ARDEN, OF FEVERSHAM. When they reached the garden gate, a new obstacle occurred-they had forgotten the key. One of them ran back for it; and when it was at length found, they opened the gate, and carried the corpse into the field. During the whole of the delay, the snow continued to fall thick around them. At about ten paces from the gate, they laid down upon his back, the lifeless Arden, clothed in his nightgown. After which, they returned the same way through the garden into the house. The doors were once more opened, and the servants came in that were sent abroad. As it grew late, the licentious dissembler affected increasing uneasiness. She sent again to inquire for him among the principal persons of the town with whom he was acquainted; but they replied, they could give no information concerning him. Then she began to lament aloud: 66 Never, never, surely, had any woman such neighbours as I have!" and the excellent actress burst into tears, which she ought rather to have shed for her own crimes. The neighbours came in, and found her in an agony of grief, for the unaccountable absence of her husband. A general alarm ensued; and the major, with his attendants, went in search of Arden. They traversed the fair in every direction; and at length came to the field, where they discovered a stiffened corpse stretched out upon the snow. They presently recognized Arden, whom they found without the smallest symptom of life; but, examining diligently, observed some rushes sticking in his slippers, which had remained there ever since his struggle with the murderers; foot steps also caught their attention, clearly visible in the snow, between the place where he lay, and the garden door. Upon this discovery, the mayor commanded some of his men to go round, and pass through the house and garden back to the spot. These, all the way, as they advanced, plainly distinguished footsteps still before them in the snow! from which it was most evident that the body had been brought from the house, and that the bearers, after placing it upon the ground, had returned by the same path. Then the mayor and his company entered the house, and suspecting Alice Arden, from the character that she universally bore, examined and taxed her with the murder; but she, with looks and expressions of anger and defiance, told them she was no such person, and they suspected her without a cause. 66 The servants were next examined: and they, less hardened in guilt, confessed the whole affair. The evidence of her accomplices some hair and blood found near the house, in the path of the garden-the fatal knife, and bloody cloth, discovered in a tub by the side of a well, where they had inadvertently been thrown-all these, pleading, as it were, trumpettongued," against her, rendered farther resistance unavailing. The hour of dissimulation was over-she joined with the rest in open avowal of the crime, and particularly at the sight of her husband's blood, passionately confessed her guilt and implored the mercy of Heaven. Mosby was instantly apprehended; and all these arraigned at the sessions held, soon after, at Fevershain, when their trial fully disclosed the dreadful cireumstances that have been related. They were all condemned, and suffered death in various places, that their infamy might be spread abroad :—the adultress at Canterbury-her servants at Feversham-and Mosby and his sister, in London. But what afterwards excited universal regret, was the fate of the unfortunate Bradshaw, involved in the affair, owing to the ambiguous expressions of the letter which he delivered to Alice Arden. In vain did he protest his ignorance of the matter, and relate his case: the words were extremely suspicious; it was evident that through him Black Will had been procured: and as they were in possession of no more than his own assertions, he was condemned to die. A case like this will teach more powerfully than any precept, the necessity of avoiding the society of the reprobate; since the innocent, by once associating, may suffer with the guilty. The only witness, that could have exculpated him, was Green: but he had fled, and the place of his retreat was at that time unknown, although justice overtook him at last. After some months had elapsed, he was apprehended in Cornwall, and executed in Kent; but at his death, he fully vindicated the character of Bradshaw. Black Will, continuing his depredations, suffered in Holland, whither he had made his escape: and never was the life of a common malefactor more justly forfeited to society. His comrade and the painter were the only persons concerned in this tragedy, that made their escape, and were never heard of more. Chastity will blush-humanity will shudder-at the name of Alice Arden. We may feel inclined to revile her as a monster but let us rather lament her fall from virtue. In reading her story, let none forget that once she was guiltless of these crimes-that there was a time when, perhaps she, too, would have shuddered and blushed at the idea of adultery and murder. It is a popular persuasion, that murders never go unpunished: and this may often have acted as a preventive to those who have been disposed to shed blood. Offenders of this description, certainly, in a civilized country, very rarely escape the arm of human law; and it were to be wished, the same restraining idea prevailed with respect to adultery; which introduces such lamentable disorder into society. But, as Christians, we believe that there will be a time, when vice and virtue shall receive their just reward. Let this thought direct us into the thorny path of rectitude, and preserve in it to the end. In the present instance we see, that adultery and murder met their punishment even in this life; and we may rest assured, that "the Everlasting has never set his canon" against these crimes in vain. [The above history may be found in Hollingshed; in Baker's "Revenge against Adultery;" in Beard's "The atre of God's Judgments;" and in Jacob's "History of Feversham." Lillo, the author of " George Barnwell," founded a tragedy on it; and there also is an old black-letter play upon the subject, with the following title:- "The lamentable and true Tragedie of M. Arden, of Feversham, in Kent, who was most wickedlye murdered by the means of his disloyall and wanton wyfe, who, for the love she bare to one Mosbie, hyred two desperat ruffins, Black Will and Shagbag, to kill him."-4to. 1592.-(End of Arden." Commenced at p. 1.).. THE Commonness or uncommonness of an old saying will often give us more knowledge of the actual state of things in which we live, than a hundred political treatises. There may be disputes among us, whether our more visible evils are temporary or not; particular circumstances may either blind or enlighten us on the subject; and there is this greater danger in all arguments carried on with particular party spirit,-namely, that for the sake of gaining the point in discussion, people will abandon, first wilf and then habitually, their own better convictions, and talk of wealth and poverty, vice and virtue, misery and prosperity, without having any more real meaning in their terms, than if they disputed upon the merits of the syllables fum and hum. or the village, every fresh grappling But a saying that is in popular use, or has gone out of it, with regard to the character of a people, speaks to us with the force of time and certainty, not with the weakness of self-love. A nation, it is true, does not allow any one but itself to speak the truth of its own character, in matters of panegyric; but we allude to sayings that imply a habit rather than a merit, however desirable the habit may be. We turn therefore with melancholy recollections, to the old and long-lost phrase of " Merry Old England." We have "Old England" still, but she is a granddaughter or great-grand-danghter; and does not at all take after her ancestor. Merry Old England died in the country a great while ago; and the sports, the pastimes, the holi-volence, of justice, of poetry or the days, the Christmas greens and gam- arts,-of health, spirit, and intellibols, the archeries, the May-mornings, gence, of the manliest and greatest the May-poles, the country-dances, times of the English character? They the masks, the harvest-homes, the may shew it with plucked holly-leaves, hobby-horses, the new-year's-gifts, the unshamed and unaffected truth, the gallantries, the golden means, the the being pleased, the pleasing, the poetries, the pleasures, the leisures, sympathy with all, the song and dance the real treasures,-were all buried of old customs, the glowing cheeks, with her. the liberal board, the scorn of sickly gossiping, the wit, the healthy impulses, the social wisdom.-We do not wish to be writing fine periods here. We feel, and we put down; and if we have any graces by the way, thanks to the nature that gives this recommendation to our sincerity. Heaven send the race be revived! We do not despair of it; neither shall our efforts be wanting to effect it. But let other individuals recollect, that they must act themselves, as well as wish the rest of the world to act. Stir up your fire-sides, and your smiles, and your walks abroad; and consent to enjoy the happiness, which is not to be enjoyed by gain, or gloominess, or mere bustling, or shallow and grave egotisms, or worldliness of any sort. Every new pleasure added to your Christmas which you did not enjoy before, every new and kind sociality,-every innocent enjoyment (and innocence has a much wider range of enjoyment, than ignorance would think, or malvolence would live it),-every additional dance, or song, or piece of music, every fresh thing done to give a joy to a fellow-creature,-every festivity set a going among friends, or servants, Christmas is a dreary business, compared with what it used to be in old times; and scarcely one of the other national holidays is alive. The nation hardly appears the same. There is scarcely a vestige of the rural and out-of-door part of the festivities. In London particularly, nothing of that sort remains but the dancing of the chimney-sweepers, on May-day, as if in mockery; and even at Christmas, every thing is withdrawn in doors, and done there with as little mirth as may be. Only a solitary bough appears here and there in the windows, instead of the universal leafiness that used to take place, from : the palace to the stall, as if a rural city had started up in the midst of winter. An air of constraint, and business, is thrown over every thing; and the holiday is rather transacted than enjoyed. There is a difference in different houses; but we are speaking generally. Personal character here and there prevails over custom'; but the common amount of the merrymaking consists of drawling through the morning, either at church, or at home, or in some gaping BIT of a walk, having a dinner of roast-beef and plum-pudding, or mince-pies,and sitting down in the evening to cards, which, in the favour of young people, are for once and a way made something like pleasure instead of profit, and allowed to be a round game. But even this pretended kind of holiday-keeping is by no means general. Some, whose ordinary days are as good and better than other people's Christmas, have their music and enjoyments as usual; but without any distinction of the season, and are not a fiftieth part as merry as they might be. Others, who are in the habit of paying their religion extraordinary compliment, think it profane to be merry at all. And others hardly think about the matter, except just enough perhaps to keep up the beef and mince-pies; for it must be owned, that good eating (with those who can afford it for themselves) is the latest survivor of all festivities in this country, and shews as little inclination to retire, as one of HOMER's lions from a carcase. The causes of this habitual indisposition to enjoyment, which has lost us the amiable title of Merry Old Eng land, we conceive to be, first, the commercial and jobbing spirit, which has infected the middle classes, and almost destroyed the middle gentry; second, the growth of a superstition, which is inflicted with the melancholy disease of taking merriment for vice ;and third,-a very different cause,→→ the growth of the very opposite of superstition, that habit of trying every thing by the test of common sense and utility, which is but too apt to stop half way in it's ascent to phi losophy, and to keep the mind in a state of ludicrous suspense between austerity and pastime, the former of which it avoids as old womanish, and the latter declines joining in with as puerile. Thus it is that avarice and bigotry are sure to justify all the curses bestowed on them, when they can have their way; and that pleasure gets so abused in all sorts of ways, that it is the very last thing which people know how to set about. -Bitter shame hath spoiled the sweet world's taste. SHAKSPEARE. We should despair (if despair were a word in our dictionary) of seeing causes like these done away, had we no other hope than that of persuading people by dint of argument. And yet not so; for what change has ever been effected in opinion but by small and individual beginnings? Now then is the time for individuals to exert themselves :-now is the time for those who would see their native country blossoming with joy and plenty again, to begin to sow. It is a noble work, and can do harm to none but the superstitious,-if harm it is to be called, which would teach even themselves to do justice to the face both of the earth and of the human race, and not dishonour the MAKER of it by rendering it dismal. Up then, upholders of old English pleasures as well as freedom,---lovers of manly and rural sports, lovers of the green sward and the snow-ball, lovers of song and dance, lovers of mutual happiness in-doors and out of doors, lovers of Nature, and of the Author of the flowers of summertime and evergreens of winter. Up, and do what you can, and what you ought. You, who are able, do as the old, and set your village neighbours in motion with cakes and ale: you, who are able, go out and fetch home your boughs, your laurels, you misletoe, your glad holly with its shining winter cheeks, Till Birnam wood do come to Dunsi nane ; and you, who are not (very few of you, ye rogues) rouse as much mirtla |