affair more thoroughly. But to this proposition the sexton gave a prompt and positive denial." I would rather," he exclaimed," I would rather be dragged to the scaffold than again disturb the repose of the dead.” This declaration, so ill-timed, confounded Adolph. On the one hand, he felt an undefined curiosity to look more narrowly into this mysterious business; on the other, he could not help feeling compassion for the sexton who, it was evident, was labouring under the influence of a delusion which he was utterly unable to subdue. The felpoor low trembled all over, as if shaken by an ague fit, and painted the situation of his wife and his pressing poverty with such a pale face and such despair in his eyes, that he might himself have passed for a church-yard spectre. The Burgomaster again admonished him to be silent for fear of the consequences, and, giving him a couple of dollars to relieve his immediate wants, sent him home to his wife and family. Being thus deprived of his most natural ally on this occasion, Adolph summoned an old and confidential servant, of whose secresy he could have no doubt. To his question of " Do you fear the dead?" -Hans stoutly replied, “ They are not half so dangerous as the living. "Indeed!" said the Burgomaster. "Do you then think that you have courage enough to go into the church at night?" "In the way of my duty, yes," replied Hans; "not otherwise. It is not right to trifle with holy matters." "Do you believe in ghosts, Hans?" continued Adoph.-" Yes, Mr. Burgo master." "Will you go with me to the cathedral, Hans. I have had a strange dream to-night; it seemed to me as if my deceased wife called to me from the steeplewindow.' -"I see how it is," answered Hans "the sexton has been with you, and put this whim into your head, Mr. Burgomaster. These grave-diggers are always seeing ghosts." "Put a light into your lantern," said Adolph, avoiding a direct reply to this observation of the old man. "Be silent, and follow me.' "If you bid me,' said Hans, “I must of course obey; for you are my magistrate as well as my master." before him to shew the way, delayed him with his reflections so that their progress was but slow. Even at the threshold he stopt, and flung the light of his lantern upon the gilded rods over the door, to which it is the custom to add a fresh one every year, that people may know how long the reigning elector has lived. That is an excellent custom," said Hans; " one has only to count those staves, and one learns immediately how long the gracious elector has governed us simple men.' 66 Excellent," replied Adolph : go on." "" but Hans, however, had too long been indulged in his odd, wayward habits, to quicken his pace at this admonition. Not a monument would he pass without first stopping to examine it by the lanternlight, and requesting the Burgomaster to explain its inscription. In short, he behaved like a traveller, who was taking the opportunity of seing the curiosities of the cathedral, although he had spent his three-and-sixty years in Cologne, and, during that period, had been in the habit of frequenting it almost daily. Adolph, who well knew that no representations, would avail him, submitted patiently to the humours of his old servant contenting himself with answering his questions as briefly as possible; and in this way they at last got to the high altar. Here Hans made a sudden stop, and was not to be brought any farther. "Quick!" exclaimed the Burgomaster who was beginning to lose his patience; for his heart throbbed with expectation. "Heaven and all good angels defend us!" murmured Hans through his chattering teeth, while he in vain felt for his rosary, which yet hung as usual at his girdle. "What is the matter now?" cried Hans. "Where?" exclaimed his master:-" -"I see nothing; hold up the lantern." "Heaven shield us!" cried the old man: "there sits our deceased lady, on the altar, in a long white veil, and drinks out of the sacramental cup!" With a trembling hand, he held up the lantern in the direction to which he "pointed. It was, indeed, as he had said. There she sat, with the paleness of death upon her face-her white garments waving heavily in the night wind, that rushed through the aisles of the church-and holding the silver goblet to her lips with long, bony arms, wasted by protracted illness. Even Adolph's courage began to waver." Adelaide," he cried, "I con Herewith he lit the candle in the lantern, and followed his master without farther opposition. Adolph hurried into the church with hasty steps; but the old man, who went jure you in the name of the blessed Trinity, answer me—is it thy living self, or but thy shadow?" 66 "Ah!" replied a faint voice, you buried me alive, and, but for this wine, I had perished from exhaustion. Come up to me, dear Adolph; I am no shadowbut I soon shall be with shadows, unless I receive your speedy succour.' "Go not near her!" said Hans; "it is the Evil One, that has assumed the blessed shape of my lady to destroy you." 66 Away, old man!" exclaimed Adolph, bursting from the feeble grasp of his servant, and rushing up the steps of the altar. It was, indeed, Adelaide that he held in his eager embrace the warm and living Adelaide !-who had been buried for dead in her long trance, and had only escaped from the grave by the sacrilegious daring of- -THE SEXTON OF COLOGNE.-Monthly Mag. Recollections of Books and LA FONTAINE THE SIMPLE. He lived in an extreme indifference to religion, as well as to other matters, but having fallen ill, he was recommended to read the New Testament, and he set about it. Charmed with the book, he said to Father Poujet of the Oratoire, who was his spiritual director, "I assure you the New Testament is a very good book; yes, in truth, it is a very good book; but there is one article to which I am not altogether reconciled; it is that of the eternity of punishment: I do not comprehend how this can be consistent with the goodness of God." Some time before this one of his friends, who had his conversion at heart, had lent him St. Paul's epistles. He read them with avidity, but shocked at the apparent harshness of the writings of the resolute Apostle, he shut the book, and sent it back to his friend, with this message: "I send you back your book. This same St. Paul is not my man.' One of his confessors, seeing him taken dangerously ill, exhorted him very earnestly to think of religion and his soul with more attention than he had hitherto done. Fontaine said that he had never been either an infidel or a libertine. He then pressed him to make amends for the scandal of his writings, by giving alms. "I have no "I cannot," said the poet, thing; but they are making a new edition of my works, and the bookseller is to make me a present of a hundred copiesI give them to you-you will cause them to be sold for the good of the poor." Don Jerome, who told this story, declared, that the confessor, almost as simple as the penitent, came to ask if he could receive such an alms. The Being brought to a clearer knowledge of religious truths, by a third confessor, the priest represented to him, that he had received intelligence of a certain dramatic piece of his, which was soon to be acted; but that he could not be admitted to the sacraments of the church, unless he supThis appeared too rigid, and pressed it. Fontaine appealed to the Sorbonne, who confirming what the priest had said, the sincere penitent threw the piece into the fire, without keeping even a copy. priest then laid before him the evil tendency of his Tales, which are written in a very wanton manner; he told him that, while the French language subsisted, they would be a most dangerous inducement to vice; and that he could not justify administering the sacraments to him, unless he would promise to make a public acknowledgment of his crime at the time of receiving, and a public acknowledgment before the academy of which he was a member, in case he recovered; and to exert his utmost endeavours to suppress the book. La Fontaine thought these very severe terms, but at length yielded to them all. Still one other trait which proves the simplicity of inanners of this illustrious man, and the idea which those who served him had of him, The nurse, who was by his bed-side, seeing with what zeal the clergymen exhorted him to repentance, said to M. Poujet, "Don't torment him so much; he is more foolish than wicked. God will never have the heart to damn him!" He died on the 25th of April, (13th, O. S.) 1695. Some stories are told of his having consented to repent of his writings, during a previous illness, though he thought it rather an odd and a hard proceeding. The accounts fall in well enough with his character; but if some orthodox French writers doubt them, they may be doubted by others. Among these is the story of his being found with a hair shirt on when he died. It is true, in one of his dedications, he seems to think that people expect some apology from him, and he makes it; but he soon sets off again in his old manner, and excuses it by calling himself the "Butterfly of Parnassus.' The excuse has been thought a bad one; but considering his natural goodness of heart, and the sort of irreprehensible ingeniousness and impulse with which he did every thing, it is perhaps deeper than it appears. There are bees about the sacred hill, and there are spiders also, who contrive to be tolerated. Why not give quarter to the butterfly? To quarrel with La Fontaine is to quarrel with the singing birds in the trees. We can easily conceive that his voluptuousness is of too animal a description. But such was the taste of his nation; and to judge by the rest of his writings,if there was any man who could tend to diminish guilt in pleasure, by the mere force of his goodnature, and by the absence of vicious intention, La Fontaine was the man. His fables contain such excellent morality, cheerful and generous, that the most objectionable productions of such a temper must be better than the morals of some men. His style is delicious. It is made up of the most extraordinary and relishing mixture in the world, of shrewdness and simplicity, ease and surprise, irony and good-humour, archness and unconsciousness. The English reader may have some idea of it, by fancying Peter Pindar turned graceful and good-natured, with none of his insincerity, and twenty times his knowledge and genius. DE FOE. The first series of periodical essays published in England, was a work projected in the_gloom of a prison. It is to Daniel De Foe, the ingenious author of the well known romance of Robinson Crusoe, that we are indebted for the invention of these elegant vehicles of instruction and amusement. The first number of what he called The Review, was published in quarto, in the month of February, 1704. This work treated not only of politics, which seems always to have been a favourite subject of De Foe's, but also, under the head of what was entitled proceedings of a Scandal Club, he contrived to introduce strictures on points of theology, ethics, and poetry. But the reputation of this work was soon eclipsed by the superior spirit, wit, elegance, and learning displayed by Addison, Sir Richard Steele and others. Under circumstances highly favourable to the fostering of genius, and with the polish of classical attainments, these celebrated men easily out-rivalled a writer, who, with all his native stock of vigorous intellect, had but casually walked in the flowery paths of literature. The Spectator, Tatler, and Guardian, are still read with delight in an age of what may be termed fastidious tastes while, with the exception of his famous romance, the works of De Foe are forgotten. This may partly be account ed for by the temporary interest of the subjects. Yet, in Robinson Crusoe, though the scenes are related with great precision, and adherence to nature, there is frequently a meanness of expression, a vulgarity of phraseology, a needless colloquism, which would hardly be pardoned in any narrative of the present day. Perhaps it is owing to these imperfections that it has become such a favourite among the more homely class of readers. These inelegancies may, perhaps, give a more intense idea of reality to the scenes, as the language in which they are described is like that which we hear daily around us, and wears more the appearance of truth the less it seems artificial. Robinson Crusoe, however, with all its faults of manner, is a highly interesting, moral, and useful narrative, and is apt to give rise to several important philosophical reflections. It exhibits the experiments of a human being thrown back as it were on the bosom of nature, forced to rely on the energies of his individual character, and receiving little other assistance from his fellow men than the impressions of that society from which fate seemed to have separated him for ever. The source from which De Foe drew his materials for this romance is well known. It is supposed that his singular felicity in describing maritime adventures has operated much on the juvenile energies of his readers, and been one of the many causes which have given to our country her well earned naval superiority. We have mentioned "The Review" of De Foe, we shall subjoin the following description of his person, copied from the Gazette, published January, 1703, offering a reward of £50 for his apprehension, as being the author of a seditious libel in that work. "Daniel De Foe is a middle-sized, spare man, about forty years old, of a brown complexion, and dark brown hair, though he wears a wig; having a hook nose, a sharp chin, grey eyes, and a large mole near his mouth.-ILUScenor. (To be Continued.) APRIL SHOWERS. When Spring from torpid sleep awakes, And smiles her joys so bright;- When, 'neath her magic steps, arise The earliest sweetest flowers ;- Fall fickle April's showers. But, while their cordial drops they give, ORIGIN OF THE FASHION OF WEARING GEOFFREY Plantagenet Count of Anjou one of the most accomplished and handsome men of his time, had the misfortune to have a large excrescence on the tip of his great toe; in order to conceal this imperfection, and walk easy, he had some shoes made with points turned up, of a sufficient length not to pinch him. No sooner had he these shoes, than every one was anxious to be like the count. This fashion was so much followed, and had such a run, that the different degrees of rank were known by the length of the points of the shoes. Those of the common people were six inches long, those of citizens, a foot; but those of gentlemen, lords, and princes, were never less than two feet; from whence came the French proverb Etre sur un grand pied, (to be in easy circumstances.) These points to the shoes increased so in length, that it was feared lest they should affect public order and the established religion sermons were preached and ordinances issued against them, and Charles V. expressly forbade their being worn. In England several centuries ago, it was the mode to wear shoes with large points curling up, which were attached by chains to the girdle. ORIGIN OF PATER-NOSTER ROW. Ir is pretty generally supposed that Paternoster Row derived its name from the Pater-nosters,* usually sold there in "Chaplets of beads, of amber, or coral, The or glass, or crystal, or gold, or silver. nuns sometimes hung them from their necks." -Fosbroke's Encyclopedia of Antiquities. days of yore: and that might reasonably be admitted as a very probable etymology, if no other could be adduced, with stronger marks of verisimilitude.-But, without the aid of the Paternosters, we find the origin of the name in the Romish processions on Corpus Christi day, or Holy Thursday, which may be thus traced. Let us suppose the processioners mustered and marshaled in processional array, at the upper end of Paternoster Row, next to Cheapside. Thence they commence their march Westward, and begin to chant the "Pater noster;" which chanting continued through the whole length of the street, thence called Paternoster Row. On their arrival at the bottom of that street, they enter what is now called Ave-Maria Lane, at the same time beginning to chant the Salutation of the virgin," Ave, Maria!" which continues, until, reaching Ludgate-Hill, and crossing over to Creed-Lane, they there commence the chant of the" Credo, which continues until they reach the spot now called Amen Corner, where they sing the concluding "Amen.”—Gent's Mag. RECOLLECTIONS OF THE BAR. (Continued from page 234.) gress was particularly suitable, being scarcely more active than that of his lordship elsewhere! It was a perfect Chancery machine. Erskine certainly revived the affair, for a moment, but it would not do for him-he was ever for posting it, and the trainbearer was o liged to hold him fast, in fear of his making a bolt by the window in a paroxysm of vivacityso common prudence induced them to withhold it from him. Old Thurlow used to growl and swear the whole way from his house to Westminster, as it groaned onward; but Lord Loughborough was glad enough to put up with it, for it was, I believe, state property, and might not be touched; and, when he had it not, was even content to ride home with some generous barrister. I hope it still exists, and that Lord Lyndhurst has deigned to visit it in its hour of age and decay; for might its "velvet cushion" speak, of what strange things might it not tell, from the time of poor Charles Yorke, who received the seals, at his sovereign's command, but who wept with him who gave them, as he protested his duty towards his King was hostile to his promise to his party! He reconciled himself to either principle by returning to his house Lord Chancellor, and giving up his life. There was one other object, and that not the least, which might have been worthy of consideration, that was unhappily forgotten. Some say, in excuse of the last pretender to its honours, the vehicle broke down beneath the weight of papers, (affidavits and other things,) which were carrying home for reading; others that, in 1806, when the whigs came in, and it was destined to carry the seals to St. James's, it could not be got to move. This might have been for Heaven's sake," let us get back to the King's Bench," as Lord Coleraine used to say, when he found himself at a dead halt as to his ways and means. It was then far more customay than it has been of late, for the justices of our lord the King to evince occasionally a sense of their proper dignity, and display the extent of their magisterial power, without any of the refinements of excuse, palliation, or explanation, that now accompany the rare occurrence of its exercise. I remember, one day, that a storm of wind and rain had driven an entire regiment of Westminster volunteers, although under arms, to seek for shelter within the Hall, (it was well that the French should visit us, as it must have been presumed, in fine weather,)-when Lord Ellenborough's attention was attracted by the clatter of the musquetry. "What is the cause of that interruption, usher ?" vehemently demanded the judge. "My lud it is a volun "Gentlemen," as the judge addressed them, was an epithet of honour-a title of distinction, and it was bestowed with condescension only proportionate to the obsequiousness with which it was accepted ;but they are gone too; now, forsooth, it is Esquire. Butcher, and baker, and candlestick maker,"-solicitors bankrupts scavengers-et hoc genus omne, are all-all Esquires. "Gentlemen! marry come up!" Why the King, Brummell, and myself are the only three in or out of the empire that now care one pin about the title, (and one of us is getting old, God save the mark! and another has not a mark to save him; has abandoned his country, in very scorn of unprincipled innovation; and having played long a conspicuous part on life's large stage, has taken the "Siege de Calais" for his last benefit.) Then would the Lord Chancellor, in all decorum, proceed to Westminter on the first day of term, or to dine with the Lord Mayor at Guildhall, in his coach of estate. Lord Eldon was the first to resign it, the only thing, haply, he ever readily resigned. It is a pity it was, in fact, so expensive, for it certainly required six horses and footmen, and heaven knows what of paraphernalia,-its pro So, but, |