amusements of the day, the greater part of the villagers retired to their homes, and a few only remained to join in the dance. Among these, was Maria Heartley, whose form aud countenauce were considerably improved by the neatness and modesty of her dress. The general admiration she elicited, drew a smile of delight from her enraptured lover, who little dreamt, the while, of the plot that was forming against her. It was another intrigue of Sir Edward Courtly, who had selected Chickweed for his agent; but who, profiting by former lessons, and remember ing the lenity shewn him, apparently acquiesced whilst he imparted the whole circumstance to me. It was Sir Edwards intention to pretend particular business, and so to arrange his scheme, that his artless victim should be carried off a few days before: attaching the blame, by a well-concerted plan, to the son of a neighbouring farmer, who was known to admire her. The night of the dance had been selected as the most favourable opportunity for the execution of this plan, and arrangements were accordingly made; but which, from Chickweed's disclosure, I hoped to counteract, and expose him for his vil lainous proceedings.

The dance now proceeded, and all was gaiety and pleasure. The old folks, for a time, seemed to throw off the infirmi ties of age, and exerted themselves to admiration. Mr. and Mrs. Manning, and my aunt, grew young again. Mr. Plausible, laying aside the gravity of the law, selected a pretty cottager for his partner. Sir Lionel followed his example; while Sir Edward kept close to the poor object of his pretended adoration, and scarcely seemed to survey the groupe of rustic beauties which footed it merrily down the hall. But his face was foreign to his heart, and he was evidently chagrined at the incessant attention he was obliged to pay. Though sufficiently engaged with the dear object of my affections, I managed to keep a strict eye upon him, notwithstanding proper instructions had been given to two or three stout fellows, to nonopolize the situation of the post boy, and drive the unsuspecting girl back again to the village.

Every thing went on smoothly, and the dance continued till the sun, peeping through the caseroents, gave notice for departure. Sir Edward's anxiety visibly increased, lest Maria Heartley should escape him. I saw this with pleasure, and now regarded his failure

as certain; but while attending Mr. and Mrs. Manning to their carriage, Sir Edward took the opportunity of her leaving the room also to secure her; and, catching the affrighted girl in his arms, ran down the garden, where his men were waiting, and putting her over the scanty pailings, forced her into the chaise. Missing them on my return, I rushed out and inet Sir Edward returning to the house. Dissembling my anger, I hurried on, but discovered no traces of the girl. Chickweed coming up, cursed his men bitterly for their stupidity, who had neglected their prize; and, catching up a club-stick, vowed he would quickly overtake them. A word acquainted William Somers with the circumstance; who, entering the garden in search of her, joined in the pursuit. Uncertain of the issue, I waried with anxiety, resolving to make Sir Edward pay dear for this flagrant act of injustice.

Half an hour elapsed and none had returned. The rooin where the dance had been held, was still and silent; the glimmering candles, emitting a partial lame, dimly betrayed the fading flowers which had ornamented the walls; and the increasing beams of the sun glaucing through the half closed shutters, formed a strong contrast to the merry doings which had so lately ceased. I could not help surveying the altered scene. The music and the loud laugh still vibrated on my ear; and the lively assemblage rioted in my fancy. How swift the transition-not a soul remain. ing to grace the festive spot, nor a sound to relieve the dullness of the scene, save the twittering of the morning birds, which seemed to reproach our lengthened amusements. I opened the casement and looking out for the return of Chickweed and the rest, at length beheld the chaise driving back with increased speed. William Somers was at the horses; and, observing me, waved his hat in token of success, and in a few minutes they reached the house.

Nothing remained now to foil Sir Edward's plan, but to keep the secret of her rescue till a proper moment, the consideration of which was deferred till rest had contributed to relieve our fatigue. The post-boys were enjoined se crecy; and being well paid, returned to whence they were hired: having learnt that, as their journey was to have concluded in London, Sir Edward would feel easy on the score of her safety, and imagine his victim secure in his possession.

IN

A CONVERSAZIONE.

(Concluded from page 304.)

N the morning, Mr. — made me an early visit at breakfast; and after a few remarks upon the imminent danger from which the Lieutenant's wife had been rescued by his manly promptitude, I requested from him an account of the young lady, whom, it appeared from the old man's exclamation, he had delivered from some still more perilous condition.

66 Why, Sir," observed Mr. "the tale is soon told, as, I am very sorry to say, it differs but little from the common thraldom of such afflictive implications.—It happened on the evening of Christmas Day, 1814, I was returning from the Magdalen, where I had been officiating, over Black-friars' Bridge. A female passed me in much disorder of dress, wringing her hands, and uttering the most empassioned exclamations of despair. I turned back to look after her, struck with the hurried manner in which she had rushed by me. An idea instantly took possession of my mind that she was going to destroy herself. Without deliberating a moment upon the probability of such an event, I acted upon it, and followed her. I saw her turn the corner of the bridge; I heard her rapid step as she descended the stairs; and e'er I could reach her, she plunged into the river-the tide was running down-I beheld by the indistinct light of a clouded moon her white gown floating upon the surface-there was no time to be lost in calling for assistance; and tearing one of the wherries from its moorings, I jumped into it-the oars were pad locked, but there was a boat-staff lying under the benches; and with this I soon overtook the unhappy object of my pursuit. With much difficulty I got her into the boat-she was senseless, and, as I thought, past all efforts of mine to save her. Fortunately, she bad drifted through the arch, and the eddy brought the wherry up to the lower stairs. I had scarcely reached the shore, when a waterman came down for the purpose of securing his boat: he assisted me in carrying the drowned female up the steps, and helped me to take her to the Museum-hotel, where I was recognized by a gentle. man standing in the passage, who was then a lodger in the house. He influenced the master of the hotel to perEurop. Mag. Vol. LXXIII. May, 1818.

mit the poor creature to be put into a bed immediately-and his wife with the chambermaid did all in their power to restore her - happily there was a medical man supping with a country friend in the coffee room-he was instantly summoned to her aid-the means of the Humane Society were applied, and in about half-an-hour she began to revive-her returning sense fixed upon the last point of recollection which remained previous to her desperate act-" O let me die-let me die-I have broken my dear father's heart-My own is torn to pieces-I cannot-I ought not to live!"-These exclamations were succeeded by a severe shudder throughout her whole frame-the medical man advised that she should be kept quiet, and allowed to sleep all but the chambermaid left her room-the mistress of the hotel then put into my hands a letter which she said she found pinned to the unhappy girl's stays--it sufficiently explained the cause of her despair-but what was most important, it put us in possession of her address. I instantly sent off a porter to her father, to acquaint him with the calamitous condition of his daughter. Ho arrived before the messenger. I need not attempt to describe to you the conflicting feelings of the parent, and the affecting scene of his interview with his erring child. As she was sufficiently recovered to return with him that night, he took her back to his house, and with the most grateful expressions begged permission to call upon me the next morning-which he did, and then told me all the circumstances that led to the unfortunate girl's desperation. -Sir,' said he, my child is the victim of a villain.'-Soon after I took my present house in Fleet-street, a man in the civil service of the East India Company applied for my first floor :-as I knew something of his connexions, I readily accepted him for a lodger-my poor girl was then fifteen-by his accommodating manners, he won our esteem, and became very shortly as one of the family.-He was twenty six years of age; and from his apparently settled habits of life, I placed a confidence in him, of which, wretch as he has proved himself, he took the basest advantage.

It happened, that in the second year of his being our inmate, I lost a considerable sum by a shipment which I had made to Demarara-this cramped my 3 F

resources, and placed my credit in jeo pardy-he came forward with the offer of a loan of money, which, after much hesitation on my part, he prevailed upon me to accept-this set my affairs upon their former level, and enabled me to hold up my head among those of my trade, who had anticipated my entire failure-indeed, my name stood higher than ever, as it was supposed, that if I could rise above so large a loss, I must be a man of considerable property-My lodger, who had render d me this essential service, was now be loved by all my family, as one who had saved us from utter destruction !-He became indeed the object of our warmest attachment, and my wretched girl felt a grateful affection for him, which she seized every opportunity to display the artless regard of the child, for she was but just sixteen, was observed by this monster of duplicity-and, Sir, to be brief in my sad story, he was the deliberate seducer of her innocence-I had lost her mother several years before, and her eldest sister had been recently married to Lieutenant K-, and had left us for his station: my two younger children, a boy and girl, lived with us; the one was employed in my warehouse, and the other assisted her sister in the household. You will not wonder, Sir, if I did not suspect the tremendous evil that was about to fall upon my head One evening, when Mary had been up to the wretch's room with the tea-things, my youngest girl came to me, and said, that her sister Mary had been crying fit to break her heart, and that Mr. Ahad been scolding her. I had indeed observed, that of late he had behaved coolly towards her, and distantly towards myself often staying from our family dinner, and sometimes not returning until late at night-1 had also remarked, that my daughter looked very differently to what I had been accustomed to see her-she was much depressed also in spirits, and would frequently leave the parlour in tears but knowing her filial concern for my difficulties, I imputed her distress to her feelings for myself, and would frequently remonstrate with her upon the inutility of her afflicting herself-encouraging her at the same time with the hope that all would yet be well with the aid of our generous friend-Instead, however, of consoling her, I seemed only to aggravate her grief-little sup. posing that he was the infamous cause

of it. On the evening which I have mentioned, I sent for her into the parlour, and questioned her as to the reason of her constant melancholy-and more especially as to her being so overwhelmed with grief at that momentShe made me no answer, but fell into a strong convulsive fit-the servant, who I afterwards found was the instrument of the villain's success, finding, 1 suppose, that all would be discovered, was running out of the house, under the pretext of going for my sister, who lived in the next street, but who, I knew, was too infirm to come to us. I called her back, and commanded her to stay with her young mistress while I went for medical aid. I returned with Mr. H; but, Sir, conceive the horror of my soul when I found that my child and my lodger, with the servant, bad all left me-My little girl and her brother told me, that soon after I went out, their sister Mary came to, and Mr. A-had taken her to the coach-stand in Bridge-street, and that Betty bad taken a large box with her, as much as she could carry. The whole truth then flashed upon my mind-and rushing to the stand, in hopes of learning some tidings of the direction they took, I had the mortification to find it entirely vacant. I asked the waterman, whether he had opened any coach to such a party-he answered me in the negative-I then in the utmost anguish of heart, that well nigh deprived me of my senses, ran through the streets, unmindful of the crowds that followed me, calling upon my daughter, and pouring out the bitterest execrations upon her seducer-whom I cursed by name-A silversmith who lived next door to me, kept pace with me, and overtaking me near Temple Bar, very judiciously suggested the propriety of my going to Bow-street. This raised a hope in my breast, which served to calm my vio lence in some degree. We obtained a promise from the sitting magistrate, that immediate search should be made for the fugitives-and a description of their persons was given to the officers; who, after having asked who was to pay them for their trouble, and receiving a satisfactory answer, entered upon their pursuit.-I returned to my house, overpowered with grief-my kind neighbour did not leave me all nightand when I had fallen into a disturbed slumber in the morning, my son brought me a letter with the St. Alban's post

of writing a letter to the father and daughter expressive of his contrition for his conduct, and his desire to repair the injury he had done them by an instant marriage. Having brought him to this concession, I took the letter myself to this family of affliction; but as I had not sufficient confidence in his honour to leave him to the reaction of his mind, I prevailed upon him to accompany me to the silversmith's first, that he might be at hand to attend my summons, if indeed the daughter was in a situation to bear the interview. It is impracticable for me to describe her emotions, or those of her parent-the conflict was severe between resentment and affection-at last, however, they yielded to my entreaties, Mr. A- was introduced by me-and never shall I forget the horror depicted in his countenance when he heard of her attempt to drown herself-for this fact I had resolved to suppress until I could procure the interview-he then pressed his offer of marriage with more earnestness than I could have done-he fell on his knees, and asked pardon of God for the desperation to which he had driven ber-he implored, in the same posture, the forgiveness of the father and his ill-treated Mary! vowing to cherish her as the chief blessing of his life-and with tears and groans supplicating her to accept his hand and his fortune, and that henceforward he would only live to make her happy, and all happy that were dear to her! must leave you to imagine the scene which followed when a general reconciliation took place, which I have the happiness to say was effected before I left them. On the next morning the marriage was solemnized; and there is every reason to conclude that it has been the source of happiness to all the parties concerned."

After Mr. had finished his tale, he drew out of his pocket some manuscript papers, and unfolding them, said, "Now, my good Sir, I am about to place a confidence in you, which I am sure will be estimated by you as it ought first, however, I must apologize for the Jiberty I am taking-but you must know, that these manuscripts contain the Memoirs of a Metropolitan Curate, written by himself, and put into my hands on his death-bed-there are many circumstances of interesting relation; and I think you will agree with me, when you have read them, that they would furnish

matter for some periodical work, the Editor of which you may be acquainted with, and through your medium, perhaps, they may be made of some advantage to his children."

I promised to do all in my power; Mr. left them with me for perusal; and I also send them to you, that if you approve of them you may convert them to the service of your Miscellany. They will supply the place of the Conversazione; which, as I heard nothing of its continuance at our last meeting, is most probably dissolved, at least for the pre

sent.

I am, Mr. Editor, most respectfully,
Your new, but now

OLD CORRESPONDENT.

NOTE BY THE EDITOR.We have perused the MS. sent, and request an interview with our Correspondent previous to the insertion of the first Chapter of the Memoirs.

IRISH EXTRACTS.

CONTAINING A CONCISE DESCRIPTION OF SOME OF THE PRINCIPAL PLACES IN IRELAND; WITH THE ANTIQUITIES, CUSTOMS, CHARACTER, AND MANNERS OF THAT COUNTRY.

BY THOMAS STRINGER, M.D.

(Continued from page 317.)

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF IRELAND.

TH

THE Scotch, Welsh, and Irish, though the countries they inhabit have been much subject to foreign aggression and intestine wars, yet contain more of their aboriginal manners, and are at this day a less mixed race than the English. They have still in some measure retained in popular use their particular dialects, handed down to them from remote ages. They converse in their own language with conscious delight, and have preserved many of their ancient customs, institutions, and traditions, and also many of their metrical compositions.

Amongst the peculiarities of dress, is the long coat worn by the Irish; it is made of wool, and generally is of a grey colour; it resembles in make so much the great coats worn by the Irish chairmen in London, that it is most probable this fashion was transported from Ire land to London.

I trust my readers will not be dis pleased with the introduction of O'Cal laghan, exhibiting the character an