continued, "You will save him from them; won't you, Pearcy?"

He pressed her to his bosom, but could not speak. She put her hand to her beating forehead, and, after a pause, looked wildly round, and shuddered. "Ha! I remember all-all now, and I have seen him, Pearcy.-He brought me here.Did you not see him?"

'No, dearest Blanche," cried her lover, in the tenderest accents, endeavouring to re-assure her. "Look not so terrified-nought is here to harm you. The ruffians, who threatened my life, are fled thanks to heaven, which sent my Blanche to save me from their daggers."

'I see it," cried Blanche, "I see it all: his sainted spirit still hovers over us."

Pearcy gazed on her pale and horror-struck countenance as she uttered these incoherent words: he dreaded that accumulated affliction had affected her brain. He again pressed her to his throbbing bosom, while he endeavoured to tranquillize her mind; but the burning tears, which his own suffering had not been able to extort, fell quickly on the hand he held : they seemed to calm the perturbation of his mind.

"I am not mad, Pearcy," she said, in a softened voice; 'although, heaven knows, I have had sufficient cause. Hear, Pearcy, what I have seen this night, and think how I can live to tell it."

With a strong effort, summoning all her fortitude to enable her to give the dreadful recital, she, although still much agitated, gave Pearcy a clear and distinct account of her father's spirit, and of it leading her to the spot.

Pearcy, though so wrapt in wonder, could not doubt her words, nor believed her deceived by a phantom of the brain. Her timely presence had saved his life, and the conviction that heaven suffered the spirit of their parent still to protect and succour them, rekindled his hopes, and raised his sinking spirits. He pressed the fair hand of Blanche to his lips, while the first transient tint passed over her beauteous face, as a sense of her situation occurred to her maiden delicacy. Her mind unburdened, she was more composed. She saw the awful crisis demanded all her energies, and she mentally prayed for heaven's aid to support her through the trial. She arose, and, first giving Pearcy a cor

dial, his parched lips and exhausted state required, turned her attention towards Oliver. With much satisfaction she found he breathed, but it was with great difficulty she aroused him from the death-like slumber which imprisoned his faculties. When sufficiently himself to understand what had passed, the faithful fellow was much shocked at the attempt on his master's life, which, he doubted not, would be renewed the following night. They consulted together how to avoid the threatened danger, but morning broke upon them without their coming to any determination; save that it was agreed that Oliver should divulge the whole circumstances to old Gerald, the warden of the Castle, on whose fidelity Blanche placed the most implicit confidence; and they hoped, by his means, some arrangement might be planned, to free them from the power of their deadly foes.

When they separated, Blanche gained her apartments undiscovered, by a private staircase. Oliver watched by his master's couch the whole day, saving the time the surgeon attended. Towards evening Pearcy fell into a profound sleep. When he awoke, all was nearly dark. Oliver was no longer by his side; but he could perceive by the light of a small taper two strange men approach him. They held their fingers to their lips, to enjoin silence: they spread a large black velvet funeral pall upon the ground, and proceeded to raise him from the bed and place him on it. Pearcy demanded whither they would take him, but they only shook their heads and made signs of silence. He hoped for the best; but knew, if they proved enemies, resistance would be useless, so quietly submitted. They wrapped the pall around him, and raised him from the ground. Pearcy pushed the corner of it from his eyes, and his heart sickened when he perceived they were conveying him through the same door the murderers had entered the night before.

They proceeded down a short staircase, and stopping at a small door, which they entered and closed after them, they conveyed their burden to the end of a long narrow passage, at the termination of which they descended another flight of stairs, much steeper, and more decayed. At the bottom was an iron-grated door, which opened as they approached, and a figure, enveloped in a dark cloak, beckoned them on. The passage they were now in, winding downwards in a circular

direction, was so steep and slippery from the damp, that the men could scarcely keep their footing, and put Pearcy's wounds to much pain from the rough carriage. At the bottom they came to a heavy door, set in rough stone, which their leader opened, and in a gruff tone bade them enter, and be quick.

The two men conveyed Pearcy into a spacious vault, in like manner supported by low massive stone pillars. They placed him on an old bier, by the side of the wall. He pushed the pall aside to raise himself: his hand came in contact with the clammy face of a dead man. Pearcy shuddered with horror as he started from it.

"We must take this away," said one of the men, in a low hoarse voice; "but you must wait a little longer here." So saying, they raised the corpse between them, and, as the light from the torch fell on it, Pearcy perceived a ghastly wound upon the breast. As the men quitted the place with their loathsome burden, the door was closed and locked, and he felt shut out from the world for ever; for his most horrible conjectures now amounted to conviction.

And is it for this," he said to himself," that I have escaped the dangers of many a hard-fought battle, where, had I fallen, it had been on the bed of honor? Have I returned but to be brought here to be butchered, like an ox in the slaughter-house? Can I doubt such is their intention? Have they not conveyed away one victim, perhaps the murdered body of my faithful Oliver?" and the thought gave another pang to his afflicted heart. My Blanche, too, my gentle Blanche, is in their power. Oh! could I but rescue her from their infernal fangs, I would meet death without repining."

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With difficulty he got upon his legs, and, wrapping the pall round him to shield him from the chilling damps of the place, he groped his way, in utter darkness, along the dripping wall, in hope of discovering some way of escape. He soon came to what he, at first, supposed to be a passage; the entrance door was much decayed, and fallen to pieces; he kicked away the rotten panels, and crawled through. He advanced, but the ray of hope, that began to cheer his heart, soon failed him, as he found his progress was impeded by a heap of mouldering coffins. He shuddered as he thought how soon he was, in all likelihood, to be reduced to the same state

as their fleshless tenants. He, with much difficulty, retraced his steps, and re-entered the great vault, which he found was surrounded on all sides by similar cells, for the reception of the dead. Overcome at length with mental and bodily pain, and divested of every hope, he stretched himself in despair upon the ground, to await his miserable fate.

(To be continued.)

THE VICTIM OF SEDUCTION.

Say,–mark'd you those features so mournful and sad ?
That form in the garments of misery clad?

Those tears which are trickling fast down the pale cheek,
Do they not the mind's desolation bespeak?

Those grief-swollen eyes once were smiling and bright;
That heart so oppress'd, once was joyous and light;
That cheek with the warm blush of innocence glow'd,
And that gentle bosom was virtue's abode.

Unclouded by care pass'd the days of her youth;
Her soul was as pure as the spirit of truth;
Till man, faithless man, serpent-like stung the breast,
Whose only delight was in making him blest.

With soul of a demon, he basely betray'd
To mis'ry and ruin, the innocent maid;
Forgot the false oaths he so often had sworn,
And left her in sadness and sorrow to mourn.

Yet still, though so chang'd, mem'ry's finger will trace
The charms which adorn'd that once-beautiful face:
Though faint as the beam which illumines the west,
When, 'neath the blue wave, day's bright orb sinks to rest.

Farewell, hapless victim of man's cruel arts !
Go, seek the blest aid which religion imparts;
So may all thy sins be in mercy forgiven,
And thy broken spirit find refuge in heaven!

WILLIAM L***,

THE "HUMMING BIRD." No. III.

DANIEL SMART AND ALICE RUSS.

When he went to his long home the bells were muffled, in remem brance of the many peais he led, and hats he won.

Daniel Smart was any thing but smart: affliction laid her paralising hand upon him. He was called in a moment, and unexpectedly, from the scenes of gaiety and bacchanal joyousness, from the haunts of his pleasures, and the shrine of his habitual and consecrated devotions. At the time I recollect him, his appearance was altered, his dress was too primitive for that of the fop, and he seemed translated, if not transferred, out of the realm of fashion into that of compliance and necessity-in short, he was a cripple ;—a man despised, in comparison with the bachelors of the village, among the ladies, and one, whose prospects of settling in life were at an end, though he was far from being in the prime, and still retained pretentions to intellectual abstractions and talkative qualifications. Daniel Smart was, however, not like "Le Diable Boiteaux," but moved, like the thermometer, as the quicksilver of his feelings operated, and he still maintained a station in society so far as his crutches would lead him; and those, at least in his vicinity, were not without his frequent company, and conversation and amusements. In his person he was engaging, and he knew much of the light world of gay society; and he could retail sufficient easy and becoming scandal to set ladies' caps on high, and even make them jealous in his poor decrepid behalf, for he let loose the silken cords of his complaisance in rings of flattery, and made himself coveted in society, and was literally mistaken by superficial observers for an agreeable companion -any other character would have been quite as suitable. Yet he was a decided admirer of the fair sex: a female could not undergo a more severe scrutiny than pass him, as he leaned on his crutches, and rested against a causeway wall. For the lantern-jawed smile of his tallow-hued countenance, lit with a pair of dazzling gray eyes either indicated retrospective and bitter satire, or gleamed with pleasurable desire that she most irresistibly obtained his admiration. But the Sunday afternoon proved an ordeal which it was torture to