the demoiselle can go to her confessor and clear her conscience of it instantly. Thus the priest gains any power he pleases over his penitent; for all good Catholics are compelled to own the infallibility of the church in its decisions, and admit the obligation of submitting to all these decisions, in spite of their own private judgments or opinions. The priests are devoted to celibacy-they are mere men, after all; and many of them, in their hey-day of life, surely must have considered it outrageously sinful to thwart the passions and feelings with which they have been endowed by nature. There was no want of gay young women in Posen; and the grenadier company, or, rather, the company of the grenadiers, to which Pat Doyle was attached, soon became an acquisition, and was speedily put in requisition, when off duty. Patrick was very gallant, and perceived that he had made an evident impression on a fine creature so he paid his devoirs to her, with all the impetuosity and blarney of a Sligo man. Charlotte Baumer, his inamorata, ostensibly followed the business of a mender and cleaner of lace; but the, time she lost in walking about after Mr. Doyle and teaching him German, while he instructed her in English and Irish, could not be repaid by coin from the pocket of a private soldier of the Prussian army. Pat gave her his warm affection, which was all he had to bestow. Two months after this, Charlotte Baumer having, by neglecting her business, and spending her spare money in more becoming apparel, fallen into arrear for rent, was threatened by her landlord with legal proceedings, and a transmission to the street. Consequently, when Mr. Doyle called to take a German lesson, or to give Charlotte an Irish one, we forget which, he found his fair one bathed in the tears of profound grief. He insisted on being made acquainted with the cause of her woe, and his fingers itched to give the person who had offended her “a divil of a bating;" but when he found that her misery could not be alleviated, excepting a certain sum was instantly forthcoming, he was extremely perplexed. Patrick Doyle could not unmoved see the weeping eyes of his adored mistress, and he swore to her, that by hook or by crook, he would bring her the amount of the rent, and told her to dry up her tears. He then left the house. The greatest part He pondered how he should obtain the money. of his pay went for pipe-clay and blacking-balls; he was not one of those practical military economists who can 66 Spend half-a-crown out of sixpence a day.” Shortly he observed a congregation emerging from a chapel, and seeing the vessel against the wall containing the holy water, he recollected that he had been brought up in the Roman-catholic persuasion, and had never once attended mass since his sojourn in Prussia. This reflection gave him some pain, and he began to think, that if he entered the chapel, it might bring him "a bit of luck." So, crossing himself devoutly, in he went. The service had concluded; the officiating priests had gone to remove their vestments; the rays of the setting sun shone on the antique and beautifully-coloured painted glass windows, casting various prismatic tints on the columns of the chapel. The massive missals, with their embossed silver clasps, had not yet been removed to their depository; and on the altar table were placed several offerings that had been piously made to a carved figure of the Virgin Mary, and which carved figure was painted, both on the face and arms, to resemble life, while it was dressed in a flaunting pink satin gown, and a white Mechlin lace apron; and had been adorned, with singular good taste, with a false head of hair, raised on a cushion, and highly powdered. Mr. Doyle had never seen a Virgin dressed so becoming, in Sligo or any part of Ireland he had visited; he exclaimed to himself, "I' faith, that's a tip-topper!" His eye then glanced on the altar-table, at a small, chased, silver candlestick, and a pearl necklace, that had been deposited there by some well-meaning votaries of the congregation that had recently departed; a thought (in all probability, devised by the arch fiend himself) came over Pat-" That candlestick and necklace can't be of any sarvice to the wooden madam in the powdered toupée.” We have already premised that Mr. Patrick Doyle was rather loose in his principles, although he had been brought up in the Roman-catholic faith, under the worthy Father Keonavanagh, and was a favourite pupil of the parish priest, but more in little particulars than en masse. good father was a keen sportsman, and Pat Doyle, who carried his game-bag for him, or his fish-basket, was his constant companion, when the packs of grouse were to be sought, or when the salmon came up the weirs or rivers. Keonavanagh, though active for his age, was fat, and the exercise of walking was quite sufficient for his corpulency, without carrying the hampers, rods, landing-nets, whisky-bottles, ammunition, and guns-so he selected Pat as his jovial companion and beast of burthen; and it is to be feared, that on these frequent and agreeable excursions, theological discussion formed a very small part of the entertainment. The pernicious tenets held out by the restless spirits who paved the way for the French Revolution had already planted themselves in various parts of Ireland. To Patrick Doyle and many of his ardent associates and schoolmates, Religion was known only by name, and not unfrequently ridiculed in the obese and convivial person of Father Keonavanagh. The Doyle, at this unlucky moment, thought of the deep distress of Charlotte Baumer ;-he looked round the chapel, to see if he was observed, not a being was in sight; and he exclaimed, "Blessed Vargin, help my poverty!" and he then placed the candlestick in his coat pocket, and crumpling up the pearl necklace in his hand, stalked out of the chapel, imagining that he had neither been seen nor heard. But he was mistaken, for an old verger came hobbling up the aisle, and distinctly beheld the tall soldier quit the portal. There was also an oral witness, in the person of an aged Scotch lady, a devotee, who was on her knees before her patron saint, in a corner of the chapel, near the altar. This was a Mrs. Mable M'Gregor, who had escaped to the Continent with her husband, Captain Hugh M'Gregor, from Scotland, after the unfortunate affair of the young Pretender, 1745. She had survived her husband for many years, and resided in Posen, on a small annuity, her time being wholly passed in acts of devotion. When the functionaries of the chapel had removed their surplices and robes, the offerings that had been placed on the altar table were discovered to be abstracted. The priests were instantly in a furor at so glaring an instance of sacrilege,-the culprit must instantly be sought, apprehended, and brought to condign punishment. Here again it would seem as if Old Nick had a hand or a hoof in it; for as Patrick Doyle was wending his way through the narrow street that leads to the quarter of the town wherein the Jews dwell-and that, in every city in Europe, is always in the dirtiest and most crowded situation-he suddenly encountered his former acquaintance, Shadrach; the first thing that caught his sight was the brilliant eyes of the Polish Jew, that seemed to be orbs of cut glass. Shadrach welcomed him, and remarked on the wonderful improvement in his person, occasioned by his drilling, and tight cleanly uniform. It instantly crossed Pat Doyle's mind, that the Jew would be very likely to recommend him a purchaser for the property he had about him. 66 By the "You're de finesht figger of a man I ever shee!" said Shadrach. "I shuppose, now, you haven't made no vay vith de young ladysh?” "I niver kiss and tell," answered Pat. way, I'll just inform you how you may serve a young lady." Shadrach grinned, exhibiting a mouthful of sharkish-looking teeth, and said "I never have nothing to do vith young ladysh, except among my own peoples." Pat Doyle took out the pearl necklace, and told Shadrach that a friend of his wished to dispose of it. Shadrach glanced rapidly at the pearls, then looked around him cautiously, and beckoned the grenadier to follow him. They traversed several narrow lanes in the quarter of the Jews, built over with squalid, overhanging tenements, from which hung old clothes, odds and ends, never by possibility seen in any other place than a colony of Israelites; dishes of fried fish-glass bottles, and vessels of all ages, shapes, and sizes-old gold and silver lacelarge unleavened biscuits and long beards wagging in every direction. The Hebrew then tapped at a door, and uttering a few unintelligible words, Shadrach and his companion were admitted. THE ARRIVING TRAIN. DARTMOUTH ARMS STATION: CROYDON RAILWAY, APRIL 28, 1844. BY CHARLES MACKAY. BEHOLD, Smoke-panoplied, the wondrous car! As if it lived, and of its own fierce will Ran a free race with wild winds blowing shrill : Snake-like it comes, exulting in its strength, The pride of art—the paragon of skill! Triumph of mind! what hand thy bound shall mark? Seen looming palpably 'mid cloud and dark, Of those who watch, and hope the good of men. JOHN MANESTY, The Liverpool Merchant. BY THE LATE WILLIAM MAGINN, LL.D. CHAPTER XXIII. SHEWING HOW MANESTY TOOK HIS PRECAUTIONS-HIS SEARCH AFTER HUGHAND WHAT ENSUED ON HIS INTERVIEW WITH LAWYER VARNHAM. FEELING convinced that he had secured his son's safety, as far as the intended duel with Stanley was concerned, Manesty, after Hugh had rushed from his presence, deliberately proceeded to re-open the seachests, and to apply again to the task of examining and selecting their contents. Having lit a taper, he held many of the manuscripts over the flame, and threw their burning relics into the grate. Others he put aside, with a view of placing them, under seals and lock and key, in the custody of his attorney, Varnham. In this way, he had nearly emptied one of the chests, when he took out from among the undermost layer of papers, an unsheathed and rusty sword. Gazing intently on it, he exclaimed "Ah, old acquaintance! I did well in consigning thee to perpetual rest after thy great deed! More than four and twenty years hast thou slumbered in utter inactivity. Thy blade formerly was bright and keen; now the greedy rust has gnawn it, and thou art sadly defeatured. But it was not fitting that thou shouldst be stained by mean blood, after having drawn forth some of the best in the land. I have looked often at thee with exultation. Why dost thou now draw up the blinding water in my eyes, so that I can scarce see thee? And wherefore does my breast swell, and my heart throb, thus intolerably? Dost thou reproach me, old sword? What! did I use thee wrongfully? Well, well! Thy silent appeal almost unmans me. Yet, how could I bear the scorn, and hate, and fierce pride of him on whom at last I wreaked a bloody revenge?" Manesty placed the sword aside, and leaned back in his chair, as if in deep rumination. He was, however, only a few minutes thus abstracted. Starting up, he said "I have no time to waste. I am in the toils, and the hunters are upon me. Dexterously have I played my game-dexterously will I play it still. In spite of them, I shall escape. Escape! And am I then brought to such a pass as to think my greatest good is in successful flight? O, Manesty, thy pride, and cruelty, and selfishness, have ruined thee! Thou hast thought too little of this; and lo! the dreadful cup of bitterness is at thy lips. Thy fortune is gone. Thy name is the prey of the scorner. Though consorting with pious men, thou hast turned-hypocrite as thou art-a deaf ear to their counsels. But the words that are written in the wondrous book sink deeply even into the hardest and most unbelieving hearts; and then, when least they are expected, rise up with fearful threatening. In the days of my pride I cast them off; but now they burst out against me, even as avengers. 'God,' says the Psalmist, hath prepared for the wicked man the instruments of death. He ordaineth his arrows against those that persecute. Whoso travaileth with iniquity, and hath conceived mischief, and brought forth falsehood, and made a pit and digged it for others, shall fall into the ditch which he made. His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealing shall come down upon himself. This is the truth of all ages; fearfully do I feel it! Fearfully have I felt it; but success, and pride, and the strength of manhood, and the impious sacrifice of all to self, have tempted me to defy it. Now I must reap the harvest I have sown." Having thus soliloquized, Manesty again addressed himself to the examination of the papers. While so employed, his hand lighted on a miniature of a woman, which he hastily thrust among the reserved documents. 66 No, no!" ejaculated he, "I cannot look on that! I could contemplate the sword; but one glance at that pictured face would turn my eye-balls into stone. Hugh shall have it with the rest; 'twill be precious to him. O Bertha!-dear, unhappy, lost Bertha! I have devoted to thy memory many a melancholy vigil; but never again may I visit the sacred room at Wolsterholme!" Manesty covered his eyes with his hand awhile; when, removing it, and looking at his palm, "What!" vociferated he, "tears! I never thought to be guilty of this weakness. Rouse-rouse thyself, John. Be not cast down. Summon to thee the daring of thy other self-Hoskins the pirate. It is all over with thee as a Liverpool merchant. This is no time to be maudlin. Pack up thy papers; order thy horse; but first see if thy pistols are in trim, and load them. John Manesty shall not be taken alive; no, not by twenty Oglethorpes." The merchant now thrust his reserved documents, including the old sword and the miniature, into a portmanteau, which he carefully locked and sealed; and then, summoning Hezekiah, ordered his horse, and prepared for a final adieu to Liverpool. Looking around him, as if for a farewell glance at a room where he had passed many hours, his eyes fell on the papers he had given to his son as confirmations of the astounding intelligence respecting the young man's paternity. "D-n-n!" roared Manesty. "He has left behind him the writings which alone could substantiate the truth of my assertion! Reflecting carefully on my words, he may think they were uttered in extremity as a manœuvre to hinder his duel with Stanley; and, under that impression, may rush into the field and be slain! Oh, my boy-my boy!-gladly would I die for thee even on the scaffold!" This idea of Hugh's danger so absorbed the mind of Manesty that, for a moment or two, he was unconscious of everything else. He was recalled, however, to a state of vigilance by hearing a low whistling and coughing below in the corn-store, in Mud-lane. "A signal!" said Manesty; when, approaching the window cautiously, and looking out, his eyes met those of Ozias Rheinenberger, whose face, lifted up towards him, was deadly pale and terror-stricken. Speech was out of the question, considering the interposing panes of glass, and the distance between the parties. The Moravian, therefore, trusting to dumb show, pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, as if to indicate that something was approaching in that direction, while, with a move |