"As to their opinions," replied Martin, "they are divided. Most say that you come here habited and with the means of a noble; that you are calculated to be admired, for that you spend your gold like a noble. Others, on the contrarybut these are the victims of envy, which glare at you with their wide eyes wherever you go affirm that if your advent hither is not enveloped in suspicion, it is at least in mystery; and that there is about your appearance and movements something calculated to awake distrust, although they are compelled to own your possession of several points of character for which they do not entertain dislike. Is that sufficient, Monsieur ?"

"Why, mon cher Martin," answered his patron, "you are not too explicit, candour being a scarce article, I should think, with one so wary and cautious as yourself; but it will sufficiently serve my purpose, the more so as I do not possess a more than ordinary curiosity to know the sentiments of these good citizens respecting me." The conscientious Marquis lied with all the nonchalance of his nation, and what is more, lied so hypocritically and effectually as to deceive even Martin, who would never have guessed that the sole aim of De Tourville in questioning him was to artfully wean from him, without awakening a suspicion, if the nobles and others of rank with whom he had associated had discovered the slightest reason to suspect, either from his language or manière, that he was other than the person whom he represented himself to be. So far as Martin had informed him, all went on satisfactorily; but did that acute personage reveal the whole truth? he asked himself. For many reasons he was inclined to believe in the affirmative, reasons which were rather felt than understood, and he therefore dismissed from his mind an unpleasant weight that had, more or less, during the time he had been living in Frankfort, haunted and oppressed him.

Nevertheless, with the fearful temerity which distinguishes many reckless men who dread to hear their doom even while they court it, De Tourville-but with no apparent eagerness or interest in his manner-further tempted Martin by interrogating him :—

Have the worthy Bürgers, with their wonted sapiency, discovered, or pretended that they have discovered, that I am not what I appear?"

"I may reply in almost the same terms," answered Natter; "some have gone so far as to hint that you are not the Chevalier De Tourville, but have assumed the name the better to succeed in your own views; but these are persons of whom you have condescended to win some few ducats at play, and who naturally feel a little sore on the subject. However, they are generally laughed at, and their suspicions derided by the rest, who have as yet lost nothing, or have even won a little at play from you. So, you perceive, M. le Marquis, that the favourable opinion of you greatly preponderates."

Exactly so," returned that individual, gaily; "I understand now fully, and am more than at ease; but these sage Frankfort nobles and

citizens must be still further duped, and for that purpose you, in your assumed character of the Baron von Beaute, must industriously confirm the impression in every quartier you possible can, that I am in reality the Marquis de Tourville, one of the French haute noblesse. That will do famously, will it not?"

"It will at least be natural," replied the person addressed.

"And if the more curious of them," continued the Chevalier, with all the appearance of having well matured his plans, for there were no hesitation and indecision in his words, "should seek to know more, you can easily say, with an assumption of mystery, and that you reveal it to them in confidence, that I have been compelled to fly the sunny warmth of le beau pays, because my family are staunch Bourbonists, and will not generally acknowledge the power of this modern Usurper-this Corsican freebooterNapoleon. Eh, can you fabricate a story more complete and more probable than that, mon cher Martin?"

"No-no!" returned Martin, with energy and admiration (for among villains even of the deepest dye you will always find that the lesser views with a sort of respect and veneration the greater and blacker, the superiority of whose crimes renders him even to some an object of envy), "no-no! that were impossible; it is indeed complete, even in its minutest details, besides bearing about it an air of probability so strong as to deceive even the most sceptical."

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Bravo, Martin!" interrupted De Tourville, with joyful exhilaration. "Bravo; you perfect my security, and quiet every fear. So it is arranged, then, that you will take every opportunity to promulgate this report!"

Martin nodded assent.

"For your reward, then," added his patron, looking well pleased, "I will supply you with the money you require at the spielhausen you frequent; I will also pay your losses. As for what you win, that you may consider as your own.'

"Martin thanked him, but at the same time exclaimed, with a very doleful look, " But I am always unfortunate at play, Monsieur!"

"I have not failed to observe it; but we will find a mode of remedying that. I will be your instructor myself, and as I believe you will prove a most adept scholar, I doubt not that you will soon be enabled to practise one or two of those pretty tricks of legerdemain that I have found so successful."

"A thousand thanks, Monsieur le Marquis," exclaimed the lesser rogue, with delightful anticipations as he dwelt for an instant on the treasures of gold he should be able to call his own by the exercise of the manipulatory science referred to, the idea imparting a temporary feeling of gratitude towards his patron; a thousand thanks! I will study to acquire your favour and evince my thanks for your kindness."

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""Tis well!" returned De Tourville, thoughtfully; "tis well! Prove to me thus, and you shall never want my countenance and protection,

but-and I have spies even here in Frankfort who would soon discover it-let me warn you to secrecy; for if you are faithless, woe unto you! I have only to raise my hand, and you cease to exist. Were you in a foreign and far-distant land, my vengeance would overtake you; it would pursue you even to the steps of the sacred altar; it would strike you dead were you kneeling before the sacred Host itself! So be warned in time; for I am one of a Society which possesses members in all countries-of every nation, colour, and religion; so that retribution would speedily overtake you, and with as much certainty at Patagonia as in Frankfort! But so long as you are faithful and true, fear not. The slightest wavering will be observed, and punished ere your project shall have time to ripen, did you even plot to betray me!"

While Martin listened to this denunciation he felt his blood grow cold at the bare possibility of the existence of the secret and evidently powerful Society which the Marquis described, and he inwardly and devoutly resolved to preserve the confidence and secrets of that individual with scrupulous fidelity; and to this he was the more inclined-nay, compelled-by the consideration that it would be to his evident advantage so to do, for he thus maintained the patronage-friendship he would rather it had been-and favour of a man who was clearly possessed of secret power, a knowledge of his own guilt, the revelation of which would, by the laws of the city, condemn him for their expiation to suffer a terrible and ignominious death; and united to these was the fact that, according to the Marquis's asseverations, were he, for an instant, otherwise than faithful, he would fall a sacrifice to his vengeance. Martin felt that he had really no choice, and he therefore promptly and boldly replied

"I ask no more, Monsieur de Tourville, than that, while I am true to you, you will grant me your favour and assistance as promised."

The Marquis was about to reply, when voices in altercation were heard without; and above the voices of his servants could be distinguished that of a stranger.

"Quick-quick!" hastily exclaimed De Tourville, opening the door of a small cabinet; “enter here; I will send Dominique to you in an instant!" And while Martin closed the door we have mentioned, he turned to the quarter whence the noise proceeded, anxiously awaiting the cause of the interruption.

VIRTUE.-Horne Tooke said of intellectual philosophy that he had become better acquainted with it, as with the country, through having sometimes lost his way. May not the same be said of virtue? For never is it so truly known or appreciated as by those who, having strayed from its path, have at length regained it. The Countess of Blessington.

A POET'S LAST RESOURCE.

BY GEORGE HALSE.

Oh for a new idea!

In vain I roll mine eye from Heaven to Earth;
Imagination bodies nothing forth-
No forms appear!

I feel my brain is full of poetry,
Full as this pen of ink; yet, though I try,
I cannot find

A subject. To be sure, there is "A Tear
For the Departed Year!"

I might shed tears till I was blue
Or blind;

But what of that? 'Tis nothing new!

Then there's "The Moon," "The Evening Star," Both useful for a sonnet.

I might get up "A Vision" or "A Dream," "Lines on the portrait of my grandpapa ;"

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'My Mother's Chair;"

My First Grey Hair-
Reflections on it;"
And so on.

No; I want a newer theme

There is a note, there is a sound
About this hour that falls upon mine ear,
More welcome than the whisperings of love,
More thrilling than the words that tell
Of the neglected heart's deep wound,
Or love's hot tear;
More pleasant than the music in the grove,
Poured from the hundred tiny throats that swell
In praise, in song,

Joyous and long,
When the first leaves burst forth into the year;
More grateful than the murmur of the brook
Over the glistening spars and polish d stones,
And through the grassy nook,

Where soft winds sleep, and butterflies do rove To jilt the flowers; aye, sweeter than the tones Struck from the lute by woman's hand

At art's command;

And softer than the notes of Philomel

Methinks I hear it still-that sound

The hour is past-I know it well,

When Jones, the Chelsea baker, takes his round; It is it is-the MUFFIN BELL!

The best armour is to keep out of gun-shot.— Ray's Proverbs.

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'Well, and what then?"

"Nothing: to be sure it was wet and cold, and it's long since a drop has passed your lips before; only I wanted the money for other things; but it cannot be helped now."

"I wish it could," murmured Giles, in a low voice; and he put his arm round her waist, and kissed her for the first time for many years. The poor woman often recalled that moment in after-days, and was glad that she had not spoken unkindly to him.

Presently the stranger came in hastily; his long fair hair was swept back from his high forehead, and his whole countenance glowed with enthusiasm. "What a glorious night!" exclaimed he, while the thunder broke over the cottage as he spoke, and then died away, muttering in the distance. "If I were only upon the sea now, what a picture I would paint! Claude Vernet's are mere clouds in comparison What grandeur! what terror! what beauty! I offered a man ten pounds to take me out; but he told me it was as much as his life was worth to think of venturing."

I'll take you for five!" said the fisherman, starting up.

"Done!" exclaimed the artist, exultingly. "Of course you have a good boat, and understand your business?"

"I have been a fisherman from my boyhood." "It is well; but we lose time."

Giles," said his wife, placing herself before him, and speaking in a low, agitated voice, "you are not fit to go out on the sea to-night."

The fisherman drew her aside, and they conversed earnestly together: God knows what arguments, or it may be what threats, he made use of to silence her; or whether the temptation of so large a sum, and the remembrance that she was a mother, as well as a wife, had anything to do with it; but she suffered him to go. To be sure she could not have prevented it; but she might have warned the young artist of his danger.

It was a fearful night; and the first thing that the fisherman's wife saw, when she went down to the sea-side on the following morning, was the corpse of her husband, lying cold and stark upon the beach! The body of the unfortunate artist was never found; and, what is stranger than all, no inquiries were made after him, or any notice taken of the numerous advertisements which appeared in the newspapers about that time. After the lapse of several months, the contents of his portfolio were sold for the benefit of the bereaved widow and her children. The sketches it contained, although in an unfinished state, bore evidence of a masterly genius;

but not a line or letter could be found upon either of them to give a single clue to the history of the artist.

Thomas Ingoldsby's description of Folkstone is as graphic as it is amusing. Rome," he writes, "stood on seven hills, but Folkstone seems to have been built on seventy. The streets, lanes, and alleys-fanciful distinctions without much real difference-are agreeable enough to persons who do not mind running up and down stairs; and the only inconvenience at all felt by such of its inhabitants as are not asthmatic, is when some heedless urchin tumbles down a chimney, or an impertinent pedestrian peeps into a garret window." This account, although somewhat exaggerated in detail, is not far from the truth.

A recent tourist, speaking of Folkstone, writes thus:-" What first strikes the eye upon enter ing the town, is the number of Dutch-looking houses, with gable ends, and the basements and walls bound on the edges with strips of ruddy brick. These are, without doubt, the oldest residences of the town, and bespeak a Flemish origin. They take us back to the time when the flying Dutchmen, driven from home during the struggle between the United Provinces and Spain, settled on the southern coasts of England, and gave to our fishermen much of that quiet, dogged, and courageous temperament for which they are remarkable."

Some of the houses in Folkstone, and indeed whole streets, are entirely covered with fish hung upon lines to dry, or for sale, which has at first a curious effect, especially when taken in conjunction with the quaint-looking figures which appear at the doors and windows, or stand lolling against the low entrance, smoking a short black pipe. Folkstone may be said to be divided into two distinct localities-the Old Town and the New Town. There is little doubt that the former, which now occupies a considerable portion of it, will, in the course of a few years, be entirely swept away, and swallowed up in the latter; and the very memory of its present wilderness of old-fashioned streets, and courts, and houses, pass away like a dream.

One of the most conspicuous objects on entering Folkstone, is the church, which is built on the summit of the West Cliff. It is of a cruciform structure, consisting of three aisles and three chancels, and having a beacon turret in the south-west corner of the tower, with a clock, and a musical peal of eight bells. The tower is used as a land-mark by travellers passing along the coast. Very picturesque did it look on the sweet Sabbath morning when we visited it. The cliff was covered with wild thyme, and the thick golden clusters of the tansy. Above us was the blue sky, and the ancient cross, glittering in the sunlight. Far beneath, the waves broke noiselessly on the beach; while the little vessels went gliding and dancing along like so many white sea-birds. And the church bells sounded their " Holy," as Miss Bremer calls it, over every living thing.

Once upon a time Folkstone could boast of