clock struck eight. The lights, which shining from the windows in different parts of the building, somewhat relieved the gloom of his room, were extinguished one by one, and it became pitchy dark. Rust lighted a candle; placed it on the mantel-piece, and stood looking at it for some moments. He heard a step on the stairs; but it ascended to the floor beyond, then descended, and went out in the street. He looked at his watch; it was but five minutes after eight. 'God! how slow the time went!' Perhaps his watch had stopped. He put it to his ear: tick, tick, tick! There seemed an interval of a minute between every stroke. Five minutes past eight; ten minutes more, and she will be here,' muttered he; and then I shall know the worst.'

He put the watch in his pocket; and looking at the ceiling, attempted to whistle; but it would not do. His blood was in a fever. Hark! was that a footstep on the stairs? No, it was only the tread of a person overhead. Hist! what's that? He stood stock-still, and listened. There was a slight shuffling noise in the passage; and then a faint tap at the door.

Rust sprang forward, and opened it. A female, muffled in an old cloak, stood cowering on the outside.

Ha! it's you at last!' exclaimed he, in that abrupt, energetic manner, which suited his character better than his more usual tones. 'What news?'

The woman, either to gain time, or because she was really exhausted, staggered to a chair, and turning her face to the light, revealed the features of Mrs. Blossom.

'Ah's me! ah's me!' said she, leaning back, and sighing heavily. 'It's a wearisome way I've come, old and feeble as I am - old and feeble, old and feeble a very wearisome way.'

There must have been something in the look of Rust, who stood before her with his black, glowing eye fixed on her's, that was peculiarly startling; for she paused in her whining, and turning to him, said:

'What do you look at me so for?'

'Is there no reason for it?' said Rust, in a low voice. 'Is there no trust betrayed? Have you done all that you swore to do?'

Mrs. Blossom, hardened as she naturally was, and as she had become, by long following a pursuit which requires no little assurance, was not without some signs of trepidation at this question. No, no; I have n't. I swear I have n't,' said she.

'I placed two children in your charge,' continued Rust, in the same low tone. 'They were never to leave it, except for one place the grave.'

Mrs. Blossom's wan features grew paler, as she whispered: Not so loud, Mr. Rust, not so loud.'

'As you please; I'll whisper,' said Rust, suiting the action to the word; and speaking in a whisper, yet so distinct and thrilling, that each word seemed to come like a blow. 'I placed two children under your charge; and unless I required them, and unless they grew ill, and died, they were to become what you are. Where are they? I want them.'

Mrs. Blossom looked hopelessly about her, as if she meditated an escape; but seeing no chance of any, she cast a deprecating eye at Rust, shook her head, and said nothing. Rust went on in the same strain:

They were with you two months since; going on gloriously; travelling at a hand-gallop to the grave. I have heard strange stories of them since. Are they true?'

Still the woman was silent.

'Answer me!' said Rust, his fury gradually getting the mastery of him, and his voice bursting out loud and clear. Where are they?' Mrs. Blossom clasped her hands and looked at him, but uttered not a word.

do

you

hear me?'

- the

'Where are the children? Answer me!' said he, starting to his feet, and darting up to her, his eyes perfectly blood-shot with fury; and the foam standing round his lips; the children, I say children! GOD d―n you! Mrs. Blossom cowered down in the chair, and made one or two futile efforts to speak; her thin blue lips quivered; but no sound came from them; while a kind of idiotic smile fixed itself on her features.

THE CHILDREN, I say!' exclaimed Rust, gnashing his teeth with rage; and seizing the woman by the shoulders in his paroxysm of fury, he shook her until she reeled and fell to the floor. What have you done with them? Answer me; or by the GOD of Heaven I'll crush you beneath my feet!'

Before his amiable intention, however, could be carried into effect, Mrs. Blossom had recovered her wits, her feet, and not a little of her usual spirit; and turning upon him, with eyes flashing as brightly as his own, she said:

'They're gone, Michael Rust; gone, gone! Do you hear that? Gone, where when you next see them you will wish the undertaker had measured them before. Gone, gone! ha ha! You won't see the lambs again. So much for striking an unprotected female, Michael Rust. That for ye that for ye! THAT for ye!' And she snapped her fingers in the face of the disappointed schemer, and left the room, slamming the door loudly after her.

Rust clasped his hands, as she went out, and raised his eyes to heaven.

Gone!' repeated he, in a low tone; 'gone! both gone! And I-I?-what will become of me? Is it for this that I have toiled and slaved for years; that I have stooped to meanness and dissimulation; have steeped myself in crime, and have had felons and miscreants of every dye for my associates? For years have I been on the rack: no more quiet hours, or peaceful dreams; no more love from those of the same blood; but cursed, hated; hated with the worst hate, the hate of one's own kindred; my schemes thwarted, my hopes blighted; a felon; my dearest hopes crumbled to dust; these two children restored to their rights; Kate married! - and I, I, where shall I be? God of Heaven!' exclaimed he, dashing up and down the room, shall these things be? Shall I fall?-shall they 46

VOL. XXII.

triumph? Never! never! Be yourself, Michael Rust!' said he, in a choked voice; 'be yourself! be yourself! This has happened from trusting others. Rely on yourself, Michael; be cool, Michael; and then thwart them- thwart them!'

He paused and stood in the middle of that room like a statue. Slowly and by degrees every trace of excitement disappeared from his features, until they had assumed a sharp, rigid, fixed look; and then, he said, pursuing the same theme: Thwart them; thwart them, Michael Rust! Work, toil, cringe, lie, steal, murder — aye, do any thing-but thwart them, thwart them! Good Michael Rust, don't suffer yourself to be a by-word in their mouths! And if you fail, Michael, die fighting. There's something noble in that. Be it so; be it so said he, in a stern, abrupt tone. 'They 've driven me to extremities. Nothing but desperate measures can save me. Desperate measures shall be tried. Does success require a life? Well, well; the world's overloaded; it shall have one. If I attain it, it will be another's; if I fail, it will be my own: the grave is a quiet resting-place; a better one than the world, when a man's foiled in all his aims. But I'm weary, I'm weary!' said he, in a low, desponding tone; 'my head's dizzy, and my brain confused, by the troubles which have come so thickly upon me to-day. I must

rest.'

Drawing a chair to the table, he seated himself upon it; bent his head down upon the table, and exhausted by the excitement of the last few days, which had taxed even his iron frame beyond its powers of endurance, he soon slept heavily.

OH! thou resistless and relentless power!
Mighty, mysterious in thy every form :

Unbidden thou com'st to mar the natal hour,

Stealing the heart's young pulse, with life scarce warm.
And thou art there where the green vine is turning
Its gentle fragrance from Love's rosy bower;
And thou art there where silent stars are burning,
Sweetly and calmly, o'er the bridal hour.
And thou art there where young Joy in his mirth
Presses his cup to lips of human wo,
And thou art there where Pleasure hath its birth,
Following its footsteps wheresoe'er they go!

And ah! where art thou not, mysterious DEATH!
The young, the fair, the pure in heart, are thine;
Beauty, and love, and power, these all have breath
But for thy conquering; and hope divine,
And bliss, and sweet affection, and the tear
That sparkles in the eye of love; the sigh
That moves soft pity in the soul sincere,

All, all are thine, O Death! for all must die!
Passing like blossoms from the earth away,
All that of life or being hath its share;
The heart hath scarce its hour of hope to pray,
For thy cold hand, O Death! is everywhere!

New-York, September, 1813.

EDMOND BREWSTER GREEN.

A LADY one day said to the celebrated Count ROSTOPTCHIN that he ought to write his memoirs. The next day the Count handed her a little roll of paper. 'What have you here?' asked the lady. I have obeyed your commands,' replied he; 'I have written my memoirs; here they are.' The lady was not a little surprised at the promptness of the performance; and hastened to peruse the following morceau, the caustic wit and piquancy of which will remind the reader of the keen satire of Voltaire.

MY MEMOIRS, OR MYSELF AS I AM.

WRITTEN IN TEN MINUTES.

I. MY BIRTH.

II. MY EDUCATION. III. MY SUFFERINGS.

IV.

EPOCHS. VI. MORAL TRAITS. VII. IMPORTANT RESOLUTION.

PRIVATIONS.

V. MEMORABLE VIII. WHAT I WAS AND WHAT I MIGHT HAVE BEEN. IX. RESPECTABLE PRINCIPLES. X. MY TASTES. XI. MY DISLIKES. XII. ANALYSIS OF MY LIFE. XIII. BOUNTIES OF HEAVEN. XIV. MY EPITAPH. EPISTLE.

CHAPTER I: MY BIRTH.

XV. DEDICATORY

On the twelfth day of March, 1765, I emerged from darkness into the light of day. I was measured, I was weighed, I was baptised. I was born without knowing wherefore, and my parents thanked heaven without knowing for what.

CHAPTER II: MY EDUCATION.

I was taught all sorts of things, and learned all kinds of languages. By dint of impudence and quackery, I sometimes passed for a savant. My head has become a library of odd volumes, of which I keep the key.

CHAPTER III: MY SUFFERINGS.

I was tormented by masters; by tailors who made tight dresses for me; by women, by ambition, by self-love, by useless regrets, by kings, and by remembrances.

I HAVE been deprived of the three great enjoyments of the human species; theft, gluttony, and pride.

Ar the age of thirty, I gave up dancing; at forty, my endeavors to please the fair sex; at fifty, my regard of public opinion; at sixty, the trouble of thinking; and I have now become a true sage, or egotist, which is the same thing.

person who had spoken, apparently not heeding his disapprobation, got up and opened the door, giving to Rust as he did so a full view of the interior of the room.

At a table sat a man with coarse red hair, and a beard of several days' growth. He was a brawny fellow, six feet high, with a cast in one eye, which seemed to have been injured by a deep gash; the scar of which still remained, commencing on the very eye-lid, crossing one cheek, and his nose, and giving an air of sternness to features which needed not this addition, to express much that was bad. His companion, who had opened the door, was a man of smaller build, with broad, square shoulders, dark sharp eyes, narrow forehead, and overhanging brows, and a thin, tremulous lip; and though possessed of less physical strength than his comrade, looked much the most dangerous man of the two.

They both eyed Rust for a moment, without speaking, and then the larger of the two said to his comrade: Tim Craig, hand the gentleman a chair.'

'I don't want one,' said Rust abruptly. Have you seen Enoch?' They both shook their heads.

'He'll blow on me, and you, and others.'

The two men looked at him, and then at each other, but said nothing.

'He's set himself up against me -me!' said Rust, his thin lip curling and yet trembling as he spoke.

6

'He's a dark man, that Enoch,' said Craig, in a low tone. There's no good in crossing him, Mr. Rust.'

Crossing him! crossing him!' exclaimed Rust. 'He has crossed me. Who ever did that, and prospered! Ho! ho! Enoch, Enoch! you mistook your man!'

The two looked anxiously at each other, but did not speak; and although they had the thews and sinews which could have torn the thin form before them to shreds, it seemed as if they both shrank from him with something like fear.

It has come to the death-struggle between us,' said Rust; 'one or the other must fall.'

'If you're the one?' inquired Craig.

'Others must go too,' replied Rust; they must.'

Craig gnawed his lip.

If Enoch goes, he goes alone,' continued Rust. 'He must be out of my way; he knows too much.'

The men exchanged looks; but the larger of the two seemed to leave all the speaking to the other, merely listening with great attention, and occasionally favoring his comrade with a glance, whenever it seemed necessary.

'I have no time to stay now,' said Rust, turning to Craig: 'I've told you enough. Grosket is in my way. must be rid of him.' Craig put his finger to his throat, and deliberately drew it across it. You're a ticklish man to deal with, Mr. Rust. Is that what you mean?' said he.

'I say I must be rid of him,' replied Rust, fiercely. Are you