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wing of the army of Abijam, the son of Rehoboam. It is the Lord Wilmot."

“Thou art right,” Stelfax exclaimed. “It is the Lord Wilmot. Of a truth, this is an important capture-next to that of the Young Man himself, the most important that could have been effected, and the one that will give the greatest satisfaction to the Lord General. But though we have taken a commander of a division, the leader of the whole army may have escaped us. Peradventure, it was Abijam himself who hath just fled. Didst thou note the features and person of the man whom thou didst vainly essay to capture?”

“I looked upon him as he charged me,” "Delves replied; "and methought he was younger and more active than this man, and of a swarthy complexion--"

“ 'Tis he ! -'tis Charles Stuart in person! I am well assured of it,” Stelfax cried out in great excitement. “Sound boot and saddle! I will pursue instantly. I will scour the country round but I will have him."

“You are deceived, sir,” said Lord Wilmot, who had not hitherto uttered a syllable. “It is not the king who hath just ridden off. His Majesty is safe across the Channel.”

“I will not take your word on that point, my lord,” the Ironside leader rejoined. “What ho!” he vociferated at the top of his stentorian voice. “My horse without a moment's delay—'tis well I kept him ready for instant service-three men to go with me. The rest shall remain here to guard the prisoners till turn. The fugitive is yet in sight; but I shall lose him if ye delay-quick, knaves, quick! Ha! he has gained the top of the hill —he disappears—he will escape me if loiter!”

“Heaven be praised !" Lord Wilmot exclaimed, with irrepressible emotion.

“Give praises to Heaven if I fail to take your young monarch, my lord, but not before. Here comes my horse," cried Stelfax, vaulting into the saddle. “Lead our noble captive into the house, sergeant. Let his person be searched carefully, and then put him with the other prisoners. If I return not speedily, remove them all to the church tower, and keep strict watch over them. And hark

ye, sergeant, if rescue be attempted, spare not, but smite." “Fear nothing, captain,” Delves replied. “ I will make a terrible example of all such as oppose our authority.”

Three mounted troopers having by this time joined their leader, the little party struck spurs into their horses, and galloped along the valley, and then up the steep escarpment on the left, pursuing the course taken by the fugitive; while Lord Wilmot was led into the house by Delves and the other Ironsides.

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One of the most successful German novelists of the day is W. Hackländer, whom his countrymen proudly regard as their Charles Dickens. Lady Wallace has familiarised the British reader with one or two of his works, but there is a rich store still lying untouched. M. Hackländer's strength, however, in our opinion, lies in his power of sketching military scenes, and he bears a greater affinity to the Charles Lever of our youth. So high a position does he hold, that he was selected by the Emperor of Austria as historiographer of the Italian campaign, and we are awaiting with some impatience the publication of his promised volumes, for we have a fnacy for hearing both sides of a story.

At present, however, we have not to deal with Hackländer's military novels, but will confine our attention more especially to his last work, “ Tag und Nacht,” which is a complete tour de force, as far as literature is concerned. It is decidedly something new to find a novel of some seven hundred pages compressed within the scanty limits of twenty-four hours, and we will submit the plot to our readers as a curiosity—perhaps as an example which might be followed by one or other of our novelists.

The story commences at one A.m., and we are introduced to a merry bachelor party, assembled at the house of a rich merchant, Herr Duvallet. It is evident that the hero will be Victor von Barring, a rich young amateur of music, while the heroine is represented by the merchant's daughter, Alice. The course of true love, as usual, does not run smooth. Victor is a poet at heart, and is fond of society, while Alice, brought up to domesticity by her careful mother, thinks nothing so pleasant as staying at home. She is rendered uncomfortable by finding that Victor is going to another party after leaving their house, and her heart tells her that Victor does not love her as she loves him. It must be borne in mind, too, that they are at present only friends, and nothing more. The two characters most developed are a Herr Scheidel, connected with the municipality, who breaks out on this annual festivity with reminiscences of his youth, and Herr Kohler, a retired broker, who spends his life in watching everything that goes on in the streets. In the words of our author, * Herr Kohler solved the riddle how to be busy all day, and yet remain his own master; to the satisfaction of his doctor and the amazement of his friends. He determined to make it his business to watch the behaviour of his fellow-men, not through any malicious design, but to spend his time profitably.” With this purpose in view, the old gentleman was never absent when a diligence came in or went out, and soon became an institution at the post establishment, and it happened now and then that the departure of the coach was delayed for a couple of minutes because Herr Kohler had not arrived to make his inspection. The introduction of railways was a heavy blow to M. Kohler, because he could not be at all the stations at once. It was a dreadful day for him when the post was shut up, and grass began growing in the yard.

He wept a sympathetic tear with the last of the postilions. Still he survived the shock, and we find him on this evening as merry as the youngest in ccm



pany. At two o'clock the party broke up, Herr Scheidel singing in a very sentimental key an old student Lied.

We will follow Victor, who proceeded straight to the house of the Baroness von Molitor. Just as he was entering, the Countess de Follange seized his arm, and proceeded with him to the drawing-room. Private theatricals had been performed during the evening, under the direction of Herr Stifter, a celebrated artist, and intimate friend of Victor's. The two men proceeded into the garden, where Stifter began opening his heart. He was madly in love with the Countess Follange, whose portrait he had drawn, and was weighed down with a sense of his guilt, for he had a wife and two children at home. Victor sympathised with him, for he, too, was in love with the Baroness Molitor, but urged his friend to break off the intimacy, which he consented to do; but at that moment the countess joined him, and his resolutions were scattered to the winds.

The third hour of the morning need not detain us, as it was spent in conversation, and Victor was retiring as the clock struck three, when the baroness begged him to stay after the other guests were gone, as she wished to speak with him. We need not dwell on the wild thoughts that crossed the young man's mind as he sat tête-à-tête with the lovely woman, but confine ourselves to the subject of the interview. She had been married when still very young to the Baron von Molitor, and a daughter was born. After five years, however, the baron was attacked with an insane jealousy, for he was subject to periodical fits of madness, and his wife was compelled to leave him. The baron grew worse in consequence of this, and shut himself up with his daughter, whom her mother was never permitted to see. Her heart yearned for her child, and she implored Victor's assistance in rescuing her. If he did so, he might claim any reward from her he pleased. As the clock struck four, Victor quitted the baroness, more madly in love with her than ever.

At five in the morning we pay a flying visit to the house of Stifter, the artist, where we find his wife Therese engaged in packing a couple of trunks. Some good-natured friends have told her of her husband's iofidelity, and she has decided on leaving him for ever, taking with her her two children. She carries out her design, and at six o'clock we find her sitting in the waiting-room of the railway, though she has not yet made up her mind whither she shall go. While waiting for the train to start, she mechanically takes up a newspaper, and her eye falls on an advertisement for a widow to take care of a young lady. While considering what steps she shall take, our friend M. Kohler most politely addressed her, and recommended her to secure her tickets, as the train was generally very full. He looked so honest a gentleman, that Therese took heart to speak to him about the advertisement, and to her joy discovers that it was M. Kohler who had inserted it. She expressed her willingness to undertake the duty, and Kohler started her off at once to his friend Duvallet, who had the entire management of the affair.

At seven o'clock we find the worthy Scheidel's family assembled to their coffee, and a very pleasant group they form. The wife was a cantankerous woman were there ever one, and leads poor Scheidel a most wretched life. By her first nuptials she had one daughter, Friederike, to whom a M. Weller, a rich merchant, is attached, and would gladly make her his own, but the young lady demurs. Her husband must have done some astounding deed, about which the whole city talked, and there seemed no chance of the worthy grocer finding an opportunity. Hence, the worthy mamma was much vexed at the marriage hanging fire, for it was high time for Friederike to be married, but she persisted. Fortunately, there seemed a change for the better in M. Weller, for the young lady's half-brother, Edward, had taken his future brother-in-law to the circus, and introduced him to a Mademoiselle Mariette, with whom he seemed excessively pleased, and who returned his polite attentions by allowing him to chalk her shoes. Something might come of this, Friederike thought, who knows?-a jealous rival-a duel !

At eight o'clock we call in at Victor's, whom we find already up and dressed. He is sitting at his piano, and at times surveying a large garden beneath his window, which belongs to the town-house of the Baron Molitor. He was speculating in what way he should set about carrying out the baroness's wishes, when Stifter rushed in to tell him of his wife's evasion. Victor told him candidly that his only chance of recovering her was by breaking off with the countess. He would have no difficalty in doing so, for she was false as she was fair. This Stifter would not believe, but Victor told him how to make the trial. He must tell her that he was not free, and that she must fulfil her promise of Aying with him. Her answer would prove her sincerity.

Nine o'clock still finds us at Victor's, where he has another visitor in the shape of M. Kohler, from whom he acquires some information as to the character of the old baron. But his principal object is to ask Victor to give M. Weller some good advice as to how he can carry out the darling wish of his heart, and achieve greatness. Victor consented, and at ten o'clock the love-sick swain put in an appearance. He complained bitterly of Friederike's treatment, and mentioned various schemes that had occurred to him. His first idea was to chain up his junior clerk, a wretched-looking object, in his coal-cellar, and convert him into a Caspar Hauser. Then he schemed how he would mix Glauber salts with the vinegar he sold, and produce a decided sensation. Still, these plans did not allow any display of personal prowess, and M. Weller was in despair.

While they were conversing, a stone flew into the room through the open window, round which a piece of paper was folded. On taking it up, Victor found it was a threat that he would have an ounce of lead put into him if he did not leave off spying in the baron's garden ; and this supplied him with a hint. He rapidly told M. Weller of the circumstances, and offered him a grand opportunity for distinction by bearding the lion in his den.

At eleven, we return once more to Madame Duvallet's, where Therese was waiting with her children to hear the decision as to her obtaining the offered situation. This happened to be at the Baron von Molitor's, whose last gouvernante had played him false, and he had shut her up in the dungeons of his castle. While Therese was conversing with Alice and her mother, Victor arrived to pay his morning call, and was naturally much surprised at finding her in such a place. After some reflection he requested a private interview, and Alice retired with the two children into an adjoining room, where, however, she could not help hearing every word uttered by the couple. At first, Victor upbraided Therese very

severely for her conduct, and the infuriated woman, racked by so many contending passions, turned fiercely upon him, and said that he was well fitted to defend her recreant husband, for was he not the lover of the Baroness Molitor, a married woman? At this confirmation of her worst fears, Alice uttered a gentle cry and fainted.

At twelve o'clock, M. Kohler arrived to conduct his fair widow to the baron's, and was rather vexed to find her on such intimate terms with so dangerous a young man as Victor. To tell the truth, the morning ride had played the deuce with the old gentleman's susceptible heart, and he had begun to think that he should like such a pleasant companion for life. Victor, however, managed to appease him, and he led Therese off after M. Duvallet, who had heard a part of her conversation with Victor, begged her in vain to reconsider the steps she was taking, and see whether she could not be reconciled to her husband. Victor, too, quitted the house in a strange state of excitement at Alice fainting, and began to feel a degree of tenderness towards the poor girl.

But now to return to M. Weller, who, having purchased a stout rope, got back to Victor's apartments at one o'clock, and prepared for his desperate enterprise. He bolted himself in, and, after attaching the cord to the chandelier hook in the ceiling, descended in safety into the baron's garden. He walked about the garden very cautiously, and found on a bench a small reticule, with a handkerchief in it, which he determined to carry off as a proof of his prowess. Unfortunately, he missed his way, and after wandering about a long time, was almost turned to stone by finding himself between two enormous dogs, which got up and walked by his side. Coolness alone could save him; he went back humming a tune to the rope, and having distracted the dogs' attention, he made a desperate spring. In a second, though, he came down again, for one of the dogs had taken a savage hold of the most unprotected pårt of his person, and the pain forced him to loose his hold. He seized an old broomstick, and kept the dogs at bay as well as he could, but their barking had attracted attention, and a watcher soon came up and collared poor M. Weller. In spite of his protestations he was dragged off to a cell, where he lay speculating very sadly on the disadvantages of heroism.

While this was going on in the garden, a carriage had drawn up to the entrance, from which M. Kohler and Therese descended. They were ushered into the presence of the baron, who was a savage old gentleman, with a huge white beard, and armed with a steel-headed mace, which he continually swung in a portentous manner. The


baroness was called in and took an immediate fancy to Therese, but the baron seriously warned her of the consequences of any infidelity. To heighten the effect, he ordered the prisoner to be brought in, and M. Weller made his appearance, much to Kohler's horror, loaded with chains, and his clothes in a deplorable state. The baron listened to his stammering excuses, but ordered him to be immured in one of the oubliettes, to perish of hunger.

Fortunately for M. Weller, Providence was watching over him in the shape of Victor's servant. He had been surveying the stout little gentleman through the keyhole, and when he saw him fasten the rope, felt convinced that he was about to hang himself. He rushed for the police, and when he returned found that his master had arrived. Victor understood at a glance the real state of the case, and applied to the head of

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