carried out, might have resulted in bitter mischief. Poor justification this, in truth, for an authority so imperiously assumed! Poor indemnity for natural rights of self-agency so pertinaciously, so insultingly denied!

I had also been forced to notice that my tormentor, for a very long period of time, (while scrupulously and with miraculous dexterity maintaining his whim of an identity of apparel with myself,) had so contrived it, in the execution of his varied interference with my will, that I saw not, at any moment, the features of his face. Be Wilson what he might, this, at least, was but the veriest of affectation, or of folly. Could, he for an instant, have supposed that, in my admonisher at Eton, in the destroyer of my honor at Oxford, in him who thwarted my ambition at Rome, my revenge in Paris, my passionate love at Naples, or what he falsely termed my avarice in Egypt, that in this, my arch-enemy and evil genius, I could fail to recognise the William Wilson of my schoolboy days, the namesake, the companion, the rival, the hated and dreaded rival at Dr. Bransby's? Impossible!But let me hasten to the last eventful scene of the drama.

Thus far I had succumbed supinely to this imperious domination. The sentiments of deep awe with which I habitually regarded the elevated character, the majestic wisdom, the apparent omnipresence and omnipotence of Wilson, added to a feeling of even terror, with which certain other traits in his nature and assumptions inspired me, had operated, hitherto, to impress me with an idea of my own utter weakness and helplessness, and to suggest an implicit, although bitterly reluctant submission to his arbitrary will. But, of late days, I had given myself up entirely to wine; and its maddening influence upon my hereditary temper rendered me more and more impatient of control. I began to murmur, to hesitate, to resist. And was it only fancy which induced me to believe that, with the increase of my own firmness, that of my tormentor underwent a proportional diminution? Be this as it may, I now began to feel the inspiration of a burning hope, and at length nurtured in my secret thoughts a stern and desperate resolution that I would submit no longer to be enslaved. It was at Rome, during the carnival of 18—, that I attended a masquerade in the palazzo of the Neapolitan Duke Di Broglio. I had indulged more freely than usual in the excesses of the winetable; and now the suffocating atmosphere of the crowded rooms irritated me beyond endurance. The difficulty, too, of forcing my way through the mazes of the company contributed not a little to the ruffling of my temper; for I was anxiously seeking, let me not say with what unworthy motive, the young, the gay, the beautiful wife of the aged and doting Di Broglio. With a too unscrupulous confidence she had previously communicated to me the secret of the costume in which she would be habited, and now, having caught a glimpse of her person, I was hurrying to make my way into her presence. At this moment I felt a light hand placed upon my shoulder, and that ever-remembered, low, damnable whisper within my ear.

In a perfect whirlwind of wrath, I turned at once upon him who had thus interrupted me, and seized him violently by the collar. He was attired, as I had expected, like myself; wearing a large Spanish cloak, and a mask of black silk which entirely covered his features.

"Scoundrel!" I said, in a "oice husky with rage, while every syllable I uttered seemed as new fuel to my fury," scoundrel! impostor! accursed villain! you shall not-you shall not dog me unto death! Follow me, or I stab you where you stand," and I broke my way from the room into a small antechamber adjoining, dragging him unresistingly with me as I went.

Upon entering, I thrust him furiously from me. He staggered against the wall, while I closed the door with an oath, and commanded him to draw. He hesitated but for an instant, then, with a slight sigh, drew in silence, and put himself upon his defence.

The contest was brief indeed. I was frantic with every species of wild excitement, and felt within my single arm the energy and the power of a multitude. In a few seconds I forced him by sheer strength against the wainscoting, and thus, getting him at mercy, plunged my sword, with brute ferocity, repeatedly through and through his bosom.

At this instant some person tried the latch of the door. I hastened to prevent an intrusion, and then immediately returned to my dying antagonist. But what human language can adequately portray that astonishment, that horror which possessed me at the spectacle then presented to view. The brief moment in which I averted my eyes had been sufficient to produce, apparently, a material change in the arrangements at the upper or farther end of the room. A large mirror, it appeared to me, now stood where none had been perceptible before; and, as I stepped up to it in extremity of terror, mine own image, but with features all pale and dabbled in blood, advanced, with a feeble and tottering gait, to meet me.

Thus it appeared, I say, but was not. It was my antagonist—it was Wilson, who then stood before me in the agonies of his dissolution. Not a line in all the marked and singular lineaments of that face which was not, even identically, mine own! His mask and cloak lay, where he had thrown them, upon the floor.

It was Wilson, but he spoke no longer in a whisper, and I could have fancied that I myself was speaking while he said

"You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou also dead-dead to the world and its hopes. In me didst thou exist—and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself.”

Marry come up! not to know Tom King, thou art thyself unknown. I will tell thee, and so enlighten thy ignorance. Tom King is a wit and a wag—a gentleman of infinite humor, and overrunning with mirth. His head is as crammed with funny stories and humorsome anecdotes of his own time, as is a Quaker's measure with good wheat when he heapeth it up and runneth it over. He is past forty, yet he hath the juvenility of twenty; his jocund phiz giving the lie to full the half of his years. He loveth a good dinner; rejoiceth in good wines, and holdeth fast on good company— or, rather, it is the good company that hold fast upon him; for few that get him at their table, are willing soon to let him off. Ah! he is a gentleman of infinite jest, Tom! I wish you could see him tell one of his stories-see him, I repeat, for he talks with his face and twinkling gray eyes better than with his tongue, and that he knoweth how to use most cunningly for our divertisement. Oh, he is a rare wag! He will make your eyes run over-not with tears of sorrow, (for grief and Tom King are strangers,) but with tears that are the expressed essence of delight. Thou hast not seen him neither? He carrieth himself, then, with a goodly height, being five feet nine, his abdomen of a rotund shape, like a full wine skin, and his face hath that round fullness that good natured men do often show. His profile is like unto Bonaparte's, more so than any man's living, probably; in support of which assertion, I will mention that the count Survilliers spoke of it one day when Tom called on him to ask leave to shoot woodcock on his grounds eight days before the fourth of July. He loves to stand with his arms folded across his chest, à la Napoleon, and, assuming the proper attitude, give you what he calls Napoleon en bivouac; and, my certes, when you look at Tom in this attitude, you would swear a little distance off he was Nappy himself. Tom has two profile portraits hanging in his bed room, each side of the mantel-piece-one of Napoleon cut from a book, the other of himself, done by an itinerant genius with a pair of scissors, for which Tom paid him the sum of twenty-five cents; and the two are, in verity, as like each other as two peas. Tom used to live in town; but the gout growing upon him, for which the doctors recommended the country, and the New Albany bank having made him a little sore by a fall of stock, he left the city for a white cottage on a hill half a mile beyond the last house in the suburbs, with a patch of seven acres about it. Here he took to farming on a scale commensurate with the breadth of his acres. Having a rare gift of foresight, he planted the morus multicaulis ten years before people began to think of it, and put his trees in market; but nobody offering to buy, he rooted up the whole plantation, and filled a dry ditch with the trees. Alas, poor Tom! he was fifteen years too early in the field. He could have made a fortune now with his multicaulis trees if he had them, selling each shoot for a dollar. But Tom got the fever prematurely. After the failure of his morus multicaulis, Tom began to speculate in cabbages; and with his own hands transplanted eight rows reaching from one extremity of his seven acre lot to the other. But one night his cows got in and ate up all but five of the plants, and these Tom tore up himself, to make, as he said, a "clean sweep" of it. Although his farming speculations have not turned out as well as might be expected, working in the fresh loam has quite cured Tom of his gout, and has given a fine healthy tan to his complexion.

How Tom came to be travelling in a stage coach between Philadelphia and New York he has never told; but it is sufficient for our purpose to know that he did once travel so, and that of the adventure related in the following dramatic sketch "he was a part." The months of October and November, be it premised, for the better understanding of Tom's story, have been, time out of mind, "killing time" in New Jersey. At this eventful season, from Cape May to her northern boundary, from the Delaware to the ocean that laves her eastern shore, there is one universal squeal within her borders: while the rivulets run swine's blood, and men go about every where with ensanguined

knives in their right hands, and wearing long white frocks, spotted with the blood of porkers. It was, then, in the latter part of November, 1822, that a stage filled with passengers took its departure from the "Indian Queen" hotel, in Philadelphia, on its way to New York. At this period, when the land was innocent of steamboats and railroads, the journey between the two cities, which is now performed in less than six hours, occupied the best part of three days, especially when the roads, as their condition now was, chanced to be heavy. Among the passsengers in the stage was our friend Tom King.

"After we left the city," says Tom, "I began to take a view of my fellow-travellers. None of them are worth particularizing, though all well enough in their way, save a cadaverous Frenchman, who sat vis à vis with me on the middle window seat, I being stowed in a corner on the front seat. His extraordinary appearance instantly struck me, filling me at once with wonder and entertainment; for he was a bird of the sort that I looked to have no little amusement out of before we got to our journey's end. I took a survey of his person and apparel. He was about six feet in height, standing, with a long face, à la General Jackson, a high wrinkled forehead, an eagle's beak shaped nose, large lips and mouth, and a pair of little, keen, snaky, black eyes, surmounted by bushy black eyebrows, with whiskers and moustache to match. His complexion was very dark, and from the general character of his physiognomy, I knew he was a French Jew. Beneath a little cloth cap he wore a red bandanna handkerchief, tied smoothly on his crown. His lean, gaunt frame was encased in a long waisted, gray, French surtout, buttoned up to his throat in a military style, while thick knit gloves protected his hands from the cold. Seeing me so attentively observing him, he called up to his features a sickly, yet courteous, smile, and with the air of one who sought sympathy and desired to be social, addressed me in bad English

"Sare, eet ish verra foin veddare, is he not?"

"Yes, sir, very good weather.'

"Von leetle cold,' with a slight shrug, 'ish he not, sare?'

66 6 Yes, sir,' I replied, quietly.

66 6

Eh, bien! vill you obligshe mc, Monsieur, to tak' von pinshe of de snoff?' he continued, handing to me, as a farther incentive to social feelings, an antiquated, heavy silver box, half filled with rappée.

"Do you go all de vays to Newe Yorrk?' he asked, as he returned the box to his surtout pocket. "Yes, sir.'

"You live in dish countree, sare?'

"Yes, sir.'

""Tish verra sangulare de vay dat you 'ave to live here. C'est une chose tres drôle.' "In what way, sir?'

"Mais! c'est une chose si drôle ! and he laughed such a laugh as famine herself would have uttered-a laugh in which there was any thing but droll.

"How droll?'

666

Ah, mon dieu! In dis pays-dis countree vous mangez rien—noting but cochon-hog.' My dear sir, why, what do you mean by our having nothing to eat here but pork?' I asked of him.

666

"Ecoutez! Listen donc, Monsieur,' he said, with indignant animation. Quand je quittais Paris, je me trouvais en bon point. Eh, bien! Je me trouvais myself ici-mais! gentilmen,' interrupting himself, and looking round upon all in the stage, as if he desired their attention; I vill tellee you all vat it ish. I come to dis countree, I land in Newe Yorrk, and I go to Philadelfie from dere. I have some little lettare d' introduction. I don't know no bodee in dis countree, ma foi! Bien! I come to Pheeladelfie and I bring some lettares to some of de principle peoples dere. Eh, bien! Dey say to me, after talk som toime, you go Mishtress Vebb, de best boardin' house in Pheeladelfie. Bien! I go dare. Ven I left Paris, I vas verra fat-oh, veria fat indeed! Mais, de diable cochon-dat you call de hog, almost killee me. Sare, letee me tellee you von leetle circonstance dat 'appen. I vas stay vid dat ladee vot keep dat boarding-house for six veek. She give me noting but de pork. Ma foi! I hate de pork as I do de devvil. Now, messieurs, you see vat dat landladee do! She give noting but de pork for six veek. Ven I com to dis countree, in de first place I com to Newe Yorrk. I vas den en bon point-so fat. Now, sare, you see my situation; de manner which I look. Now I go back to Newe Yorrk, I am all-e-mostee starve! Here his voice became exceedingly sad and touching, and he looked as if he could weep his spirit from his eyes. While throwing open his surtout, he knocked his knuckles, in attestation of the truth of his words, against his ribs and stomach till the one rattled audibly, and the other gave back a hollow, empty sound. "Eh! you see dat? You hear dat, ma foi ?'

He looked round with sad triumph to see the effect produced, and then slowly rebuttoning the surtout, added, with a sign, as he fastened the last button

66.6

Ah, jentilmen, you would not believe you see me in Paris dis a way (filling his stomach with wind and swelling out) and you look at me now! Drivare!' he suddenly called, thrusting his head out of the window, drivare, how far he is to Bristole?'

"Short distance, sir,' replied the respectful Jarvey.

"Mais, tonneur de Dieu! I vas een Bristole vonce ven I com frome Newe Yorrk. Dey givee me evra ting dat vas nice! Dey givee me roastee bif-dey give shickens and pomme de terre, and all sorts of noting. Bien, Bristole be von nice place! And rubbing his hands and moistening his lips, with anticipation of the good things that would fall to his share in Bristol, he closed his eyes and gave himself up to (by the still smile about his mouth) a delicious reverie.

66

By and by, the roofs and towers of Bristol appeared, and, as if scenting 'roastee bif' afar off, the Frenchman opened his eyes, and thrust his head out of the window.

"Vat place is dat, drivare, eh ?'

6.6 'Bristol, sir.'

666

Ah, ha! den I know I get someting to eat. Now, jentilmen, I tellee you I 'ave som meat dare. Ven I vas dere I 'ave got roastee bif, roastee shickens-ah, Bristole de good place.'

"The coach rattles up to the principal hotel, and ere the horses were reined up, out briskly steps the jocund landlord. The Frenchman, taking off his hat, instantly thrust his red bandaged head from the window.

"Ah, Monsieur Bizanet, ah, ha! I so glad to see you. I'ave been in dis countree eight veek; for six veek my landladee givee me noting but pork. Now, sare, ven I vas here som toime dis seven veek ago, you giv me som verra nice dinnare-roastee bif, shicken, and every ting nice dat vas good. Naw, Monsieur Bizanet, I am almostee starve. Six veek my landladee give me noting but pork— all de time, pork-and I hate de pork as I do ze devvil. Now, Monsieur Bizanet, vat you giv uz for de dinnare, eh?'

“As he put this query, he stepped out of the coach, and approached the landlord, rubbing his hands together with great gout.

“Ah, Monsieur Bizanet, vot is it dat you have goode for me, now?'

666

Well, sir,' said Bezinet, with a great pomposity of manner, like a host confident in the quality and abundance of his larder, well, sir, we have some very fine tender loins.'

"Tendare loing-don' knaw vat he is, but I sposhe he ish som ting verra goode. Naw, jentilmen,' he added, with an expression of much pleasure on his hungry visage, naw you tak all de oder tings; I tak de tendare loing for my share. Vaitare, give me glass brandy vater,' he cried, entering the bar-room, his stomach growing brave and dilating with anticipation.

"After drinking his 'brandy vater' with great apparent satisfaction, he took his station at the diningroom door opening towards the kitchen, and surveyed with great complacency each dish as it was carried in, though he knew not the meats of which any of them consisted. When he found, by glancing back to the kitchen, that no more were to come he skipped into the dining-room, and placed himself in a seat to which the landlord pointed him. Now be it known to the hitherto uninformed, that in killing time,' landlords give, literally, nothing but pork, cooked different ways-spare-ribs, tender-loins, pork-chops, pork-steaks, sausages, kidneys, souse, hog's-head, hog's-head cheese, and, in fine, noting but pork.'

666

Naw, Monsieur Bizanet, I am so glad to see you! Ah, Monsieur Bizanet, vere is de tendare loing?' and his eyes wandered eagerly over the various modifications of grunter which loaded the table.

"There it is, sir, before you,' said the polite landlord, with a slight bow and gesture with his right hand.

666

Ah, bien, bien!' replied Monsieur, delightedly; and with the eager satisfaction of a half-starved wretch, he seized his knife and fork, and commenced cutting into it. Suddenly he stops, raises the knife, and then the fork, to his nose, smells and snuffs, snuffs and smells, and then quickly drops them upon his plate, and pushes back from the table with an expression of misery and despair. Yet it is only suspicion.

"Monsieur Bizanet! Qu'est ce que c'est diable! tendare loing? Vat is he de tendare loing? Tellee me vat he is made of, Monsieur Bizanet?'

466

Why, sir, that is acknowledged by epicures to be the choicest part of the hog.'

"With a look of mingled anguish and horror, he clasped his bony hands together, and for a moment appeared the perfect image of wo.

66

Vaitare," he said, at length, rising and turning to the waiter, and speaking in the subdued voice of patient suffering, his flexible features twisted into almost a cry; Vaitare, 'ave you noting else but de pork?'

666

- 666

No, sir.'

Vell, den, villee you bringee me glass brandy vater, som onion and cracker? I am almostee starve. I'ave live in Philadelfie wid my landladie six veek, and she give me noting but de pork— I almostee starve! I come to Monsieur Bizanet, and he giv me noting but de pork. Tonneur de dieu!

"Having, as he dilated on his wrongs, grown ireful, and ended thus with a deep oath, he strode to the bar and received his brandy vater, som onion and cracker,' and sitting down in a corner, with his handkerchief spread across his knees, dined solitary and alone. He was yet engaged in his frugal repast when the stage-horn wound sharp and loud, and with an onion in one hand, and a

fragment of cracker in the other, he took his seat beside his fellow-passengers, and the stage once more rolled on its way.

6

"Never mind, sir,' says Tom King, putting on a face full of sympathy, never mind it; wait till we get to Trenton.'

"Trantong! Ai dat ish de place vere de prison is! I see him ven I com on from Newe Yorrk. Mais, dis donc, vere we is now?'

666 Ten miles off,'

666

Ah, Trantong! I stop dere at Monsieur Bispham, vere I get some ting verra good to eat, I tell you. Now, jentilmen, ven ve get dere you may take de tendare loing, and I take som oder ting goode.'

By and by, the stage begins to descend a hill towards a covered bridge stretched across the Delaware, and on the opposite shore appears in full view a large town.

666

Drivare,' cried Monsieur, thrusting his head out of the stage window, 'drivare, tellee me vat place he is, eh?'

"Trantong! Bien, bien! Now I sall get some ting nice to eat. Ha, ha!' and rubbing his palms with delightful anticipation, he eagerly watched for the hotel from the window, as the stage rolled through the streets.

"Ah, vat is he dat maison, Monsieur Tomkin? (for Tom had given his fellow traveller his name.) I tink I know him.'

""Tis Mr. Bispham's.'

666

Ah, Monsieur Bispham! Now sal I get some ting nice to eat!'

"As the stage drove up to the door, the travellers were welcomed by the courteous host.

66 6

Ah, ha, Monsieur Bispham !' cried the Frenchman, as the landlord stepped up to open the door of the coach. 'Je suis charmé de vous voir! I'ave com from Philadelfie; my landladie giv me nossin but pork. Naw, sare, ven I vas here six veek ago, I got von verra nice dinnare—ah, mon dieu! it vas too moche goode! You givee me roastee bif, roastee shicken, mouton-avery ting dat vas nice. Naw, Monsieur Bispham,' he continued, smiling most insinuatingly in the landlord's face, and rubbing his palms together, vat 'ave you got for my dinnare? I am almostee starve. Six veek my landladie giv me noting but de pork; I com to Bristole, and Monsieur Bizanet giv me noting but de pork; and I hate de pork as I do ze devvil. Naw, Monsieur Bispham, vat you giv uz for de dinnare ?'

"There was a merry twinkle in Tom King's eye as he caught that of mine host which told volumes, and which the other was not slow in taking.

666

"I can give you some very fine spare-ribs,' replied Mr. Bispham, in his blandest manner. Spare-ieeb! vat he is? Spare-rceb! I sposhe he verra goode !' he muttered half to himself, as he descended to the pavement. Now, jentilmen, you take de tendare-loing for your share, I will tak de spare-reeb for minself!' and with a step made light with delight he skipped into the bar-room. "Vaitare!'

"Sir.'

“Glass brandy vater; it mak de appetite sharp for de spare-reeb! Ah, Monsieur Bispham, you von verra nice jentilman. Spare-reeb! eh, I vill now 'ave some ting goode to eat.'

"With impatient gratification he watched the entrance of each dish, and then, with his fellowpassengers, seated himself at the table before a dish which mine host, with a peculiar smile lurking in the corner of his eye, himself, placed there.

666

Eh, Monsieur Bispham, vere is de spare-reeb?'

"The dish immediately before your plate.'

“C'est bien! Je le vois! Ah, Monsieur Bispham, I likee you verra moshe for von jentilmans. I vill cot him maintenant.

"With these words of gratitude and hope on his lips, Monsieur buried his knife into the crisp meat before him, and the pleasant odor followed the knife as it was drawn forth, and ascended to his nose. With dilated eyes and nostrils, he hung suspended over the unsavory dish an instant, his knife and fork elevated in either hand, looking as if the truth were too great for belief. Twicethrice, he bent his head towards it, and each time snuffed and snorted not unlike the unclean animal of his holy abhorrence. Conviction flashes upon him. Pale as a corpse, he drops the knife and fork, and pushes back from the table.

"Monsieur Bispham !' in tones of pitiful distress, while his pathetic glances from the spare-rib to mine host, and from mine host to the spare-rib, nearly brought tears (from hardly suppressed laughter) into Tom King's eyes, and filled every bosom around with manly sympathy.

Bispham !'

"Sir.'

Monsieur

"""Ave you no oter ting but dis dam hog?"

666

No, sir; but I will tell you what I can do for you,' said the feeling landlord; 'I can give you'"Notin more, sare; I vant notin! Vaitare!'

"Yes, sir.'