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der the same roof-took her on his knee, and ravished a kiss, but all would not do. No, she would not consent to his staying there.""But are you really going to put me away tonight:" Yes."- Indeed, my dear girl, you must not be so unreasonable; I am come strait from Newcastle, where I have been purchasing a fresh stock of goods, which are so heavy that I cannot travel far with them, and as the people around me are all of the poorer sort, I will rather make you a present of the greatest shawl I have in my pack before I go further." At the mentioning of the shawl, the picture of deliberation was pourtrayed in lively colours in Alice's face, for a littie; but her prudence overcame. No, she was but a servant, and had orders to harbour no person about the house, but such as came on business, nor they either, unless well acquainted with them.""What the worse can either your master, or you, or any other person be, for suffering me to tarry until the morning "—"I intreat you do not insist, for here you cannot be." But, indeed, I am not able to carry my goods to-night "Then you must leave them, or get a horse to carry them away."

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Of all the inflexible beings I ever saw, thou art the first! But I cannot blame you, your resolution is just and right. Well, well, since no better may be, I must leave them, and go search for lodgings myself somewhere else; for, fatigued as I am, it is as much as my life is worth, to endeavour carrying them further." Alice was rather taken at her word; she wanted nothing to do with his goods: the man was displeased at her, and might accuse her of stealing some of them; but it was an alternative she had proposed, and against which she could start no plausible objection, so she rather reluctantly consented." But the pack will be better out of your way;" said he," and safer, if you will be so kind as lock it by in some room or closet." She then led him into a low parlour, where he placed it carefully on two chairs, and went his way, wishing Alice a good night.

When Alice and the pack were left in the large house by themselves, she could not, for her life, quit thinking of the pack one moment. What was in it, which made it so heavy that its owner could not carry it? she would go and see what was in it.—It was a very curious pack. At least she would go and handle it, and see what she thought was in it. She went into the parlour-opened a wall press: she wanted nothing in the press: she never so much as looked into it: her eyes were fixed on the pack. "It was a very queer pack; it was square the one way, but not square the other way; it was a monstrous queer pack." It was now wearing late. She returned from the room in a sort of trepidation; sat down to her wheel, but could not spin one thread. "It is a droll pack yon!-What made the man so very earnest with me to tarry all night?-Never was

man so importunate.-What in the world has he got in it?-It's a confounded queer pack after all: it's so long and so thick-lis terrible queer pack.”

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What surmises will not fear give rise to in the mind of a woman? She lighted a moulded candle, and went again into the parlour, closed the window-shutters, and barred them; but before she came out, she set herself upright, held in her breath, and took another steady and scrutinizing look at the pack. God of mercy! she saw it moving as visibly as erer she saw any thing in her life. Every hair on her head stood upright- every inch of flesh on her body crept like a nest of pigmies. She hasted into the kitchen as fast as she could, for her knees bent under the load of terror that had overwhelmed the heart of poor Alice. She puffed out the candle, lighted it again, and not being able to find a candlestick, though a dozen stood on the shelf in the fore-kitchen, she set it in a water-jug, and ran out to the barn for old Richard. Oh, Richard! oh, for mercy, Richard, make haste, and come into the house. Come away, Richard." "Why, what is the matter, Alice? what is wrong? "Oh, Richard! a pedlar came into the hall, intreating for lodging. Well, I would not let him stay on any account, and behold be is gone off and left his pack." And what is the great matter in that," said Richard. "I will wager a penny he will look after it before it shall look after him." "But, oh, Richard, I tremble to tell you! We are all gone, for it is a living pack." "A living pack!" said Richard, staring at Alice, and letting his chops fall down. Richard had just lifted his flail over his head to begin threshing a sheaf, but, when he heard of a living pack, he dropped one end of the hand-staff to the floor, and leaning on the other, took such a look at Alice. He knew long before that Alice was beautiful; he knew that ten years before, but he never took such a look at her in his life. « A living pack!" said Richard. Why the woman is mad without all doubts." "Oh, Richard! come away. Heaven knows what is in it! but I saw it moving as plainly as I see you at present. Make haste and come away, Richard." Richard did not stand to expostulate any longer, nor even stop to put on his coat, but followed Alice into the house, assuring her by the way, that it was nothing bat a whim, and of a piece with many of her phantages. But," added he, "of all the foolish ideas that ever possessed thy brain, this is the most unfeasible and unnatural, and impossible. How can a pack, made of napkins, and muslins, and corduroy breeches, perhaps, ever become alive? It is even worse than to suppose a horse's hair will turn to an eel." So saying, he lifted the candle out of the jug, and, turning about, never stopped till he had his hand upon the pack. Ile felt the bales that surrounded its edges to prevent the goods being rumpled and spoiled, by

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arrying the cords that bound it, and the cansas in which it was wrapped. The pack was well enough. He found nought about it that other packs wanted. It was just like other packs, made up of the same stuff. He saw hought that ailed it. And a good large pack it was. It would cost the honest man £200, if not more. It would cost him more; but he would make it all up again, by cheating fools, kike Alice, with his gew-gaws. Alice testified some little disappointment at seeing Richard anconvinced, even by ocular proof. She wished she had never seen either it or him, howsomever, for she was convinced there was something mysterious about it; that they were stolen goods, or something that way; and she was terrified to stay in the house with it. But Richard assured her the pack was right enough.

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During this conversation in comes Edward. He was a lad about sixteen years of age, son to a coal-driver on the border; was possessed of a good deal of humour and ingenuity, but somewhat roguish, forward, and commonly very ragged in his apparel. He was about this me wholly intent on shooting the crows, and rds of various kinds, that alighted in whole focks where he foddered the cattle. He had bought a huge old military gun, which he denominated Copenhagen, and was continually thundering away at them. He seldom killed if ever, but he once or twice knocked off a few feathers, and after inuch narrow inspection, discovered some drops of blood on the Show. He was at this very moment come in a great haste for Copenhagen, having seen a glorious chance of sparrows, and a robin-redbreast among them, feeding on the scite of a corn-rick; but hearing them talk of something mysterious, and a living pack, he pricked up his ears, and became all attention. "Faith, Alice," said he, if you'll let me, I'll shoot it" "Bold your peace, fool," said Richard. Edward took the candle from Richard, who still held it in his hand, and gliding down the passage, edged up the parlour floor, and watched the pack attentively, for about two minutes. He then came back with a spring, 2nd with looks very different from those which regulated his features as he went down, As sure as he had death to meet with, he saw it stirring. Hold your peace, you fool," said Richard. Edward swore again that he saw it stirring; but whether he really thought so, or only said so, is hard to determine. "Faith, Alice," said he, again, if you'll let me, I'll hoot it."" tell you, hold your peace, you fool," said Richard."No," said Edward, "in the multitude of counsellors there is safety; and I will maintain this to be our safest plan. Our master's house is confided to our care, and the wealth that it contains may tempt some people to use stratagens. Now, if we open up this man's pack, he may pursue us for damages 10. any amount, but if I shoot at it, what amends can he get of me? If there is any

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thing that should not be there, Lord, how I will pepper it, and if it is lawful goods, he can only make me pay for the few that are damaged, which I will get at a valuation; so, if none of you will acquiesce, I'll take all the blame myself, and ware a shot at it." Richard said, whatever was the consequence, he would be blameless. A half delirious smile rather distorted than beautified Alice's pretty face; but Edward took it for an assent to what he had been advancing, so snatching up Copenhagen in one hand, and the candle in the other, he hasted down the passage, and without hesitat ing a moment, fired at the pack. Gracious God! The blood gushed out upon the floor like a torrent, and a hideous roar, followed by the groans of death, issued from the pack.Edward dropped Copenhagen upor the ground, and ran into the kitchen like one distracted. The kitchen was darkish, for he had left the candle in the parlour; so taking to the door, without being able to utter a word, he ran to the hills like a wild roe; looking over each shoulder, as fast as he could turn his head from one shoulder to the other. Alice followed as fast as she could, but lost half the way of Edward. She was all the way sighing and crying most pitifully. Old Richard stood for a short space, rather in a state of petrifaction bnt at length, after some hasty ejaculations, he went into the parlour. The whole floor flowed with blood; the pack had thrown itself on the ground; but the groans and cries had ceased, aud only a gutteral kind of noise was heard from it. Knowing that then something must be done, he ran after his companions and called on them to come back. Though Edward had escaped a good way, and was still persevering on, yet, as he never took long time to consider of the utility of any thing, but acted from immediate impulse, he turned and came as fast back as he had gone away. Alice also came homeward, but more slowly, and crying more bitterly than before. Edward overtook her, and was holding on his course; but, as he passed, she turned away her face, and called him a murderer. At the sound of this epithet, Edward made a dead pause, and looked at Alice with a face much longer than it used to be; he drew in his breath twice, as if going to speak, but he only swallowed his spittle, and held his peace.

They were soon all three in the parlour, and in no little terror and agitation of mind, loosed the pack, the principle commodity of which was a stout young man, whom Edward had shot through the heart, and thus bereaved of existence in a few minutes. To paint the feelings, or even the appearance of young Edward, during this scene, is impossible: he acted little, spoke less, and appeared in a hopeless stupor: the most of his employment consisted in swallowing his spittle, and staring at his companions.

(To be concluded.)

THE TWO STAMMERERS.

BY MR. LONSdale.

WHILE others fluent verse abuse,
And prostitute the Comic Muse;
In less indecent manner, I
Her Comic Ladyship will try.

Oh! let my pray'r, brigh: Maid, avail,
Grant inspiration to my Tale!

A Tale, both comical, and new;
And with a swingeing Moral too!

In a small, quiet, country town,
Liv'd Hob; a blunt, but honest clown,
Who, spite of all the school could teach,
From habit stammer'd in his speech:
A second nature, soon, we're sure,
Confirm'd the case, beyond a cure.
Ask him to say, hot rolls and butter;
"A hag-a-gag," and "splitter-splutter,"
Stopp'd ev'ry word he strove to utter.
It happen'd once upon a time-
I word it thus, to suit my rhyme;
For, all our country neighbours know,
It can't be twenty years ago—
Our sturdy ploughman, apt to strike,
Was busy, delving at his dyke:
Which, let me not forget to say,
Stood close behind a public way;
And as he lean'd upon his spade,
Reviewing o'er the work he'd made;
A youth, a stranger in that place,
Stood right before him, face to face-

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'P-p-p-p-p-pray!" said he,

"How f-f-f-f-far may't be

"To-o-"-the words would not come out-"T-o Borough-Bridge; or thereabout?"

Our clown took huff; thrice hemm'd upon't ; Then, smelt a kind of an affront: Thought he" This bluff, fool-hardy fellow, A little crack'd, perhaps, or mellow, Knowing my tongue an inch too short, Is come to fleer, and make his sport: Wauns! if I thought he meant to quarrel, I'd hoop the roynish rascal's barrel! If me he means, or dares deride; By all that's good, I'll tan his hide! I'll dress his vile calf's-skin in buff; And thrash it tender, where 'tis tough." Thus, full resolv'd, he stood aloof; And waited mute, for farther proof: While t'other, in a kind of pain, Applied him to his tongue again"Speak, friend; c-c-c-c-can you, pray, Sh-sh-sh-shew me-on my-way?

Nay, spe-e-ak!"-" I'll smoak thy bacon!" "You have a t-tongue: or I'm mistaken."

"Yes-that, th-that I-I-I-have; But, not for y-y-you-you knave!!"—

"What!" cried the stranger; wh-wh-what D'ye mock me? T-t-take you that!”— "Huh! you mock-me?" quoth Hob, amain!"

"So t-t-take you that again!"'

Then to't they fell, in furious plight,
While each one thought himself, i'th'right:
And, if you dare believe my song,
They likewise thought each other wrong.

The battle o'er,-and somewhat cool-
Each half suspects himself a fool;
For when to choler folks incline 'em
Your argumentum bacculinum,
Administer'd in dese terrific,
Was ever held a grand specific.

Each word the combatants now utter'd,
Conviction brought, that both dolts stutter'd;
And each assum'd a look as stupid,
As, after combat, looks Dan Cupid:
Each scratch'd his silly head; and thought,
'He'd argue, ere again he fought.

Hence I this moral shall deduce-
Would Anger deign to sign a truce,
Till Reason could discover, truly,
Why this mad Madam were unruly,
So well she would explain their words,
Men little use could find for swords.

Thoughts.

MAN.-Man is likened to a book; his birth, the title page; his groans and crying, the epistle to the reader; his infancy or childhood are the contents of the book; his life and actions are its subject matter; his sins and errors, the errata, or faults overlooked in the printing; and his repentance, the correction of them. Now, among books, some are large, some are small, some finely bound, soine plain; again some treat of piety and goodness, and others are profane; but in the last page of all there is finis, which implies the end.

ZEAL. It may be said of Zeal, among the virtues, as of Memory among the faculties, that though it singly never made a great man, yet no man has ever made himself conspi cuously great where it has been wanting.

VIRTUE. A virtuous mind in a fair body, is indeed a fine picture in a good light, and therefore it is no wonder that it makes the beautiful sex all over charms.

VIRTUE.

True Virtue is perfection here below; This gives to human life its highest taste; This most ennobles and exalts the mind, And forms the basis of all earthly bliss,

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BILLY SNIP went to skait, when the ice being loose

He fell in--but was sav'd by good luck; fries the tailor" I'll never more leave my hot Goose,

To receive in return-a cold Duck.

THE LADY's PALFREY.

SAL. Walker was a widow left,
Her husband suited not her;
She chose to go a merrier pace,
So married-Mr. Trotter.

THE IM-PERFECT BEAUTY.

CELIA, there's love within that eye,
That form hath beauty in't;
I wish the latter wasn't awry,
The former did not squint.

KNOWN AND UNKNOWN.

A Merchant liv'd in Norwich city,

Whose thread-bare coat now forms my ditty;
In private life esteem'd was he,

But somewhat given to penury.
A friend one day, observed his garment,
And first declared he "meant no harm in't;

But people generally thought

The coat he wore not worth a groat;
He was as rich as any Jew,

So ought to get another new."
The Merchant thank'd him for his care,
"But every body knew him there."
Next year it happened that our spark
His friend met, in St. James's Park;
The self-same thread-bare coat he wore,
Which had been criticis'd before;-
"Bless me!" said he, “in coat the same,
"I wonder you don't blush for shame."
The Merchant thank'd him for his care,
"But not a creature knew him there."

Verses.

THE BLUSH.

ROSBATE tint of purest virtue,
Bloom ethereal, Blush divine!
Bidding by thy sweet suffusion,
Loveliness more lovely shine!

More than beauty's fairest feature,

More than form's most perfect grace;
Touching the fond heart, and giving
Softest charms to ev'ry face!

Test of quick-impassion'd feeling;
Jewel, in the dower of youth:
Modesty's unquestion'd herald;
Pledge of innocence and truth!

Infant passion's varying banner;
Trembling consciousness display'd!—
Lover seize the fleeting meteor;
Catch the rainbow, ere it fade!

THE TEAR.

Sacred born of favouring Heaven,
Test of reason, pearly Tear!
In some bounteous moment given,
Soothing anguish most severe !

Melting child of mute affliction;

Misery's dew, and feeling's gem!
Precious pledge of young affection;
Fairest flower on pity's stem!

Reconcilement's sweet ob ation,
Healing the distemper'd heart!
Friendship's dearest, best libation;
Balm, for ev'ry anxious smart!

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Thou canst make e'en the desart look fair: And thy voice is the voice of the dove.

'Mid the anguish that preys on the breast. And the storms of mortality's state; What shall lull the afflicted to rest.

But the joys that on sympathy wait?

What is Fame, bidding Envy defiance.
The idol and bane of mankind;
What is wit, what is learning, or science,
To the heart that is steadfast and kind?
Even Genius may weary the sight,

By too fierce and too constant a blaze: But affection, mild planet of night! Grows lovelier the longer we gaze.

It shall thrive, when the flattering forms. That encircle creation, decay;

It shall live, mid the wide-wasting storms, That bear all, undistinguish'd, away!

When Time, at the end of his race,

Shall expire, with expiring mankind; It shall stand on its permanent base,It shall last till the last wreck of mind.

MORTAL LIFE.

Say what is Life?-a breath; a dream:
A bubble on a rapid stream;
A lurid shade with scarce a ray;
A cold and stormy winter's day;
A kindled meteor in the air;
A blast that leaves the vintage bare;
The gilded bauble of a name;

A pitfall; an expiring flame;
A rustling leaf before a gale;
A short, but interesting tale;
A single turn on fortune's wheel;
The trackless iurrow of a keel;
A dying spark on ocean toss'd;
A race in which the stakes are lost;
A pendant dew-drop on a thorn ;
An exile waiting to return;
The shifting scen'ry of a stage;
The closing curtain's sure presage;
A sinking pulse; a waning mooa;
A feeble sun that sets at noon;
A bird of passage in her flight;
A gleam that shoots athwart the sight;
An ebbing tide; a baseless tow'r;
A Saturn eager to devour;

The stealth of night; the lapse of prime;
The glass and scythe of meagre Time ;

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