ous waggon, where one half the number of horses would be sufficient to pass the plane, when it would require double that number to draw it up the hill. This situation itself being one of the most populous in London, is a certainty of its being productive of tolls; there fore, the writer of this paper, who has had much to do with public bridges, many of vast magnitude, some already completed, and others in contemplation, after this, his detailed survey, plans, and estimates, feels no hesitation in saying, there is no real impediment whatever, in the way of carrying this bridge into execution: and that it is one, which will most early pay for its own erection; is much wanted, and will be sooner completed than any that can be devised for the use of the public; and that they will of course have it a free bridge for their own use, as all bridges in his opinion ought to be, when their tolls have paid for their erection.

Finally, that himself and friends are willing to commence and finish it, for the moderate sum of the estimate, or take a certain period of time in its tolls for the payment thereof, without any advance of money to them what

ever.

No. 8, Oxford-street. RALPH DOdd.

A CONVERSAZIONE. (Continued from page 14.)

THE

HE man was proceeding with much deliberation to detail the circumstances that led to the event which the Colonel had witnessed, when Don Alonzo entered the room.-There ap peared much dejection in his counte nance, and he replied to the inquiries of the Colonel after the condition of Don Fodeya's family, by informing him, that he feared the intellects of his aged relative were materially affected. "When you left us, Colonel, my fair cousin gradually recovered, and seeing the dreadfully agitated state of her father's mind, no longer suffered the alarm which she had experienced to occupy her thoughts, but applied all her anxieties to soothe his incoherent vehemence-her eforts however only served to increase it, and the tenderness of her attentions were answered by repeated self-reproaches, which left us to form the most distressing conjectures that some measures of a very flagitious

Europ. Mag. Vol. LXXII. Aug. 1817.

description, had been pre-concerted against the honor of Dona Miranda with his own concurrence.-But so repugnant is the suggestion to the hearts of us all, that we cannot prevail upon ourselves to admit it. I have long known the ambitious character of Don Fodeya's mind, and that Godoy had, by his intervention with the Usurper, strongly recommended him to the favor of the latter. That Don Fodeya has been deceived I have not a doubt, and that his daughter was to have been the victim of this deception, is as evident; and it seems that when deception failed, force was employed with the most diabolical subtlety of arrangement. Dona Miranda was too much indisposed to enter into any explanation of her alarm; this, she proposes to do tomorrow, when you are requested to accompany me; by that time her father will, I hope, be more tranquil, and it will doubtless be found, that the honor of our house has not been submitted to the foul stain of voluntary concurrence in the hideous projects of a wretch who disgraces the character of man, and has prostituted power to the vilest enterprizes of lawless passion-amidst the debaucheries of the court parallel instances to this, by which our house was doomed to suffer, have been publicly talked of, but I am anxious to prevent the like publicity from applying to this in which Don Fodeya's character, and the peace of his family are implicated. Hitherto he bad retained his mistaken attachment to the Usurper, and from what escaped my relation's lips, proposals had been made which flattered his ambitious views-misled by the one, and blinded by the other, he had well nigh plunged himself into an abyss of dishonor, which would have closed in upon one of the most antient houses of Spain, and blotted it out of the records of our national greatness for ever. By the confession of the prisoner we shall obtain information that will serve to confirm my suspicion of the deception under which Don Fodeya has been betrayed; and Dona Miranda's narrative will supply the rest. You, General, will pardon this interruption, and permit the prisoner to proceed with his confession."-This fellow with the utmost concern, then went on with his account of the transaction as far as he and his comrade were concerned.

"I am a lieutenant in the second R

division of the army of Spain, and ten days previous to its retreat from Madrid, was employed by Don Fodeya to guard some English prisoners seized as spies by the police. Among these was a merchant who had long resided in Madrid; when he was seized his son insisted upon accompanying his father in his imprisonment; Dona Miranda interceded with her father in behalf of both; and, as I understand, personally applied at court for their discharge. I do not pretend to understand the lady's motives for the intercession, but, I believe, her charms were not beheld by him to whom she applied, without creating an interest of a very different nature to that which she contemplated; the lady herself, perhaps, may be better able to explain this part of the business; one action of her's, however, I shall mention, as explaining the observation of having saved me from the English:-four days after the confine. ment of the men under my care, they rose upon the guard, and at the instant of the conflict when they had overpowered us, Doua Miranda who, accompanied by another female, had arrived to bring some provisions to the English prisoners according to the custom of the religious order to which her companion belonged, by her entreaties prevented my being killed by the merchant's son, at the moment that his pistol was levelled at my head. The captives escaped-I made my report to Don Fodeya, mentioning the circumstance of his daughter's conduct. The fact was mentioned to the council, and the day before the army's retreat, I was sent for by the superior officer of my company, and was ordered to stay behind with him, for the purpose of seizing Dona Miranda and conveying her to the army. For this purpose, we way-laid her on the night you brought me bither; she was walking in the garden of her father's country house; we lurked behind a grove of Acacias-she saw us and would have fled; we followed her until we overtook her; the rest you knowI have nothing more to relate-and as for the officer who accompanied mehim, you have effectually prevented from supplying any information, as he is dead by your hand, Colonel!"

From this account, it appeared, that a plot had been formed for bringing Dona Miranda by force into the Usurper's possession;-but, as they were not able to get at any farther

particulars from their prisoner, the Colonel and Don Alonzo, after requesting the general to keep him in hold, returned to the City, and the next day repaired to Don Fodeya's house, here they found the confusion of the former night still more increased by the fight of his daughter-she bad disappeared on the previous evening, and no tidings could be obtained of the direction which she had taken. Don Fodeya had been engaged the whole night in pursuit of her, and had not yet returned. The mother appeared less agitated than might have been expected, but this she accounted for by the fol lowing relation-"I lament this step of my daughter, because, it appears to be connected with circumstances unfavorable to the diguity and prudence of her sex; but from what has occurred since your departure, Don Alonzo, I am not the least surprised at it-my anxieties are great for her safety, and I must again have recourse to your generous interposition, Colonel, for such measures as may prevent the evils which I dread. Don Fodeya's distraction subsided into a sullen silence; he seemed to be meditating upon what had occurred, and at length, as if some new idea had struck him, asked my daughter who that young man was that was imprisoned with the English merchant ? Dona Miranda

66

demand from yourself a positive answer upon that head, and if it was so, to send you to my country house. returned home resolved to put this question to you-but, before I reached my house I met a courier who brought tidings of the approach of the English and Spanish forces; the press of business delayed the execution of my resolve, and the retreat of the French army with the escape of the spies induced me to defer it. Last night, however, I discovered by information given to me by one of the guard, to whom the villain lieutenant de Mougeon had communicated his infamous commission, that he was to be employed to seize you at the first opportunity, and to convey you secretly to the army; from this it was clear that the tyrant had no other object in his proposal of marrying you to the marshall, than that of getting you into his own power. As soon as I heard of the project, I 'rushed to the English head quarters and demanded a body of men to guard my country house, to which you were that day gone. They arrived too Jate, the servants had heard your shrieks in the direction in which you fled, but their search was fruitless. Distracted at the information, I hastened home to arm myself and my servants for the pursuit of the villains, when I found you rescued and safe. Yet Dona Miranda, much as I rejoice in this result, if I could suppose that you have thrown away your affections upon an Englishman, whose nation I detest, who is besides a heretic and a mere trader, I will instantly, by virtue of my authority as a magistrate, and my claims as a parent, confine you in a nunnery for your life. The poor girl, terrified by the speech of her father, which was delivered with all the furious accent of a mind enraged by disappointment, fell at his feet, and implored him to hear her." What, then, it is as I suspect'ed," cried he, "you have dared to love the enemy of your country, and he the plebeian offspring of a tradesman-speak, is it not so? Mark me, Dona, Miranda; if your silence confirms my fears, I discard you I cast you off-I drive you for ever from my presence-I leave you now with your mother-I shall return in the evening, and I expect that you be ready to give me a satisfactory explanation of your whole conduct in this hateful affair."-As soon as Don Fodeya was gone, my daughter burst into a flood of tears, and in an

agony of grief disclosed to me that she had been married to the young man three weeks previous to the imprisonment of his father. Shocked as I was at these fatal tidings, a mother's fondness filled my heart, and as my father was an Irish protestant, holding a commission in the English army, I did not feel so much at her union with one of that religion, as I had been prevailed upon by my husband to adopt his profession of faith soon after our marriage, much against the impres sions of my conscience; and as my convictions still preserve my attachment to my former sentiments, I could not reproach her on this point. She shewed me the letters which she had received from Mr. Mannard, by which it appeared, that he was of a good family in one of the northern counties of England-that his father had a large concern in the city of York, which is managed by his brother-and that she will be joyfully acknowledged by his family as his wife-that as soon as the British army reaches Madrid he will apply to the commander-in-chief for his intercession with Don Fodeya, by which, joined to his son in law's prospects in life, he hopes he will be conciliated; but my doubts of this are great, knowing, a I do, the strong prejudices of religious sentiment which have possession of his mind; although, for my own part, the arguments which the young man has used in the course of his correspondence, may well justify her conversion to a religion, the superior purity of which still maintains a powerful influence over my own heart. She has fled to her husband's father, who since the flight of the tyrant has returned to his home; and as your army, Colonel, is now in possession of Madrid, I am desirous of requesting your intercession in behalf of the young couple, with your brave and noble-minded chief. Scarcely had she finished her recital, when Don Fodeya entered. Fury and despair were depicted in his countenance. He entered with a bloody sword in his hand, the point of which he dropped on seeing Don Alonzo and the Colonel-the former had never been a favourite with him, in consequence of his having married an Englishwoman and, besides his being strongly suspected by him of having conformed to the Protestant principles of his wife, he had a commission in the royal army."I have heard of her," exclaimed the enraged father-" but I have not found

her-could I do so-this sword should put an end at once to her dishonour and my family's disgrace.-Madam, your daughter is the wife of an English heretic-she has fled with her paramourI traced her to his father's-I demanded her at his hands-he denied all knowledge of her-but avowed her marriage with his son-he pretended he knew nothing of his son's previous acquaintance with her I charged him with falsehood-We fought-he fell, and in the blood of the father I have revenged myself for the villainy of the son. I traced the guilty girl to his house--she has escaped a father's vengeance, but my curse pursues her. Now, Madam, she is lost for ever to our degraded house; and we must hide our gray hairs in the grave, the only refuge from disgrace. You, Madam, were privy to her flight, and thus I punish the treachery of a wife"-with a plunge of desperate rage he made a thrust at the affrighted mother; when Don Alonza caught his arm, seized the weapon, and wrested it from his hand. Overpowered by the violence of his feelings, he sank powerless into a chair. It was long before he recovered sufficiently from the violent effects which his rage had produced upon his frame, to listen to the entreaties of the Colonel and Don Alonza, that he would bear the exculpation which Dona Fodeya was ready to enter into, of her supposed cognizance of her daughter's designs. He heard it with a vacancy of look which proved he took no heed of what was said; and at length starting from his seat, he burst into a paroxysm of grief, in which all the tender recollections of the father struggled for the mastery over his angry passions. She is lost-gone for ever-my child I have lost thee, thou hast murdered thy father's fondest hope-Was it for this I doated on thy infancy-was it for this I reared thee, as the cherishing delight of my soul-O was it for this I marked with transport thy blossoming charms, and wore thee next my heart, as the fairest flower of my house-Now thou art torn from the parent tree, and I shall in vain lament thee-perhaps, already thou sinkest beneath the blast the dews of night have bent thy fragile stalk, and thy fragance is wasted on the pitiless storin.-Ŏ my child, my child, come back to thy poor aged father-he repents him of his guilty ambition-he would clasp thee again in his arms-he would be forgiven, and he would for

give; but blood is upon me-I have shed innocent blood;"-here a shudder of horror shook his frame, and he fell back upon the seat exhausted with sorrow and personal fatigue. Colonel V. felt that he was called upon to visit Mr. Mannard, whom the enraged father in his impetuosity of passion had so unwarrantably assailed; he therefore consulted with Don Alonso, who assured him that he would not leave his wretched relations until he saw Don Fodeya more composed. The Colonel found Mr. Mannard attended by his surgeon, who had pronounced the wound not mortal, but of that nature as to make it necessary for his patient to remain quiet and undisturbed; he therefore forbore to make any enquiries of him as to the probable situation of the young people; but the chief clerk of the house informed him, that the young man having prevailed upon his father about a month since to procure him a commission in the royal army, and having been called upon to join his regiment, he presumed that he had most probably set off with that intent. No female accompanied him, but a youth had called last evening, to whom his employer had given a direction of his route. The Colonel immediately went back to Don Fodeya's house, that he might communicate the intelligence of the expected recovery of Mr. Mannard, and free him from the horror of having taken away his life. "Have you heard of my daughter, Sir?" asked the unhappy father; "where is she-I will go to her-she shall be my own child again-tell me, Sir, whither is she gone?-is she with the wretch that has robbed me of her.". Colonel V. assured him that his daughter had not been at Mr. Mannard's house; nor had he heard any tidings of her; but he was happy to inform him, that the wounded man was not in danger. "That's something," said the old man, "I am not a murderer, then

but, Sir, the son of him I have wounded is,; for he has inflicted a wound in my heart which cannot be healed-she is not gone then-I may yet see her come back to her miserable parent-Go, Sir, go to the Englishman, and tell him that a Spanish father can feel as acutely as he, or any father of his nation can; and tell him, that I will receive my daughter if he knows where she is that I will gladly, O how gladly, receive her." The distracted man had forgotten that she was now a wife, and

that if she had accompanied her husband, there was little probability of her leaving him, or of his permitting her to do so. For a week after these events Don Fodeya continued in this state of mental inquietude. His afflicted wife was unremitting in her attentions to him, and there appeared to be some hope that he would become more tranquil; when Don Alonzo called to inform her that the army had received orders to march, and that Colonel V not being able to wait upon her before his setting off with his regiment, had requested him to say, that he would do all he could to find out her son-in-law; and that if he found her daughter with him, he would procure his discharge or leave of absence, and provide them with every facility of returning to Madrid as expeditiously as possible. "Meanwhile," observed Don Alonzo "be assured, that I shall most anxiously second the Colonel in the same effort." He then proceeded to Don Fodeya's chamber, and after some conversation upon the purpose of his visit, left him somewhat cheered by the prospect of the discovery and return of bis daughter.

The campaign was an active one, as we all of us know, for the British General was not disposed to allow his forces to lose the opportunity which offered, of driving the Usurper out of a Country which he had filled with misery and slaughter.

(To be continued.)

For the EUROPEAN MAGAZINE.

them before the charcoal is applied. If the aroma is not made strong enough, it may be increased by adding a few drops of alcohol charged with aromatic principles of the same nature as the perfumes employed in the first instance.

Vinegar thus prepared is much superior to any that are inade with an infusion of any vegetables or aroma's whatever, and it is the best vinegar for the table.

Toilette vinegar is obtained in the same manner as those just described, except that it is filtered a second time, in order to purify and concentrate it still more. It may even be obtained the first time, by an excess of heat.

The lemon, yellow, straw, and golden colours, which are all modifications of yellow, are obtained by employing a small proportion of charcoal for the decoloration.

Mr. Saunders observes, that "clover or sainfoin hay, at 47. 14s. 4d. per ton, is 4s. 8d. per cwt. or one halfpenny per pound; and that twenty pounds weight of either, well boiled, will make, with

IN

VINEGAR.

BY M. DENYS DE MONTFORT.

N all the ensuing operations, it is only vinegar made from red wine that is treated of. The same operation is employed with red vinegar as with red wine, and the same results obtained; but the decolouration of vinegar is the most speedily effected; it is often ready to filter by the third day. In this operation it becomes as limpid as the clearest water, without losing any thing either in taste or smell of its previous acidity; and in this state it is much superior to the most-esteemed vinegars; it is also the most pure, and the most proper for any purpose that can be desired. To obtain vinegar of different colours and flavours, the plants, spices, and perfumes with which it is intended to flavour or colour them, are infused in

dients, sufficient wash or food to maintain throughout the day fifty store pigs, from three months old to an indefinite age upwards.

He then gives the following estimates of daily expenses of keeping fifty store pigs:

s. d.

Potatoes one bushel ......1 3
Meal of any description ..1 4
Clover hay
Coal....
Attendance

.0 10

.0

6

4 2

which is exactly one penny per head.

Mr. Saunders affirms that a single sack of boiled potatoes, when mixed with this wash, without any other ingredient, will go as far as four or five sacks when given without it, although boiled.