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mine of gold in the mountains that run along the Isthmus of Suez. He conveyed nine chests of the ore to Cairo, some of which, on being smelted, rendered one-fifth of pure metal. The most productive of the mines of Peru do not afford a larger proportion. But these mountains do not supply any potable water, or any species of fuel, without which it will be absolutely impossible to work the mines. This was the principal cause of the abandonment of the emerald mines, which are supposed to have been formerly very productive. THE DYING HINDOO. There are few things more shocking to European eyes than the publicity of death-bed scenes in India, and the apathetical indifference displayed by the Hindoos while attending the expiring moments of their nearest relatives or friends. Frequently only a few yards from a crowded ghaut thronged by the inhabitants of some neighbouring village, who are laughing, singing, and following their ordinary occupations with the utmost gaiety, a dying person may be seen stretched upon a charpoy (bedstead) close to the river's brink, surrounded by a group of three or four individuals, who look upon the sufferer without the slightest appearance of interest. As soon as the breath has left the body, the corpse is thrown into the river, death being often precipitated by stuff ing the mouth and nostrils with mud. Strangers, attracted by some superb lotus floating down the stream, are disgusted by the sight of a dead body rapidly descending with the tide, the ghastly head appearing above the surface of the water. Every Hindoo is anxious to draw his last sigh on the banks of the Ganges, or some equally sacred stream flowing into its holy waters; the relatives therefore of expiring persons fulfil the last offices of humanity in the manner most desirable to them, by bringing a dying friend to the edge of the river, and consigning the body, when the vital spark has fled, to the hallowed stream. The corse of a rich Hindoo is burned upon a funeral pile; but, as wood is dear, the poorer classes either dispense with it entirely, or merely scorch the flesh previously to launching it into the river.

Oriental Scenes, &c. DR. WOLCOT THE CELEBRATED PETER PINDAR.-The death of this satirical writer is described in Taylor's Records of his own Life, as follows:

"As a proof that he was a kind and considerate master, when one of his

servants came to tell me that he had been taken ill, and was delirious when she left him, she wept all the time that she described his situation. I went as soon as I could in the afternoon, and then learned that he had recovered his faculties, but was asleep. I sat by his bedside, expecting he would awake, amusing myself with a volume of his works until ten o'clock. He then awoke, and I told him how long I had been there, observing that it was a dreary way home, and, perhaps not quite safe, concluding with saying, 'Is there any thing on earth that I can do for you?' His answer, delivered in a deep and strong tone, was, 'Bring back my youth.' He fell into a sleep again, and I left him. On calling on him the next day, I found he had died, as might be said, in his sleep, and those words were the last he ever uttered. "The doctor's love of life was intense. He has often said that he would take a lease of five hundred years from nature. 'What!' said I,' with all your infirmities?' 'Yes,' said he; for while here you are something, but when dead you are nothing:' yet he firmly believed in the existence of a Supreme Being. 1 remember once mentioning the doctor's love of life to Mr. Sheridan, expressing my surprise. Mr. Sheridan said, that he would not only take a lease for five hundred years, but for ever, provided he was in health, in good circumstances and with such friends as he then possessed. Yet, if he had taken due care of his health, and prudently managed his fortune, he might still be alive and an ornament to the country.' ""

EFFECTS OF WAR.-" Mar Antoni Helcel, was the son of Helcel, a banker at Cracow, in Poland. When the intelligence arrived of the revolt of the Poles, he immediately bade his companions adieu, and hastened home. My son my son!' cried the alarmed father, when Antoni, whom he imagined to be safe at Heidelberg, suddenly presented himself: in an evil hour are you come! I have but two of you-this young lad and myself-and 1 cannot spare you, Antoni. You must be a father to him when I am gone. What is your purpose, my rash, but beloved boy?"I thought you might be in danger, father,' replied Antoni, and I came to see that you, and my mother, and my young brother, were well cared for in these disastrous times. But I am now weary and faint with travel; let me lie down to rest, and you shall know all in the morning.' He went to bed

In the same room with his brother. The anxious parents got up betimes, and stole softly to listen whether he was awake. All was silent; and a great part of the morning elapsed before they could determine on disturbing the slumbers of their sons. At length, becoming almost alarmed, they entered the room. It was empty. With a quaking heart the father saw that the arms which had hung by the wall as an ornament were absent too. The predictions of his heart were verified. Antoni and his young brother, in the middle of the night, had left their parents in the keep ing of God, and had gone to offer their swords to their country. The battle of Grochow was fought a few days after. The noble youths arrived just in time to share the glory; and were both slain."

Pieturesque.

MAKING THE MOST OF THE MOON, A REAL SAVING.-At Northampton the economy of the gas company is such, that a man is employed literally to watch the phases of the Moon; and when she shines, though the light is not her own' the man out of the Moon extinguishes the gas, inviting all roving gallants to serenade the Northampton ladies with the popular air.

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"Meet me by Moon-light," "Now the gas is gone.' RAVENOUS WOLF.-" The French were not the only assailants at this period. A hussar piquet was one night led to turn out by the repeated firing of one of the videttes, who soon came galloping in, with a countenance expressive of the greatest alarm and anxiety. But his foe had been a wolf!

The animal had, he stated, made seve

ral springs at him and his horse, and he was induced to fire in self-preservation; but neither pistol nor carbine could divert the ravenous animal from its prey, and he had ridden off at full speed, as the only means of safety. The officer who commanded the piquet, doubting the truth of this story, went to the point at which the man had been posted; and here the tracks of the assailant, as well as the marks of the bullets, verified the statement of the hussar. —Hist. of the King's German Legion. THE LATE KING OF POLAND.-The colonel related to me a very curious, anecdote, on which I rely, as I always found him consistent in his narrations. When Prince Poniatowski, who was afterwards Stanislaus, the last King of Poland, was in this country, his chief, I might perhaps truly say his only, com

panion was Colonel Frederick. They were accustomed to walk together round the suburbs of the town, and to dine at a tavern or common eating-house. On one occasion the prince had some bills to discount in the city, and took Frederick with him to transact the business. The prince remained at Batson's Coffeehouse, Cornhill, while Frederick was employed on the bills. Some impediment occurred, which prevented the affair from being settled that day, and they proceeded on their usual walk before dinner round Islington. After their walk, they went to Dolly's in Paternoster Row. Their dinner was beef-steaks, a pot of porter, and a bottle of port. The bill was presented to the prince, who, on looking over it, said it was reasonable, and handed it to Frederick, who concurred in the saine opinion, and returned it to the prince, who de"I have no money," sired him to pay. said Frederick. "Nor have I," said the prince. "What are we to do?" he added. Frederick paused a few moments; then desiring the prince to remain until he returned, left the place, pledged his watch at the nearest pawnbroker's, and thus discharged the reck

oning.

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The prince, after he became king of Poland, occasionally kept up an inhis letters asked the latter if he rememtercourse with Frederick, and in one of bered when they were in pawn at the London tavern."

Colonel Frederick's father was in the Fleet prison for debt. Sir John Stewart was a fellow-prisoner on the same account. The latter had a tur

key presented to him by a friend, and he invited King Theodore and his son Douglas was of the party. Frederick to partake of it. Lady Jane She had her child, and a girl with her as a maid-servant, to carry the child; she lived in an obscure lodging at Chelsea. In the evening, Colonel Frederick offered to attend her home, and she accepted his courtesy. The child was carried in turn by the mother, the girl, and the colonel. On their journey he said there was a slight rain, duced him to call a coach, but that he and common civility would have in had no money in his pocket, and he was afraid that Lady Jane was in the same predicament. He was therefore obliged to submit to the suspicion of churlish meanness or poverty, and to content himself with occasionally carrying the child to the end of the journey. Taylor's Records.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.-We are much in arrear with our Contributors: if possible, all shall be answered on the wrapper of the Monthly Part, which will appear on the Ist of Nov.

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Illustrated Article.

THE SLEEPER'S SHRIFT.*

BY H. F. CHORLEY.

It was one of the darkest afternoons of winter, immediately after New Year's day, that the young heiress of Wanderstein caused an unusually good fire to be kindled in her dressing-room, and summoned her old attendant, half nurse, half confidante, to assist her at her toilet; giving herself up to its cares with that comfortable deliberation, which is at once a token of abundant leisure, and the exquisite effects intended to be produced therein. "Nay, Richilda," said the fair Lady Jane, looking in the glass, "undo this stiff structure of curls; thou hast made my head look like a field-marshal's peruke. I will have it,-let me see,no, not braided,-how was it on my birth-day?"

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"The day on which Count Seltzermann was here last ?"

"Have done, Richilda; or rather do not begin."

"Well, then," returned the confidante, peevishly, "I do not remember; how should I, if I am not allowed to talk about it?"

"Thou art as combustible as a dry pine branch, Richilda," said the lady; "and I must be my own tirewoman: come out, you stiff cannons of curls! I will be simple to-night, with only a ribbon, or a small knot of pearls."

The young lady, who, in her way, was as spoiled as her attendant, shook her head from under her hands, and began in some heat to demolish her work.

"Well, well, child," said Richilda, "I see that thou wilt only make thyself a fright, instead of a fairy; if thou combest thyself in such a temper. I will do as I am bidden, and say as little as the dumb hair-dresser of Erfurt, whose history thou lovedst to hear when thou wert a child."

"Now thou art vexed, dear old nurse," replied her charge, "vexed at 268

my conceits; a truce then-we wi.i fret each other no more; thou shalt dress my hair in a simple taste, and I will talk as much as thou likest of Count Seltzermann. Come, where shall we begin ?"

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"O spoiled girl!" said the old woman, relenting, as if I did not know that thou lovest to speak of him better than any thing else in the world. As if I had not seen thee in a sweet fit of absence, embroidering his name on thy housewife-case, where thine own should have been. Well, he comes to-night, that is certain; I hope, to fix the day of the wedding; for remember, I am to go with thee."

"Wedding, Richilda? we are far from that yet; remember that I have had my doubts and dreams; I am not sure that, he loves me; I mean, properly, as my husband must do."

"What dost thou mean by properly ?"

"I mean as I love people whom I like! superlatively-then, if he should look hale and ruddy, when he comes, 1 shall think that he has not felt our separation."

"Yet thou art ruddy, if not strọng.” "Have done now, you teazing Richilda. Well, I mean,-I cannot say what I mean, I only wish I could find out. O for a fairy telescope, to spy into that stout shut-up heart of his, and there to see one's self sitting as in a little shrine! Sweet Richilda! you know every thing, cannot you help me to one peep? Is there no way, think you, by which I can steal the knowledge I wish?""

"Ask him when he is asleep!" said the old woman.

"How?"

"Hast thou never heard, that if you ask a sleeper a question, he must answer truly, whether he will or no?"

"Is that indeed true?" "Yes; but you must speak low, not to awaken him."

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O, charming! I'll put him to his confession to-night! But how to catch an opportunity?"

"Perhaps," said Richilda," he may fall asleep in his chair after supper, as your papa does."

"Out upon you, for an owl yourself!" cried the Lady Jane; "I would never speak to him again if he did; I'll find out some way, that is certain. Well, I like my new head. Yes; that loop of pearls shows well upon my forehead. Your servant, sweet Lady

Jane! and now, Richilda, for my purple cramosy."

In such talk as this, the toilet was performed, though it lasted two hours and three-quarters, fairly told by the conscientious hall clock; and then followed a period of waiting, and listening, and looking abroad into the dim night. At length, after long expectation, a hoof-tramp was heard at a considerable distance; in an instant more it was at the castle gate; in another instant the rider of the steed had alighted, was up stairs, and his lady in his arms. "Ah! idle Philip! to be so long, so very long in coming."

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Nay, sweetest, see what haste I have made! my spurs are an inch thick with mud, and I am far fitter for the stable than your drawing-room. Lights and water to my chamber! I will be with you again in an instant."

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when Count Philip had been absent for "Suppose," whispered old Richilda, a few minutes,

that Count Seltzermann should spend as long a time over his toilet as some folks I know."

"Hush, what nonsense! Richilda, he looks very pale and thin?"

"There you are with your fears again," retorted the gouvernante, impatiently: "when I had a lover, I took good care never to trouble myself with such forebodings. But, hark! I hear his step on the stairs. Well, that is very meritorious. I'll withdraw and keep your papa in talk, while you discuss your own private affairs;"—and seated herself close to the ear of the deaf very good-naturedly, she went and old baron, who saw little and understood less, of what passed around him.

Meanwhile the lovers, seated closely side by side, were deeply engaged with each other. At length Richilda, who very soon talked her companion into a nap, and was now making good use of her ears, heard Philip say, "Then you have no fear of becoming the wife of a poor man?"

The answer was a murmur of denial, with one shade of gentle reproach at the possibility of such a supposition.

"If that stupid cousin Ausler of mine, were but a jot less avaricious, he might help me forward a little; but he grows worse and worse every day. He accompanied me the greater part of the way, on his road to his castle near Vienna. I wish he may have found it in ruins! it would only be a proper punishment for his churlishness, when I asked his help."

"Hush, hush, dear Philip! don't let that disturb you."

"It does disturb me," replied he, angrily: "he knows that half of what he has, is mine by right; though a lawquibble gave it to him, and still he refuses me even the least friendly assistance; not that I shall need it though, while I have my sword, and you are willing to wait."

"Well, let us not think of it!" said the Lady Jane, soothingly, and endeavoured to beguile away her lover's vexation; but even her arts of consolation were attended with indifferent success. The evening meal, however, was an interruption; and the lady comforted herself with the hope, that much of this depression must be caused by fatigue, and that he would be better after a night's sound rest; so, much sooner after supper than was her wont, she withdrew, with a gentle recommendation to poor Philip to betake himself to bed, which he seemed disposed to adopt.

For her own part, she never felt more vigilant than on that night. She peremptorily dismissed Richilda, and instead of undressing herself, opened a book: it would not do. Then for awhile she stood in her window, watching the various clouds as they floated heavily across a moon three quarters old, now beginning to show a feeble glimmer above the wood-tops. Then, she suddenly recollected that she had left below stairs a small ring, which Philip had that evening given to her: of course it was not to be expected that she could sleep without it on her finger, and opening her chamber door very quietly, she descended to the dining room to seek it.

This was a spacious chamber wainscoted all round with black-oak; a wood fire had been burning upon the hearth, but it was now very low; close to this, Count Seltzermann had thrown himself into a large easy chair when her father had retired, and overcome by fatigue, had fallen asleep after supper, as Richilda had hinted. His lady-love, however, did not become aware of this, until she had advanced far into the room; the table on which, as she be lieved, she had left the ring, being in the opposite corner. Her first impulse, on perceiving that Philip was there, was to step back hastily; her next, upon seeing by his relaxed yet fixed attitude, that he was asleep, to attempt to regain her treasure (for she knew herself to be as noiseless-footed as a spirit); her third was, to remember Ri

childa's advice, and to question the sleeper.

You must remember that the Lady Jane was motherless, and a beauty; whence it follows, that she was only ruled by her own sweet will, and rarely stinted herself of the gratification of any fancy. One slight misgiving, however, crossed her mind on this occasion; but this was succeeded by an intense eagerness to try the experiment recommended by her nurse; and, as she stood irresolute in the middle of the floor, her heart beat so violently, that she could hear its pulsations as distinctly as the flapping of a bird's wing. It was midnight, or rather past, and a sensation of awe mingled with her curiosity, Deep sleep is so like death, that it seemed to her as if she were about to pry into the secrets of the grave. And then the answer that would come! she felt that she must put the charm to the proof,-and approached, pale and trembling, close to the chair where her lover had reclined. -While she bent over him, ere she could frame a word, she was alarmingly struck by the haggard paleness of his brow, and the care that sat heavily on his firmly compressed lips. She paused but a moment; and then, in the most hesitating tone of her musical voice, spoke-though her speech was at first abortive and imperfect-she could only say one word, and that was -" Philip!"

Was there a spell in that adjuration?-The sleeper raised his head, unclosed his large dark eyes, and looked full upon the affrighted girl: but she knew by the stony composure of his countenance and attitude, that he yet slumbered. It was very fearful to see such unconscious consciousness, and still more to hear his answer, in low but steady words, totally different, both in tone and articulation, from his speech when awake:-"Well Jane what do you ask?" Terrified as she was by the success of her enquiry, she was still fascinated as by some spell of power; and therefore, with a strong effort of self-command, to maintain the quietness of her attitude (a very slight motion would have made her touch, and in all probability awaken him), she continued in her purpose, though she dared not come at once to the question she longed to ask. "What have you been thinking of all this day?" said she, tremblingly. His second answer did not come as quickly as his first, and when it came was broken and indistinct. She only caught the strange, and to her, incomprehensible words - "Money," and

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