it remained only to file the chains which attached their feet and hands. But this would be still a work of time; the night was advancing, the day about to appear,-the day, the fatal day, that for them would only commence, though for many it would end in happiness. The precious resource, the file, could not serve both at the same time. If one only used it, scarcely would there have been time to break his chains, and with the weight of them, flight was impossible. A terrible dispute arose between the two; the file was in the hands of Dardeza,—he would use it,-Criag threw himself on him to wrest it away. In this narrow cell, between two chained men, devoted to death, a mortal struggle ensued. Criag, being the strongest, threw his enemy; Dardeza saw himself vanquished, but that neither might be saved, he dragged himself to the window, and would have thrown out the instrument, that, but a few minutes before, had appeared a god in their eyes. Criag prevented him,-"You shall never have it," cried the frantic Dardeza; and, making a violent effort to disengage himself from the hands of his adversary, he put the file in his mouth, and swallowed it! At this sight Criag sank exhausted. It is done, he must die. Dardeza, overpowered by the efforts he had made, lay extended on the ground like one really dead; the file he had swallowed was entangled in his throat,—he was suffocating. Suddenly a horrid idea came over Criag. He threw himself on Dardeza, seized him violently by the throat to strangle him, dashed his head against the walls, plunged his hand in his throat, tore open his chest, and even in the still beating breast of the unfortunate, he sought by the pale light of the lamp, the precious instrument of safety, he drew it forth in blood,-soon he is at work,-his chains fall: then, with the linen of Dardeza he made a kind of line, which attached to a bar of the window, he let himself out. But, arrived to the extremity of the line, he cast his eye below him, an abyss of more than thirty feet was still left; however, he did not hesitate; his fall was broken by a platform, on which he rolled, then he fell on a pavement;-but all is not yet over, he found himself surrounded by a high wall, which it was necessary to climb. At the moment he was searching for the place where ascent was easiest, a watch-dog attacked him; Criag met him, and fearful that his barkings should be heard, he thrust his hand into his mouth, and strangled him; but in the midst of his convulsive pangs, the dog bit off his thumb. There was no time to lose,-day was beginning to dawn. Criag chose his spot, and soon the harrassed and mangled murderer stood at liberty. At day-break the gaoler sought his criminals to lead them to the gallows,-he found only a horrible mutilated corpse. The alarm was given,-proclamations issued for the apprehension of the criminal; but the traces of blood near the dog, and the thumb, were still there: it was ascertained the right hand of the murderer was mutilated, and these details were published. Criag had run for the space of an hour, when overcome by fatigue and hunger, he stopped near a small hut, and demanded refreshment, thinking that the rumour of his escape could not have preceded him there. An old negress who inhabited the hut gave him food. He was on the point of quitting her, when Caro, the brown son of the old woman, arrived from the town, and immediately told the news he had heard there; Criag thrust his hand still deeper into his bosom, but the rapid glance of Caro caught the movement. The brave young man rushed toward Criag, tore off his cloak, and perceived the bloody wound; Criag sprang rapidly to seize a hatchet, which was in a corner, and threw himself on Caro, who was only armed with a heavy stick. Caro adroitly parried off the blow aimed at him; the axe of Criag glided down his adversary's club, and cleft the skull of the old negress, who had run to protect her son. At this sight Caro threw himself on Criag, and at a blow felled him to the ground, leaving him without sense, and hors de combat. He then vainly endeavoured to recall his mother to life. At the same time, three mounted police officers who had been searching for the culprit in all directions, arrived upon this new theatre of his crime; immediately Criag was seized, bound, tied to the tail of a horse, and dragged at full gallop, back to prison. Hardly arrived, Criag asked for a bottle of rum, and a priest; to the latter he recounted, with horrible sang froid, all the details of his escape, and then swallowed the former at a draught. Scarcely had the priest left him, when he fell senseless, and on the officers entering to drag him to the gibbett, he had ceased to breathe.

IDLENESS.-There are but very few who know how to be idle and innocent. By doing nothing we learn to do ill.-Spectator.

A LONDON LYRIC.

[From "Friendship's Offering," which contains many beauties, we select the following, which we deem the choicest of them. It is by Barry Cornwall, and does honour to him. Its fine, rich, varied versification is worthy the dramatic keeping and the beautiful moral sense that pervades and elevates it.]

The skies are wild, and the blast is cold:
Yet riot and luxury brawl within :
Slaves are waiting, in crimson and gold-
Waiting the nod of a child of sin.
The fire is crackling, wine is bubbling
Up in each glass to its beaded brim :
The jesters are laughing, the parasites quaffing
Happiness" Honour"-and all for him!
(WITHOUT.)

She who is slain 'neath the winter weather-
Ah! she once had a village fame,
Listened to love on the moonlit heather,
Had gentleness-vanity-maiden shame :
Now her allies are the tempest howling,
Prodigals' curses-self disdain,
Poverty-misery-well, no matter,

There is an end unto every pain!
The harlot's fame was her doom to-day,
Disdain,—despair; by to-morrow's light
The ragged floor and the pauper's pall;
And so she'll be given to dusty night.
Without a tear or human sigh,

She's gone,-poor life and its "fever" o'er.
So, let her in calm oblivion lie;

While the world runs merry as heretofore!

(WITHIN.)

He who yon lordly feast enjoyeth,

He who doth rest on his couch of down,
He it was, who threw the forsaken

Under the feet of the trampling town:

Liar-betrayer-false as cruel,—

What is the doom for his dastard sin?

His Peers they scorn? high dames they shun him?

Unbar yon palace, and gaze within.

There yet his deeds are all trumpet sounded,
There, upon silken seats, recline

Maidens as fair as the summer morning,

Watching him rise from the sparkling wine;
Mothers all proffer their stainless daughters,
Men of high honour salute him "friend,"
Skies! oh, where are your cleansing waters ?
World! oh, where do thy wonders end?

ON SMOKING.

As I reclined on a soft and easy bed of "live feathers," reposing in the full delights of a joyous spirit, and in the kind embraces of delicious sleep, the world and my foes were at peace with me, and I, in the midst of them all enjoying what some would call the sweetest bliss of earth,-when, lo! to my wild astonishment, I heard the clashing of arms, and the din of contending parties,—a volume of smoke ascended, and spread over all the surrounding objects. Turning coward, I made a determined effort to escape, gave a tremendous leap, and having nearly thrown myself over the bed-stock, I awoke, when I found myself sitting upright,-my breast was labouring oppressively, my pulsation rapid, my breath short, my eyes forced from their sockets, my lungs painful, my throat and mouth without moisture, my nostrils closed, and I felt altogether as though I were breathing smoke and flame. I called for water to quench my parched tongue and inflamed body. Being somewhat comforted by a large draught of nature's wine, the fiery sensation was partly allayed; I sunk me down again to discover what could this strange occurrence signify, when I suddenly bethought myself that this was the fruit of the evening's enjoyment, of which smoking had been the first and the last course.

Coming to the main tack, my fancy had been prodigiously moved by the heaven, and the pure elysium which our well-beloved brothers, "QUID" and "VESTA," declare they can create by the incense of a delicious Indian weed. I felt desirous of enjoying the same happiness as my fellow-creatures, and though I had previously presented this offering to my offended stars without any very grateful returns of bliss, yet I felt bound to give credit to the straight-forward assertions of a brother, and therefore resolved to seek "the termination of pipe number three." Like Quid, I determined not to "expectorate whilst smoking," but found myself under the necessity of swallowing the saliva! While at those Indian devotions, along with many more, I observed a number of young ones come into the room, which was literally crammed with smoke; they went cough cough!! cough !!! but I was happy at the heathen shrine, dedicated to the smokers' heaven,-the magic wand was laid upon me, and my sorrows were encompassed in a fairy web. Of course, I only laughed at the coughers, telling them that when they were a little older, they would probably better enjoy the delicacies of a pipe and a lungs full of smoke.

But now I found I was deceived, and had deceived others. I discovered that though a smoker may suck his bliss and his heaven of insensibility through a foot and half channel of pipe-clay, or even a shorter distance, yet his hell is nearer at hand; it is within himself when he awakes from his pipe stupor! I hope our brethren have not imposed upon us wilfully. Prior to this time, I took a pipe or cigar, only for fashion's sake; but being willing to believe that our friends were in earnest, I thought that a ten-fold consumption of the darling stuff might be beneficial; but finding I had, in the first instance, mistaken the great smokers, and being disposed to cast the fault upon my own miscomprehension, I re-considered and re-perused the whole of the two articles previously named, of which I only read a part until this occasion,-whereas, now I find, to my great wonder, that Quid is leading on the artillery, and Vesta the infantry, to demolish the moderation men. Woe, woe! and misery be unto you, ye moderation wretches! ye shall be encompassed with armies, the tee-totallers on one side, and the tee-tipplers on the other! Your houses shall be destroyed, your lands laid desolate, and your wives and children shall not be left even to howl for the misery that awaits you. But comfort yourselves with the consolation, that, at least, Vesta's soldiers are sorry creatures, and cannot, altogether, more than knock down a bean straw; you may safely walk through his army, and quietly await the proud front of other opposers, only, as ye pass the general, ask him what correspondent in the Magazine has been "advocating and advising alterations and changes in our Order, which, if carried into execution, would degrade (!) us to the level of a set of mad enthusiasts, or gloomy misanthropes?" Or what brother has attempted to make "us become tee-totallers at once?" Also, how much better is the "fairy minutes" of pipestupefaction, than an hour's attention to a well-timed lecture, on even astronomy or philosophy, if nothing else will do; yet tell him, there has not, in this quarter, been either felt or seen any desire to mingle those up, hodge podge, with Lodge-business. Quite different! After this, ask him if moderation be one of those faults which he has VOL. 6-No. 1-E.

put in the wallet end in front? If so, we should have no objection to take a luncheon with him, when he sits down by the way side to refresh himself from the contents of his travelling bag. Besides this, I see nothing worth an inquiry.

Next comes Quid, who advances more like a man, with argument instead of witticism. I love him for this,-it speaks better for his intention; if he errs, it is with a show of wisdom. But as I dare not trespass to that length I should like, I can only ask a few simple questions as follow. Does not the action of the cheeks consequent on the suction of smoking, cause an increased flow from the salival glands? Is tobacco a narcotic? Does it contain any saline, fetid, or sulphureous particles? Is it possible to be poisoned with it? And is it better to expectorate, or to swallow the excess of saliva? Whether Quid be a chemist, druggist, surgeon, or farmer, he will be able to answer some of these questions.

Yet think not, dear brethren, Messrs. Quid, Vesta, and readers, that I am so tight-laced a hypocrite as to desire to deprive any man of the thing which he loves, merely because I love it not; I wish not to hinder any man of smoking or drinking in moderation, for I am ready to confess that I wickedly enough drink and smoke my share of the dear creatures, but I am willing to deny myself of pipe and glass during Lodge-hours at least, for the credit of the Order, and the expedition of business. But in opposition to this, Vesta ransacks all England, and raking up "kings and bigots," in his zeal for his new heaven, must need transport us into Holland for a new pattern whereby we are to fashion our religion! "Was ever anything heard like this?" Why, man, in the equatorial climes the negroes and others eat dogs, crocodiles, donkies, and other such delicious meats! In France, some long-tongued travellers declare they have seen frogs eaten in grand style! In Russia the old sailors tell me that a pot of dirty fish oil is frequently ingulphed! In Sweden, horse flesh is sold in the market as the common food of the people! In China, a dead pig, almost putrid with disease, which an Englishman cast into the water as a common nuisance, was dragged out and devoured voraciously by the people! Now, if Vesta will insist upon his exotic argument and conclusions, I shall persist in applying the same violence to his olfactories; but otherwise, I envy not the sublime type to which Vesta would reduce the smokers! Has he no better model than a dull and sluggish Dutchman, "phlegmatic and of slow dispositions, both in body and mind?" Neither do I deny that "Champaigne will bathe the heart awhile in (negative) bliss, and keep the head a little time from thinking of cares or creditors." But this is only a poor and ridiculous sham-pain, and pain will not be shammed or cheated long in this manner; this sham-pain will, in the morning, be sure pain and those are wretchedly deceived who thus attempt to sham pain. There is also a difference between a negative bliss and a positive bliss; the former consists in a mere exemption from pain, but the latter, further than this, requires an addition of actual joy: but these two must not be confounded.

In conclusion let me say, that I do not come forward to lay the axe at any root of social joy with a malicious or narrow-principled intent; but when I see undue importance attached to a trifling thing, and observe that importance preached up with a wit and art sufficient to deceive many, I should consider nutrality criminal,-silence might be construed into consent, or even victory on the other part, therefore, I have met the smokers on their own ground. In other cases I should not take an argument against the quality or the general use of tobacco. The arguments given in favour of its purity and virtue, I consider not valid. Furthermore, as I think it only cowardice to use fictitious signatures in contests, being the high road to the obtrusion of false principles, I must beg to be excused from imputation of parade or ostentation, when I subscribe myself your humble

Scarbro., November 1st, 1839.

A. G. TYSON.

P. S.-I, like Quid, am a P. S. in the Order, but have seen this translated,— P. S.: pipe sickens,-pipe stupifies; thus it appears there are other pipe spirits, pipe seekers, pipe slaves, pipe suckers, and pipe Secretaries, each of whom we must expect to work for their lords and masters, particularly the pipe Secretaries !!

FRANCONIAN PROVERB.-Mishap rides up in spur and boot, and always slinks away on foot.

CONTENTMENT.

[From The New Microcosm.]

How sweet is the spot where Contentment appears !
It strengthens the weakest, the poorest it cheers;
And if bliss never visits our regions below,

This, at least, is the nearest that earth can bestow.

If you visit the cottage where poverty reigns,
Where hard is the labour, and small are the gains,-
If each face shines unclouded by grief or by care,
And you ask for the reason,-Contentment is there.

The temper where Peace and Contentment are found,
Gives a lustre and life to each object around;
Each thought shines unfettered, each fancy is free,
And they sparkle like foam on the sun-gilded sea.

As the stone, which our fathers imagined of old,
Changed the dulness of lead to the brightest of gold;
So the gem of Contentment, if worn in the breast,
Makes the basest affections give place to the best.

SHABY-GENTEEL PEOPLE.

THERE are certain descriptions of people who, oddly enough, appear to appertain exclusively to this metropolis. You meet them every day in the streets of London, but no one ever encounters them elsewhere. We were once haunted by a shabby-genteel man; he was bodily present to our senses all day, and he was in our mind's eye all night. The man of whom Sir Walter Scott speaks in his "Demonology," did not suffer half the persecution from his imaginary gentleman-usher in black velvet, that we sustained from our friend in quondam black cloth. He first attracted our notice by sitting opposite to us at the British Museum, and what made the man more remarkable was, that he had always got before him a couple of shabby-genteel bookstwo old dogseared folios, in mouldy worm-eaten covers, which had once been smart. He was in his chair every morning just as the clock struck ten; he was always the last to leave the room in the afternoon; and when he did, he quitted it with the air of a man who knew not where else to go for warm and quiet. There he used to sit all day as close to the table as possible, in order to conceal the lack of buttons on his coat, with his old hat carefully deposited at his feet, where he evidently flattered himself it escaped observation. About two o'clock you would see him munching a French roll or a penny loaf; not taking it boldly out of his pocket at once, like a man who knew he was only making a lunch, but breaking off little bits in his pocket, and eating them by stealth. He knew too well it was his dinner. When we saw this poor object, we thought it quite impossible that his attire could ever be worse. We even went so far as to speculate on the possibility of his shortly appearing in a decent second-hand suit. We knew nothing about the matter; he grew more and more shabby-genteel every day. The buttons dropped off his waistcoat one by one; then he buttoned his coat, and when one side of his coat was reduced to the same condition as the waistcoat, he buttoned it over on the other side. He looked somewhat better at the beginning of the week than at the conclusion, because the neckerchief, though yellow, was not quite so dingy, and in the midst of all this wretchedness, he never appeared without gloves and straps. He remained in this state for a week or two. At length one of the buttons on the back of the coat fell off, and then the man himself disappeared, and we thought he was dead.-Boz.

FRANCONIAN PROVERB.-Much cumbers us a flowing dress; much cumbers wealth our happiness.