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"And lead me further-but I waited in vain. Good friend,' said I, will you conduct me to the lord of this fair castle?' No answer. I spread out my hands, expecting to find my guide, but he was gone. Yet I had heard no sound of footsteps. I proceeded onwards at all hazards; and I had not advanced more than thirty paces ere I found some resistance. I examined, with my hands, what it was, and staggered back as I felt a heap of skulls and bones! I was horror-struck; unable to move. At that moment I heard a hollow broken sound, like the groans of one in agony. It seemed at some distance. I listened. Again I heard it more distinctly, and it was the low stifled moan of a person suffering bodily pain. A desire to end the dreadful suspense in which I was, prompted me to follow that sound, as a possible means of escape. With fearful steps I crept along the wall which led me to a staircase. Having descended four or five steps, the groans again fell upon my ear; but they were much nearer. I continued to descend slowly, and at last came to a door, which I easily opened. All was impenetrable darkness, and dismal silence. I called out: no answer was returned. I resolved to enter boldly; when, fortunately, examining the entrance with my foot, I discovered, to my unspeakable horror, that it was bottomless, and that if I had advanced a single step, I should have been hurled into I knew not what yawning place. Groping now upon my hands and knees, I discovered a second flight of stairs. I ascended seven steps -then descended the same number, and suddenly beheld a faint glimmer of light which seemed to proceed from a great distance below me. I advanced a little further, and found myself on the edge of some abyss from the bottom of which the light issued. An old half-rotten staircase led down to it. I resolved to dare every thing. I began to descend cautiously. When I had reached about half way, the light suddenly disappeared: I was in total darkness; and the groans I had heard before were repeated louder and louder. A loose stone against which my foot struck, rolled down with a terrible noise. "Who disturbs my rest?" exclaimed a hollow voice. A door opened slowly, and a pale white figure appeared with a

candle. It advanced two steps, lifted up one hand in a menacing manner, and disappeared. My blood seemed to congeal in my veins. I scarcely know how I re-ascended, or how, still wandering in darkness, I arrived at the bottom of a spiral staircase, where, stretching out my arms, I thrust my hand through a pane of glass. "Who is there?" cried a rough voice; and I heard a door open. I was just about to reply when this dialogue arrested my attention, and filled me with fresh dismay. "Have you sharpened the knife?" asked one. "Yes," replied another, "it is bright and sharp enough, and here is the pan for his blood." I fled-but was suddenly stopped by the ice-cold hand which had grasped mine at my first entrance into this abode of horror. My spirits could sustain the conflict no longer-my head swam-and I fell senseless to the ground!"

"No wonder, man," observed Mr. Pendlebury.

"I should have been fit for nothing, I'm sure," said Margaret, "after seeing the pale white figure with a candle."

"But what was that, compared with feeling the skulls and bones?" added Reginald Glenluce.

"Or finding yourself at the edge of a bottomless pit in the dark, and not knowing which way to turn?" said Mr. Randall.

"There was no difficulty about that,” remarked Hoodless Oliver: "Mr. Andrewe had only to do as he did, turn back again."

"It was very foolish of you, cousin," said Mrs. Trevanion, "to stir a step from the gate without a light, after you had been hauled in by you didn't know who, with the icy hand. I would just have stood there till morning, that I might see where I was going. But now, how did you get out of this awful place?"

"When I recovered," continued Mr. Andrewe, "I found myself in a brave apartment, lying on a bed, and a kind lady, beautiful as opening day, chafing my temples."

"I expected it would turn out so!" exclaimed Mrs. Trevanion. "An enchanted castle I warrant

"The castle of an enchantress, I do confess," added Mr. Andrewe, "but no wicked dealer in unlawful spells, though

there was magic enough to keep me a willing prisoner for several days."

The arch expression of Mr. Andrewe's countenance, which had hitherto been full of a portentous gravity perplexed his auditors extremely. They had forgotten his declaration that his adventure had "a right merry ending to a fearful beginning," and thinking only of the appalling things they had heard, could not comprehend how he should have found attractions to remain voluntarily-hardly indeed, how he was then alive to tell his story. He soon relieved them from their embarrassment, how

ever.

"The owner of the castle," said he, was the Countess Mancini, and though in the bloom of youth and loveliness, a widow; her husband, the Count Mancini, to whom she was most tenderly attached, and whose memory she cherished with unabated affection, having lost his life at a tournament, by a fall from his palfrey. I will not weary you with a recital of all that passed between us, nor how (and here his worship heaved a heavy sigh) I would fain have sped if I could, but shorten a too long tale by a brief unfolding of the reality of my situation. The ice-cold hand belonged to the countess's phlegmatic porter, Paulo, and I suspect it appeared to me much colder than it was, because I was myself over-heated by my violent efforts to escape from the assassins. He did not answer me when I entreated to be conducted to the lord of that fair castle, because he had gone away to light his candle, which had been extinguished by the wind. My staggering steps had led me to a distant part of the building where the countess had erected a sort of mausoleum to her deceased lord, and which she had provided with those solemn emblems of death, the skulls and bones, upon which my hand rested. The hollow groans came from an old woman, who had a violent tooth-ache, and who, when the stone rolled down, came out of her dormitory to see who was there, threatening me with her hand because she mistook ine for one of her fellow servants, who, she imagined, had done it to frighten or disturb her. The bottomless abyss was an old cellar, into which three steps once led, but being now utterly decayed, I fancied there was

some dreadful chasm beneath me. The discourse about sharpening the knife, and having the pan ready for the blood, came from the cook and butler, and related not to killing myself, as I thought, but concerning a hog which was to be slaughtered the first thing in the morning: while the ice-cold hand which arrested my flight, was that of Paulo, who had been hunting for me, and by whom I was carried into the brave apartment I have mentioned, after I had swooned like a green girl at the scratching of a mouse behind the arras. But suppose I had been able by any means to make my escape out of the castle that night, and out of the forest afterwards-by my faith there would have been as veritable a bug as ever sent the blood from the pale cheeks of fear round a winter's fire."

There was an air of disappointment upon every face, save that of Hoodless Oliver, as Mr. Andrewe finished; for they all felt much the same chagrin that a company of epicures would experience who discovered they had been invited to a painted feast when their appetites were whetted for a real one. Their credulity and superstition were of so orthodox a character, indeed, that they almost doubted the propriety of turning into ridicule matters of such serious import as supernatural warnings, spectral visitations, and mysterious omens. Mrs. Trevanion even went so far as to insinuate that she believed the first part of her cousin's story, and not the second, observing that the former might be true, but she did not comprehend how the latter could be so; while Mr. Pendlebury expatiated very seriously upon the nature and office of ghosts, with the several lawful occasions of their appearance, as well as the laws by which they were governed.

"A ghost," said he, "that is, the spirit of a dead person, is commissioned to return to this world either upon some special errand, such as the discovery of a murder, to procure restitution of lands or money unjustly withheld from widows and orphans, or to redress some act of injustice committed by the deceased while living. Sometimes it is to inform an heir in what secret place treasures, or title-deeds to estates, are concealed. The ghost of a murdered person, whose

remains have not had christian burial is sure to wander about till his bones are taken up and deposited in consecrated ground. The heathens even knew this, though they united with it a piece of idle superstition, pretending that Charon was not permitted to ferry over the soul of an unburied person, but left it to wander up and down the banks of the river Styx for a hundred years."

"And what became of the poor thing, then?" inquired Mrs. Trevanion.

"After a hundred years, according to the silly notions of those pagan heathens," replied Mr. Pendlebury, "it was admitted to a passage."

"It is very curious," observed Mr. Randall," that though a ghost is of so fine and subtle an essence, that it can pass through stone walls, doors, trees, and other substances, it can not only strike a violent blow, if affronted, but overturn all impediments in its way, like a whirlwind. I knew a Dutch Lieutenant who had the undoubted faculty of seeing ghosts; and he told me that neglecting once to make way for one which he saw approaching, he and some companions who were with him, were thrown furiously down and sorely bruised. He said, moreover, that the hand of the ghost was as cold as a clod."

"It is an equally curious fact," said Mr Pendlebury, "that persons who are born on Christmas-eve, cannot see a ghost, and that ghosts themselves cannot appear on Chrismas-eve. Master Shakespeare has mentioned this latter fact in his stage play of Hamlet,

Some say, that ever 'gainst that season

comes,

Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long, And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad. "How would you speak to a ghost, Mr. Pendlebury?" inquired Mrs. Tre

vanion.

"There is only one way of addressing them," replied Mr. Pendlebury gravely, "and that is, by calling upon them in the name of the three persons of the Trinity, to tell you who they are and what they want. It may sometimes be necessary to repeat this question three times, when, after the third time, the ghost in a low hollow voice will ex

press its satisfaction at being spoken to, and declare its name and business. This being done it vanishes; most commonly in a flash of light. But you must be very careful of one thing, never to interrupt a ghost when it is speaking—it is most dangerous. Always wait patiently till it is done, and then ask any questions you may think necessary, provided they do not refer to its own state in the other world, or the condition there of any of its former acquaintance: this is sure to displease it, perhaps because it is forbidden to divulge such awful

secrets."

"I should not have courage to speak first," observed Margaret Glenluce.

"Then, indubitably," replied Mr. Pendlebury," there would be no conversation, for it has been found by universal experience, nay, the thing has been affirmed by ghosts themselves, that they have no power of speaking till they have been first spoken to. Hence it sometimes happens that a person is visited by a ghost for several years, merely because the person so visited has been afraid to speak to it."

"How do you account for the candles always burning blue when a ghost appears?" asked Mrs. Trevanion, "and that they generally choose twelve o'clock at night for their visits?"

There is no accounting for these things," answered Mr. Pendlebury, "any more than we can account for their peculiar abhorrence of being laid in the Red Sea, which they are known to dread exceedingly; perhaps, because the difficulty is greater in getting out there, than when they are merely confined in the pummel of a sword, a barrel of beer, or the trunk of an oak."

"It is somewhat remarkable," obborne no part in this conversation, "that served Mr. Andrewe, who had hitherto ghosts do not go about their business like people of this world. In cases of murder, for example, instead of proceeding to the next justice of the peace; and laying its information, or to the nearest relation of the person murdered, the ghost commonly appears to some poor knave, or draws the curtain of some palsied crone, or hovers about the spot where his body is deposited."

"It is presumptuous," replied Mr. Pendlebury, "to scrutinize too far into

those matters. Ghosts have undoubtedly forms and customs peculiar to themselves."

By this time the morning was so far advanced, and sundry household affairs

so urgently required the presence of Mrs. Trevanion and Margaret, that the story of Hoodless Oliver was again postponed, till the evening.

NAPHTAL.

THERE is no maxim better founded in human nature than that similes similibus gaudent, that birds of a feather flock together; and this principle it is that separates society into those little platoons into which, from time immemorial, more especially in England, it has been accustomed to divide itself. But as the progress of refinement has gradually changed our customs and modes of thinking, so likewise has it re-cast our club-houses, and thrown them into a totally different shape. In the olden times, and they were the times of England's glory, good fellowship was cemented by good living; if men were haunted with care during the toil and trouble of the day, they forgot all at night over the solace of the social bowl. With them Time winged his flight merrily. They did not sigh and turn their eye-balls upwards, as in these devout days, but there was an honest benevolence in the countenance, and joy in the heart. Knavery and fraud did not then, as now, do their work under the mask of piety. They did not, like our anointed, say a long grace over the flour, thanking God for his mercy, in not leaving them, as they had left others, to feed upon the bran. Honesty and kind-heartedness were the order of the day, and the sum of human enjoyment was the festivity of a Beef-steak Club. Mirth, jollity, and good humour flowed round with every full cup, and at every round kindled a new spark of wit, and drew forth a fresh gust of merriment. Those times are gone by. We are become either serious Christians, too pure for conviviality, or Fashionists, too well bred to endure the grossness of a horse-laugh. It is a breach of the king's peace, which the laws teach us to hold in abhorrence. Our open-hearted gaiety is gone; we have gravity and cant in the room of it, and after all what are we the winners?

The corkscrew has elicited more of that puissance surnaturelle, which is the

soul of social intercourse, than all the assembled literati that were ever drawn together. The most distinguished club formerly existing in Ireland, was that of the Monks of the Screw. The celebrated CURRAN was grand Prior of the order, and he had for his brethren the most illustrious characters of the day: Flood, Grattan, Father O'Leary, Lord Charlemont, the three Judges Day, Chamberlaine, and Medge: Bowes Daly, George Ogle, Lord Avanmore, and other names which it feasts an Irishman's memory to recal, and makes him proud of heart to record. It was a glorious fraternity of genius and wit, that cast our Pic-nic Club and our Four-in-hand Club completely into the shade. Of the former, Col. GREVILLE, the then leader of the ton, was at the head; but the mere fooleries of fashion cannot long bear up against the scoff of ridicule, and the pic-nics soon died a natural death. The latter, which originated in the paltry ambition of rivalling the mailcoach whips, created at first a stare of astonishment, and afterwards a smile of contempt. It soon came to be considered as a sad libel on the rising nobility, that the most conspicuous among them were so destitute of all true taste and real talent, that time could ripen them into nothing better than respectable stage-coachmen. Accordingly they soon ceased to drive their splendid equipages to Salt-hill and back; vulgar curiosity ceasing to be excited, the enthusiasm of their vanity faded away, and after having edified the public by showing what they could do, they obtained from it no other reward than the compliment of being at least innocent simpletons, who, though they could do nothing better, might have done worse.

We have had no want of political clubs, but all clubs of this description are fast going out of repute. The Whig Club, the Fox Club, the Pitt Club, have gradually sunk into an obscurity

from which they are never likely to recover. The reason of this is, that in proportion to the progress of knowledge in a nation is the progress of rational and independent thinking; and in the same proportion that men think for themselves, they discover the folly as well as the danger of suffering any man or set of men to think for them. Time was when the mass of the community gave themselves no concern about who were their political rulers. While the darkest and most desperate intrigues were carrying on with a view to getting possession of the reins of government, the majority went quietly to their rest and waked early to their labour, caring nothing as to who was successful in the struggle. Party was arrayed against party, and leader against leader, and all who busied themselves with politics enlisted under the banners of the one or the other, as their opinions or their interest dictated. But the fonts are all destroyed at which Pittites and Foxites were christened. The followers seceded as they grew wiser, and at length ceased to acknowledge any legitimate authority in their chiefs. They saw that whichever party was in power, whether Whigs or Tories, the game of self-aggrandisement went on all the same at the expense of the people, and they accordingly with drew their confidence decidedly and for ever from both. I say for ever, because the empire of reason is too strong for mere authority to cope with it. Formerly boys were boys all their lives; now their minds strengthen as their beards grow, and their docility vanishes with their ignorance. They do not throw up their hats to huzza the leader of this or that party, but follow steadily in the wake of public opinion of that public opinion which is the only genuine collective wisdom. Wisdom collected in the school of experience; stripped of all selfishness; looking only to the public interest, and caring only for the public good.

There is, however, a natural tendency in men of similar sentiments and opinion, to gravitate towards each other. That principle of elective attraction, which forms the grand basis of chemistry, seems to run more or less through the whole human race. It pervades all genders, masculine, feminine, and neuter. on this principle alone that love at first sight is to be accounted for. It is this

It is

principle that makes Cupid play all sorts of antics. It is this principle that carries us in crowds to the Temple of Hymen. Apparently the world could not go on without it. The lighter the bodies, the greater their cohesive tendency. It is well known that two cork balls, swimming on the water, run towards each other with an accelerated motion, and stick together; in like manner, between the sexes, two fools' heads, when brought by accident within view of each other, manifest that mutual preference which ends in linking the owners for life; and it is by the tender pledges of their union that the breed of blockheads is multiplied ad infinitum, and an everlasting succession of members furnished to the Club of Humdrums.

I have no doubt but that there are certain mortals made up of kindred mould, the particles of which have a secret magnetic property which tends to bring them into contact. I have no doubt but that fat people feel always inclined to give the fraternal embrace to the plump and well-favoured, and that they feel a sort of instinctive disinclination to a spare-rib. Addison, in the Spectator, bears testimony to this. "I know," says he, "a considerable market-town in which there was a club of fat men, that did not come together (as you may well suppose) to entertain each other with sprightliness and wit, but to keep one another in countenance. The room where the club met was something of the largest, and had two entrances, the one by a door of moderate size, and the other by a pair of folding-doors. If a candidate for this corpulent club could make his entrance through the former he was looked upon as not qualified; but if he stuck in the passage, and could not force his way through it, the foldingdoors were immediately thrown open for his reception, and he was saluted as a brother. I have heard that this club, though it consisted but of fifteen persons, weighed above three tons. opposition to this society, there sprung up another, composed of scare-crows and skeletons, who, being very meagre and envious did all they could to thwart the designs of their bulky brethren whom they represented as men of most dangerous principles; till at length they worked them out of the favour of the people, and consequently out of the ma

In