dreamt that a little dwarf had appeared at the bottom of her couch, and that he had begged and prayed her in the most piteous tones to have her baby's cradle removed from the spot on which it stood, as the rocking, he said, disturbed his wife, who was very ill, and could not sleep for the noise. The poor countess only got laughed at for her foolish dream. The next night, however, her troublesome guest re-appeared, this time urging his request with still greater earnestness; she therefore determined no longer to withstand his entreaties, and the next day had the baby and his cradle removed to the other end of the room. The ensuing night, the little man visited her again in her dreams, but this time in high spirits, thanking her profusely for her kind acquiescence in his wishes, and assuring her that his wife was already fast recovering in consequence.

"The countess was well pleased when the vision disappeared, and left her for some time in peace: the relief, however, was not of long duration, as a few weeks later the poor lady's dreams were again disturbed by the same apparition. This time the little dwarf had no intention of again dislodging

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the poor baby or his cradle, but he made pearls really did turn black. Some quesstrong objections to the nurse's habit of tions arose as to the quality of the stones, it throwing away water from the child's bath having been asserted by jewellers that althrough the ordinary channel. He declared though bearing a strong resemblance to that every particle of it pattered down, drop pearls, the stones were of no earthly compoby drop, on his unfortunate wife's head, and sition, and so hard that it was perfectly imthat if the countess would not deign to order possible to break them. At the request of her servants to throw away the child's bath his guests, the count sent to his lady, begon some other spot; his beloved wife must ging her to lend her necklace for their inperish. The good countess got rather im-spection. She did not like to part with it, patient at these constant appeals to her good- and made an excuse; whereupon her lord nature, and determined not to be so foolish and master waxed wroth, and ordered her to as to attach any importance to a mere dream; send him the trinket, on pain of his serious but the little man was not to be so easily put displeasure. The poor countess complied, off-he appeared to her every evening, and though unwillingly; the necklace was so importunate that, for the sake of peace brought, handed about, and examined, and and quietness, she was fain to order the many were the bets made as to its solidity. child's bath to be emptied in another corner One of the knights declared he could split of the castle. No sooner had this taken one of the pearls with his sword. Wagers place, than once more the little man presented were laid for and against :—he struck the himself to her in her dreams, thanking her blow with dreadful violence, but the pearl most gratefully for her kindness. remained unscathed. Suddenly, however, a dreadful peal of thunder was heard; the lightning struck upon the old tower where they were seated, which crumbled to pieces, burying the half-drunken knights under the rush of falling stones. Many were drawn out merely wounded, but the imprudent knight who had tried his strength on unearthly things was struck dead. The pearl necklace was found, and, as you see, has been ever since carefully preserved, but they never have been able to rebuild the tower of Militsch. It is said that whatever part of it is built during the day, falls in during the night; so that after many fruitless attempts to overcome the spell, it has been given up altogether. The only certain part of the story is," added the countess, "that this old necklace still retains its strange power of marking the death of each successive owner, by one of its pearls turning black. I often look at them, to see if another pearl is not beginning to assume a gray tint, which will be the sure sign of my approaching death!"

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My wife is now quite restored,' added he, all danger is past. This blessing I owe to you, most gracious lady, and I wish to offer you a small token of my gratitude. Deign to accept this necklace-it ought never to go out of your family, and if kept, it will always foretell the death of the Countess Malzahn, by one of its pearls turning black by degrees, at the demise of each lady of this race.'

"When the young countess awoke, what was her surprise to perceive a pearl necklace lying on the coverlid before her! This very same necklace that I now wear is the ominous present of the troublesome little dwarf! My story is not at an end yet," added the countess, smiling, as she was about to be interrupted. She resumed.

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"Some hundred years ago, a very rough, wild Count Malzahn was proprietor of the Château of Militsch. He was a great sportsman, and fond of heavy potations, as gentlemen were wont to be in those days. He often had a wild, noisy set of companions We all looked with much interest at the about him, and thus scared away from his handsome features of the amiable old lady, table his delicate, refined, and beautiful who had so kindly related this family legend young wife. One evening, when these rough for our benefit, and heartily wished that her sportsmen had been drinking hard around pearls might long retain their pure white the oaken table in the tower of Militsch Cas-hue, which strongly contrasted with the color tle, the conversation happened to turn upon the mysterious necklace, which had acquired great celebrity from the fact that whenever a Countess of Malzahn died, one of the

of the seventeen that have already put on their mourning for the deceased châtelaines, and which really have a very dingy tint.

The die was cast-strange stories had be

come the order of the evening. The formerly interesting topics of family quarrels, suspected flirtations, misbehaved servants, etc., had suddenly lost their charm, and a tide of family traditions and ghost stories came rushing in from all sides, a torrent which nothing but the fear of late hours and bad roads could stem. I will only record the tales which struck me as most authentic, because they were told by members of the families in which they had occurred.

hour when his portrait had fallen down at his father's home.

"Time, which heals all wounds, even the deepest, had passed over this sad circumstance, and we were once more seated together at supper in the same dining-room as before. It was rather late, for we had been paying a visit to the little orphan girl, Baron Tettau's daughter, and had waited there to speak with the doctor, as she had not been well he declared, however, that she was much better, quite free from fever, and assured us that there was not the slightest cause for anxiety. We therefore returned home, and as I said before, were seated at supper, when again a crash, and, without

"You all know that beautiful picture of my brother-in-law, the Baron Tettau, which hangs in the picture-gallery at home, do you not?" inquired a pale, delicate-looking lady, with light blue eyes and flaxen hair. "That picture was painted by Angelica Kaufmann, any apparent cause, down came my brotherand is considered to be one of her best works. He is taken in full uniform, as a smart young officer of the Guards, which he then was, and his portrait was painted on the occasion of his marriage, which, unfortunately, gave him but a short span of happiness, as his young wife died a year after, leaving him a sweet little daughter in token of her love. This child was brought up in the country, under the surveillance of a governess, and very near to the residence of her grandmother, the old Baroness von Tettau.

in-law's portrait to the ground. This time our alarm was excusable: we at once despatched a messenger on horseback to inquire after the little girl, but he returned almost immediately, having been met half-way by the bearer of a missive from the governess, conveying the shocking intelligence that the dear little child had died suddenly in a fit!

"It will readily be believed that my brother-in-law's portrait, beautiful as it was, had now become an object of superstition, almost of aversion in the family: it was therefore removed from the dining-room, and carefully hung in a large hall filled with family pictures, which we call the gallery.' My husband had selected a place for it over the

as he wished to spare his poor mother as much as possible the painful reminiscences which the sight of the fatal picture was sure to awaken.

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"We were one evening all assembled at supper, that is to say, all except my brotherin-law, who had just joined his regiment, and was daily expecting to take an active part in the contest against Napoleon's hated entrance-door, where it was partly hidden, troops. His mother looked up with tender and admiring eyes at the handsome portrait hanging opposite to her, and exclaimed with a sigh, 'Where may my poor Franz be just now!' the tears gathering fast in her eyes at the thought of the perils he was about to encounter. Scarcely had the words been spoken when a crash was heard, and down came the picture! Strange to say, the nail on which it had hung had not moved: it seemed to have been jolted off the hook by a sudden jerk. We were all depressed by this unaccountable accident, and I had some difficulty in calming my poor mother-in-law, who persisted in regarding it as an omen that something dreadful had happened: her fears were but too soon verified. A few days later the news reached us that my brother-in-law had been sent to reconnoitre, and that a stray shot had killed him on the spot, at the very

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Many years elapsed-indeed, it is but ten years ago since my much regretted father-in-law died; my poor husband was, as you all know, deeply afflicted at his loss: he tended his poor father through his last illness with the most devoted affection and tenderness, and after the last sad parting, when we women, overcome with sorrow and fatigue, had retired to our rooms, he still remained sitting by his father's corpse. After some time he became uneasy, and could no longer bear the dread silence of the chamber of death: he got up, paced to and fro, and almost unconsciously bent his steps towards the gallery: he endeavored to enter, but some impediment closed the way: he pushed

the door with force, and in so doing removed to foretell that your future will be as happy

his brother's picture, which had again fallen to the floor!

"Since that time no death in the family has occurred, but we are of course all convinced that the same thing will happen when any one of us is called to his or her last account."

This lady's story was told with so much simplicity and good feeling that all present were impressed with the conviction of its truthfulness, the more so that the narrator bears the highest character for veracity and straightforwardness.

Another tale related on this occasion is to be found in many old German books, but except to readers well versed in the lore of German legend it is probably quite unknown. It was told me by a near and dear friend of mine, a member of the family to whom this tradition belongs, and a person in whose veracity I place the greatest possible confidence. Thus, then, runs the tale :

"In olden times there lived a most beautiful, pious, and amiable Frau von Alvensleben, who was respected and beloved by her friends and the high and mighty of the land, and looked up to and adored by her dependants and the poor, who for many miles around felt the benefit of her loving charities. This favorite of fortune and nature had, however, one drop of gall mixed in her cup of happiness, which had wellnigh embittered the whole of her precious gifts. She was childless, and it was no small grief to her beloved lord as well as to herself to be denied an heir to their noble name and vast possessions. Frequently, when more than usually oppressed by sad thoughts, she would wander forth and seek in assuaging the sorrows of others a relief to her own painful reflections. On one occasion, as in pensive mood she was returning from one of these charitable visits to the sick and poor of her villages, her way led through a long avenue of well-grown trees bordering the banks of the Elbe. Slowly she walked with eyes cast on the ground, when her steps were suddenly arrested by a little dwarf, who stood respectfully before her. She was startled at first, but seeing him look smilingly at her, she soon regained her composure, and in a kind manner asked him what he wanted.

"Most gracious lady,' quoth the dwarf, • all I wish is to give you brighter hopes, and

as you deserve. Within a year from this timé you will be blest with three sons at a birth [drillinge]. I pray you to accept this ring,' continued he, handing her a large gold ring most curiously wrought; 'have it divided into three equal parts, and when your sons are of an age to understand the trust, give one piece to each of them to keep as a talisman against evil. As long as it remains in the family the Alvenslebens will prosper.'

"With these words the kind little man disappeared; but his prophecy was realized, and his injunctions carefully obeyed. The three sons lived to form the source of three distinct lines of the Alvensleben family, and are distinguished by the names of the Black, the White, and the Red line.

"Years― nay, centuries-rolled by, but the three pieces of the ring were carefully preserved by the descendents of the three brothers. The age of superstition had now passed away. Frederick the Great was mighty, and he scoffed at all things; Voltaire, his friend and teacher, sneered at every species of belief, and the courtiers thought it becoming to imitate their master and his favorite.

"A gay party was seated on the balcony of the Castle of Randau, which overhangs the muddy-colored, shallow, and yet sometimes treacherous, river Elbe. Amongst the company were several gay young officers of the Royal Hussars, then stationed at Magdeburg, who had ridden over to pay their devoirs to the fair lady of the manor, the Frau von Alvensleben of the Red line, a famous beauty at Frederick's court. Although the mother of three fine boys, her beauty was at its zenith, and her sharp, ready wit and satirical, sceptical turn of mind had won for her as many admirers as her rare personal attractions.

"I never believe in anything that I do not see or feel,' said the lady with a bright laugh, continuing an animated conversation about second-sight and ghost-seers; 'nor do I care just now to believe in anything but that these strawberries are delicious,' added she, holding up a ruddy berry; 'that the air is pure and balmy, my companions most agreeable, and life altogether very charming and enjoyable.'

"Would that life were made up of such moments,' sighed her nearest neighbor, with

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