The signature was also much, blotted, but it could be traced to be, "the thankful orphan, Simon."

The effect produced by this event was very different, both on Master Edwards and his wife-as well as from what might have been expected: the former, to use a homely word, took on greatly about the matter, was evidently much hurt, became silent and abstracted, and went so far as to shed tears; a thing which his oldest friends-those who had been his schoolfellows-declared they had never known him do in all his life-not even when under the infliction of Doctor Everard's cane-the rightreverend high master of Saint Paul's School, where Master Edwards had learned Latin and peg-top. Mistress Edwards, on the other hand, showed a great share of rejoicing on the occasion, declaring she thought his room cheaply purchased at the loss of the trumpery he had taken with him. That same afternoon, during dinner, she hinted that she had already a young man in her eye, as the successor of Simon; at which observation, her husband merely sighed and made no inquiries-and yet he probably had no conception whom his wife had in her eye, though if some of their neighbours had been present they might, if they had liked it, have helped him to an innuendo concerning a handsome young man, of whom no one knew any thing, except that he was frequently seen walking with Mistress Edwards of evenings under the tall elms in Goodman's Fields. There were some hints of a yet more scandalous nature-but these shall be omitted.

The stranger however came after the situation, and a handsome young man he was his name was Lambert Smithe-but as for his qualifications for the new place, which Mistress Edwards really seemed uncommonly anxious he should obtain, as little had best be said as may be; and the less need be said, as Master Edwards was decidedly of opinion, that he was utterly unfitted for the office; for the expression of which opinion he was downright scolded by his wife, and indeed fairly warned that she would have her own way after all.

The stranger began some excuse probably, but was at once stopped by a sharp "hush!" and they conversed in whispers.

At length they shifted their position, and advanced towards the house, Mistress Edwards having taken up her light, and leading her companion forward with the other hand. Of a sudden the man stopped, and she also. He sighed, and said, though still in a whisper, "I cannot do it."

"God gi' me patience!" she cried, impatiently, and in a much louder tone; then in a lower, added "Come, Lambert, dearest Lambert, take heart." "I cannot, indeed I cannot-any thing but that!"

"Any thing but that! Why, what else is there to be done? Will you not be master of all ?—of me? Nay, come, dear Lambert."

The man passed on. As he turned a second angle, close to the house-door, a sharp-pointed weapon was driven into his breast, by some one standing behind one of the thick stone pillars, and with such force, that the point pierced one of the ribs, which prevented the wound from being mortal. The young man shrieked with agony; and grasping towards the spot whence the blow came, seized hold of part of the assassin's dress, who struggled, and extricated himself from his grasp, but left behind him part of a chain, with a watch hung to it; at the same time he wrenched the dagger from the lacerated bone, and, with a surer blow, drove it into his victim's heart.

All this was the work of little more than a moment; during which Mistress Edwards, who at first had been struck with a stupor of surprise and horror, rushed forward, screaming, "Murder! murder!" and fell, swooning, within a few paces of the body.

When she recovered, she found several of her neighbours and of the watch standing round, and among them her alarmed husband. She looked round wildly for a moment, fixed her eyes on him for another, then shrieked wildly-" Ah! I seeI see-him-him! Seize him-the murderer!" and again fell senseless.

whom his wife had been often seen walking under the tall elms in Goodman's Fields; and, upon her second recovery, Mistress Edwards confirmed this declaration by clinging round the young man's body, and calling for vengeance on the murderer of her love.

The day came, and the trial commenced. At the very outset an argument arose between the counsel for the prosecution and the defence, whether the exclamations used by the wife on the night of the murder, accusing her husband, could be given as evidence by those who had heard them. For the defence it was urged, that as a wife could not appear as a witness either against or for her husband, so neither could any expression of hers, tending to criminate him, be admissible; on the other hand, it was contended that as confessions were admissible in evidence against a party, so a husband and wife, being as one in the eye of the law, such expressions as these were in the nature of confessions by the party himself, and therefore should be admitted-and so the Recorder decided they should be. In addition to this other circumstantial evidence was produced against the prisoner: the poniard, with which Lambert had been stabbed, and which in falling he had borne down out of his slayer's hand, was a jewelled Turkish one, known by many to be the property of the prisoner, and to have been in his possession many years; he having brought it home with him from one of his voyages to the Morea; the watch also was produced, which, with part of the chain, the deceased had held in his clenched hands; it was a small silver one, shaped like a tulip, and chequered in alternate squares of dead and bright metal; its dialplate of dead silver, figured, with a bright circle, containing black Roman figures; in the interior, on the works, it bore the inscription-" Thomas Hooke, in Pope's-head-alley," the brother to the celebrated Robert Hooke, who had recently invented the spring-pocket-watches. This watch was proved to have also been the property of the prisoner, to have been given by him to his wife, and lately to have been returned by her to him in order to be repaired. Edwards was called on for his defence in person, it being wisely considered, that though a man in the nice intricacies of a civil cause may need technical aid, he cannot possibly do so in a case where the fact of his life being dependant on the success of his pleading must necessarily induce and assist him to have all his wits about him. The prisoner's situation, however, in this instance, seemed, unaccountably, to have the contrary effect on him, and he appeared quite embarrassed and confused; he averred he could not explain the cause of his wife's extraordinary error; but that an error it certainly had been. For the poniard's being in the man's heart he was equally at a loss to account; and as for the watch, he admitted all that had been proved, but declared that he had put it by about a week before the murder, in a cabinet, which he had never since opened, and how it had been removed he was unable to tell. Of course this defence, if such it could be termed,

availed him very little, in fact simply nothing. The jury found him guilty; and the Recorder called on him to say why judgment should not be pronounced against him.

The prisoner seemed suddenly to have recovered his hold, or gained new powers; he broke out into a strong and passionate appeal, calling on the judge to believe his word, as that of a dying man, that he was innocent, and concluded by solemnly calling upon God so to help him, as he spoke the truth.

He was condemned; the prisoner hid his face in his hand, and sobbed aloud; he was removed from the bar to his solitary cell.

About half-past ten that night, as the Recorder was sitting alone, dozing in his easy-chair over the fire and a tankard of mulled claret, he was suddenly startled by a loud knock at the door, followed up by the announcement of a stranger, who would brook no delay. He was admitted-a young man, whose features were fearfully haggard and drawn, as though with some intense inward struggle; in fact, the good magistrate did not half like his looks, and intimated to his servant that as his clerk was gone home he had better stay in the room-which was on the whole a confused remark, as, in the first place, he knew his servant could not write; and, in the second, he did not know whether any writing was required; but the youth relieved the worthy Recorder from his dilemma, by peremptorily stating that the communication he had to make must be made to him alone. The servant therefore withdrew, the Recorder put on his spectacles, and the youth began:

"I come to tell you, sir, that you have this day unjustly condemned an innocent man to death." "Bah! bah! And pray how know you that he is innocent?"

"By this token, sir, that I know who did the deed for which you have condemned Master Edwards to suffer. Lambert's murderer stands before you."

The Recorder, horror-stricken at the notion of being so close to a murderer at large, gabbled out an inarticulate ejaculation, something of an equivocal nature betwixt an oath and a prayer, and stretched out his hand towards the silver hand-bell, which stood before him on the table; and still more horrified was he when the youth caught his hand, and said "No; with your leave, sir."

"No; with my leave, sir! What, mean ye to murder me, with my leave, sir?"

"I will do you no harm, sir. But my confession shall be a willing and a free one."

He removed the hand-bell beyond the Recorder's reach, let go his arm, and retired again to a respectful distance. He then proceeded to relate that his name was Simon Johnson, that he was an orphan, and had been bred up with great kindness by Master Edwards. In detailing his story, he hinted at an unlawful passion which his mistress had endeavoured to excite in his mind towards her; and to his resistance or carelessness of her wiles he partly attributed her hatred and persecution of him: his home made

wretched thereby, he had sought relief in society; unfortunately for him, he had fallen in with some young men of bad character-among others with this very Lambert, who had been among his most strenuous advisers that he should from time to time purloin some of his master's superfluous wealth, for the purpose of supplying himself and his companions with the means of more luxurious living; he had, however, for a long while rejected this advice, until at length, goaded by the continual unjust accusations of his mistress, charging him with the very crime he was thus tempted to commit, he had, in truth, done so, and had absconded with several articles of value; but his companions, instead of receiving him with praise, as he had expected, had loaded him with invectives for not bringing them a richer prize. Instigated by their reproaches, and, by a mingled sense of shame and anger, he had intended, by means of a secret key which he had kept, to rob Master Edwards's house on the very night when the murder was committed. Having gained access to the courtyard, he was just about to open the house-door, when he heard footsteps; he retired, and concealed himself. From his place of concealment he had seen and heard Mrs. Edwards encouraging Lambert by many fond and endearing professions of love for him, and of hatred of his master, to the murder of her husband; and as Lambert, conquered by her threats and entreaties, was passing him within arm's length, an irresistible impulse had urged him to save his master's life by sacrificing Lambert's; and having done the deed of death, he had leaped the yard-wall and fled. The poniard and watch were part of the property he had stolen when he left the house. He ended thus:

"After I had left the spot, sir, I fled, I know not whither; for days and days I wandered about in the fields, sleeping in sheds, numbed with cold and half starved, never daring to approach the dwellings of men to relieve my wants, till dark, and then ever feeling as though every eye scowled upon me; and when I left them again, and was again alone in the fields, I would suddenly start and run, with the feeling that I had been followed, and was about to be taken. In vain I strove to overcome these feelings -in vain I struggled to reconcile myself to the deed I had done-in vain I represented it to my heart as one of good, as one which had saved a life infinitely more valuable than his whom I had slain: it was all vain, a something within tortured me with unnatural and undefinable terror; and even when I sometimes partially succeeded in allaying this feeling, and half convinced myself that I had done for the best, it seemed as if I heard a voice whisper in my own soul, What brought thee to thy master's courtyard that night?' and this set me raving again. Unable longer to bear this torture, I made up my mind to self-slaughter; for the thoughts of delivering myself into the hands of justice drove me almost mad: my heart was hardened against making this even late atonement, and with a reckless daring I resolved on self-slaughter. But how, how to do this, I knew

not; drowning was fearful to me, I should have time perhaps to repent; and so with starving, even if nature would allow that trial. I returned to the suburbs-it was this very evening a lantern on the end of a barber's pole caught my sight-I hastened into the shop, with the intention of destroying myself with the first razor I could lay my hands on; but the shop was quite full. I sat down in a corner, doggedly waiting for my time, and paying no heed to the conversation that was going on, till my master's name struck on my ear. I listenedhis trial, condemnation, and coming execution, were the general talk. I started up, and with a feeling of thankfulness to God that there was something yet to live for-I think I cried out so-I rushed out of the shop, hurried hither—I am not too late-toto supply my master's place to-morrow."

The young man sank exhausted in a chair, and dropped his head on the table. The astonished magistrate leant forward, cautiously extended his hand, seized his hand-bell, and rang loud and long, beginning at the same time to call over the names of all the servants he had ever had from the first time of his keeping house.

But at the first jingle of the bell Simon started up from the chair, and said, "Ay, I am your pri

soner now."

"Yes, sir, yes," said the Recorder. "Geoffrey! Williams! very true, sirby your leave, sirGodwin! Ralph! there's your prisoner, sir,” he added to one of the wondering servants, who answered this multitudinous call. A re

The sequel may be told in a few lines. prieve for Edwards was immediately sent to Newgate, which was followed up by a pardon; for, having been found guilty, of course he could not be declared innocent. The wretched wife of the merchant died by her own hand, on the morning of her husband's reprieve. Simon was tried for Lambert's murder, of course found guilty, and sentenced to death; but in consideration of the extraordinary circumstances attending his case, this sentence was changed into transportation for life. My Lord Chief Justice Hale delivered a very voluminous judgment on the occasion; the main ground on which he proceeded, seems to have been, that as Simon had not been legally discharged by Edwards, he might still be considered in the light of his servant, and that he was therefore, to a certain degree, justifiable in defending his master's life.

Simon died on his passage. Edwards, from the time of his release, became a drivelling idiot: he lived several years. It was not till the death of the old man that a secret was discovered-it was ascertained that Simon was a natural son; and that, in preventing the intended assassination of the Merchant, he had unconsciously saved the life of his Father.

ROYALTY.

He knows not what it is to be a king,

That thinks a sceptre is a pleasant thing. ROBERT GREENE.--From England's Parnassus, 1600.

THE PARVENU COUNTESS. "How is her Ladyship?" asked a little, thin, old woman, bent double with age, and clothed in rusty mourning. "How is her Ladyship?" repeated the poor old creature with a hurried earnestness, and an emphasis so strong, that, like the knock on the Earl of Anketell's hall-door, which had preceded the question, it seemed impossible that the sound could have been caused by the emaciated and diminutive figure that stood at the portal.

"How is her ladyship?-well, I like that!" replied a tall, corpulent servant, whose red swelling cheeks, and thick purple lips gave an expression to his mockery somewhat between burly contempt and rage, at being so seriously disturbed for nothing, and by nobody.

"How is her ladyship?-Well, what impudence the common people have come to!"

"My good fellow, I entreat you to answer me," said the old woman; her fine, sharp, and prominent old features, and large gray eyes casting forth an expression of imploring earnestness.

My good fellow!"—well, if I stand this from such as you, I'm -," muttered this surly porter, slamming the door in the poor creature's face.

The knock was repeated with redoubled energy, and the porter reopened the door with a visible resolution to get rid of the intruder.

"Give your lady this," said the old woman, thrusting towards him a sealed letter: "give her this, and, I assure you, she will be overjoyed to see

me."

"Stand aside! open the door! be quick! Here's my lord and the Duke of coming down stairs!" said a lad in livery, whose countenance spoke a gentle nature,—that is, a nature not so long in office and authority as that of the surly porter of Lord Anketell's hall.

True it was that the stripling Duke of -, who had just come into his immense estates after the nursings of a long minority, had terminated a pretty long interview with Lord Anketell, and his lordship was accompanying his grace from the drawing-room down stairs to the hall, and the servants had not been made aware of his approach. Some confusion and bustle took place; but the folding-doors were widely thrown open, six or seven servants, in their splendid liveries, hastily drew up in a double line, bowing profoundly to the peers as they passed between, and holding their breaths whilst his lordship gave the duke a shake of the hand-cordial and sincere in full proportion to his

rank and unequalled affluence. It was in this scene of hurry and confusion that the little old woman in black had contrived to slip past the servants, through the door, without being perceived. She had flitted, with a witch-like rapidity suited to her strange figure, through the outer hall, had passed the vestibule and the great staircase, and had actually got into the inner hall, and at the foot of the back stairs, without being perceived. Here she met a maid-servant descending with a small silver tray of sandwiches and liqueur-glasses, and she immediately began to entreat her to take the letter to her lady, offering the solitary half-crown as an inducement. The maid coolly put the half-crown in her pocket, and, reading contemptuously the superscription of the letter, threw it upon the tray, observing, as she passed, that it should be given to her lady some time in the day, but she knew it would never be opened, for letters " of that look" never were. was at the moment when the old woman was sinking upon a bench, overcome with affliction, that the servants of the hall discovered her. They had missed her immediately the duke had got into his cab; and, after staring in every direction, to their astonishment they beheld her sitting, as they thought, at her ease, in the inner hall.

It

"You impudent old wretch! how dare you get there?" cried the enraged porter, waddling to her, and seizing her by the shoulder to thrust her into the street. He had already pulled her to the foot of the grand staircase, when the woman thrust out her attenuated and withered arm, and grasped with her long thin fingers one of the volutes of a scagliola pedestal, which supported a massive or-molu lamp.

"No power on earth shall force me hence! I will see Lady Anketell, or here I will die!" cried the old creature, with a tone which almost terrified the servants. There was something dreadfully impressive in it, and it appeared almost supernatural when its energy and resolution were contrasted with the form from which it proceeded.

The porter seized her shrivelled, spider-leg-like fingers, declaring, with an oath, that he would wrench them off, or crack her joints, if she did not let go her hold. He suited the action to the word, and evinced no symptom that he had uttered an idle threat. His thick lips became purple with rage; but his victim firmly retained her hold, and bit her under lip, that seemed more like parchment, while her eyes stared wildly at him, dilating as in the paroxysm of frenzy.

"For God's sake, Burton, don't break the poor old creature's wrist!-wait, and she will give way," said the lad we have beforementioned; and he took hold of the sturdy arm of his fellow-servant to restrain his violence.

a faint

"Let go, or I will squeeze your very nails off," said the porter, and the woman uttered screech, and her face became convulsed, though she seemed to grasp her object with undiminished firmness.

"Burton, she will pull down the pedestal and break the lamp; the noise will disturb his Lordship