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LITERATURE.

(From the North of England Magazine.) TALES OF THE HAUNTED GARMENTS.

lnraonocrton.—-lt was a stormy night, the black heavy clouds were scuddmg along the sky, now obscuring the whole face of heaven, now driven asunder by furious gusts of wind, and allowing the pale watery moon to be. seen shin- ing at fitf'ul intervals. The lamps flickered as the gale swept by, rattling the doors and shutters ofthe houses, and whist- \ ling and roaring as it's“ the winds of heaven were let loose. Shivering with cold, and drawing my cloak tightly around me,l quirkeiied my pace to reach home before the rain should descend from the threatening clouds. I had been spending the evening at a house in the outskirts of the town, at a considerable distance from my home, and the remem- brance of bright faces and merry voices formed a strange contrast to the darkening sky. At length it began to pour in torrents, and looking round, found I had missed my way, and was in a part of the town entirely unknown to me. I listen- ed in vain for the sound of voice or footstep,—nothiug was heard but the creaking windows and the pelting ruiu. Icrept under the doorway ofa little old-liishioned looking house, with a shop from, determiningto shelter there till the storm should have somewhat abated. Leaning against the door, I found it give way, and, lifting the latch, entered the house. The faint light through the broken window-shutters enabled me imperfectly to distinguish the interior. It was a kind of old,clothes warehouse, not such as we find in Monmouth- street or Rosemary-lane,—uot a receptacle for old corduroys and worn out top-boots, but of costumes of'many ages and countries, dresses that had assisted the attractions of belles long since forgotten. uniforms that had adorned the soldier, churches that bad lent dignity to the divine ;' in one corner hung a taffeta gown, once fitted to some elegant form, while the round but, silken mittens, and delicate mantle, were pendant from a rail above, as if ready for the Wenrer. The wearer! and where was she? An ancient negligé ofricli brocade, with its accompanying rufiles, Iappets, and high- heeled shoes, was placed next to a court suit ofthe days of Louis le Grand, and the threadbare garment of some poor student hung in mournful contrast to n richly-laced Spanish doublet: nor were the dresses the only contents ofthis nin- gaziue; there were shelves on which antique snuff-boxes, patch—boxes, small swords and ornamental bodkins, lamps of curious forms, and china monsters, antique relics and black-letter volumes, were'lieaped together in strange con- . fusion: while carved, tapestry-covered chairs, heavy chests, mirrors in olddiishioned frames, cracked and covered with dust, were placed in disorder about the room ; a broken spin- net was hull'covered by the robe of an advocate, a carved crucifix and rosary rested peaceably against a voluminous treatise aguiust papistical idolatries, and a stuffed parrot was quietly perched upon! the full bottomed wig of some learnedyudge. Whilst I was observing these various arti— cles, the night wore on, but thei'ain still pouring down, len- sconsed myselth an arm chair, in a corner ofthe apart- ment, determining to- make the best ofit, and to wait pati- ently till daylight, or a cessation in the fiiry ofthe storm, should enable me to reach home. I began to moralize ; strange, thougth, that the outward garments should thus remain, while those they dignified or adorned have long since ceas- cd to live, even in memory. Busy fingers have been em- ployed in arranging these dresses, now left a prey to time and to the moth; each of these garments have been folded , over some throbbing heart,—the youthful beauty attired for her first bulb—the plender fired with the desire of fame,— the pale artist in his narrow garret, living on through pover- ty and neglect, in the hope of some fiiii'er future; if all could be known that has passed in the breasts of the some- time possessors ol'these vestineiits, what strange and inter- esting histories might be revealed! Suddenly, a strange con- fitsion arose in the chamber—silks rustled, shoes creakcd, and every article ofdress appeared animated. l rubbed mv eyes, supposing my midnight watch might have bewildered myseuses, when a squall from the parrot, followed by an ~ r angry exclamation from a grad” voice, arrested my attention; and lo! every garment was occupied by its respective pos- ’hssor; a young lady in the taffeta gown, with the but set enqueti'sbly on one side, had flown to a mirror, and was en- ‘ god in arranging her ribbons, heedless ofu little old gen- t eman in the court dress, with sword tucked under his arm, who was shaking the perfume from his wig ofmany curls in a vain attempt to attract her attention; the parrot had found its rightful owner, and was perched upon the shoul- der ofa sharp-eyed, pinched-looking female, with high toque and powdered hair, upon whom the brocade neglige and lace ruffles had taken their place; a fiit oily-looking' nian, in fitll suit of shining black, was attempting to arrange the dis- hevelled curls of a wig; a pale interesting youth in the threadbare coat had seized a soiled M.- S. and was already absorbed in its contents; and the owner of the laced doub- let, with formidable moustache and look of defiance—had _ taken a foil from the shelf, and was fencing with an imagi- nary opponent to the manifest discomfiiure ofthe advocate, who was addressing the company in a pompous haraiigue, —to which no one listened. What a burly-burly, what a confusion ofsounds was there! the fat gentleman complain- ing of his wig disordered by the parrot, the sharp-eyed lady replying in shrill and angry tones, the bird screaming in emulation of his mistrese, while a tall gaunt man in snuff- colored suit, and spectacles on nose, in vain attempted to make peace between the disputants. “ Ali! mademoiselle,” sighed the little Frenchman from the other side, “ such grace, such finish could be obtained only at the court of Louis le Grand; mademoiselle, permit me the felicity of relating to you what occurred on that day, when tho great Turenne”-— “Ladies and gentlemen, may I request a. few moments of your attention.” exulaiiiied the advocate. “I hand you a pinch of snuff,” said the tall man in spectacles. “ Will snufrepatr my wig ?” sorrowfnlly exclaimed the fat divine. ’ u l pas With leave." “ Polly’s a beauty,” screached the par- rot; “ ” went the Spaniard, making a fierce pass with his Riil. “Sir, you have torn my ruffle,” exclaimed a lady ; “and pray take your foot off my train; I have known the day, air when”—-here all other sounds were lost in a vehe— ment.thumping of the spiiinet, accompanied by the doleful scraping ofthe violincello, While the young lady in taffeta having arranged her ribbons began to warble lorih— “ Haste, my Strephon, faithful swain.” At length the company being somewhat weary oftalking of themselves, and Silence with some difficulty having been ob tamed, one of the party proposed, that us they were con- demned to meet here on certain nights, they should endea- your to meet not only peaceably, but to form some plan for their mutual entertainment; he suggested, “that, instead of all talking at once while no one attends, we should each re- late some passage cfour lives, or any tale or anecdote we may remember.” This idea was followed by a murmur of approbation, and all settling themselves in an attitude ofat- tention, requested the proposer (whose benevolent and in- telligeut countenance had claimed their interest) to com- mence with some anecdote from his own experience; be immediate: (agreed, and, seating liiinselfin the centre ofthe group, ‘ as follows:— Tu: OLFSOLDIER’S TALn.——“\Villing to attempt some- thing for your entertainment, 1 will not refuse your request, hoping that you will not despise an old man’s tale; I am un- skilled in eloquence, and know not how by glowing words slid well.rouuded periods to please the ear, but I olfera true story, sure that as such it will not be devoid of interest. It is now many years since the events I am about to relate oc- ‘ ,, curred ; I was then a young soldier. Ah ! how- different were my feelings, how times have changed ! I then thought military fame the highest glory; 1 now feel that heroism is ,not to he sought in the battle field alone, but that many have lived and died unknown, more deserving of the laurel, ’ than others whose fame has spread through Europe ; far be it from me to undervalue the merit of'those who have fought in defence of home or country; but I repeat, that it far higher achivemeut than victory over a thousand fees is vic- tory over sell! Heroism is the putting forth ol‘power, either to conquer or resist; it may be passive as well as active, and the former is often the true virtue; many may display cou. rage when excited, whose fortitude Would fail in trials that must be home alone, With none to witness, none to applaud.

"l

1 have seen men rush into battle without sign of fear, and fall bravely, buththeir comrades were around them, the eye oftheir world upon them; the war trumpet sounding in their car, the foe before them, and the prospect of fame and promotion or an honoured grave; but such must yield the palm to those (and they are many) who have humbly and resignedly borne their appomted burdens, and been obe- dient even unto death, in the cause of truth and Virtue, With no historian to record their deeds, no p'oet to sing their prais- es; the sublimcstrvirtues have often tbe_lowest theatre. Peace be with them all, they each hive their reward. Par- don this digression,—to return. In the. year 1793, war was declared against France, then a prey to internal discord ; the people degraded by centuries of niisrule, Justly enraged at the interference of foreign powers, obtained by the misre- preSentations ofeniigraut nobility, and almost~ maddeued at the atrocious threats of the Duke of Bruusmck, wracked their fury upon all ofthe class which had so long op- pressed them. Like a mountain torrent, the popular frenzy rushed lieadlong'in its course, and like all Wild outbursts of vengeance, swept away many friends, among a multitude of foes. May the ruling classes in future times take warning by this fearful example, and reform their abuses in time, and wait not till the oppressed turn upon their op- pressors, and add revenge to relbrniatiou. Our regiment was ordered to the continent. It was with no. good Will that I first drew my sword to suppress an effort for freedom, however wild, but a soldier’s first duty is to obey. I need not dwell on that well known disastrous campaign. \Ve were totally defeated at Fleurs; ] saw my comrades fall around me, and afier receiving a severe wound, that disabled my sword arm, was taken prisoner; so ended my hopes. Fevered by my wounds, and weak from loss ofblood,l be- came insensible to my misfortunes, and for atime remem- bered nothing. Wbeii Irecovered consciousness, I found mysell'iii bed, and I suppose made some exclamation, for the curtain was opened, and l perceived a lady standing by my bed side; she was past the prime of life, and sorrow had laid his heavy hand upon her brow, but there was an expression of'calm resignation and sweetness that went to the heart; it seemed to me then the face of an angel. She spoke to me in good English. I would baye asked some questions, but she laid herfinger upon her lip to en- join silence, aud administering a cordial, again closed the curtains and left me to repose. My recovery was rapid, and in a week I was thought sufficiently recovered to leave my bed-room, and join the family. 1 had learned that I had been left for dead by the roadside when my fellow

prisoners were moved away, that a peasant returning from the neighbouring town had found me, perceived some traces oflifc remaining, and gave notice to my kind nurse, who had humanely received me, and restored me to life.

This lady wasthe wife ofa Count St. I’ol, who had nearly fallen a victim to tho enraged populace, and hiid with diffi- culty made his escape, leaving behind his wife and two daughters, their only children. Melanie and Celeste were two ofthe loveliest beings I ever beheld,‘ not so imich from regularity of feature, as from the pure affection and holy feelings that dwelt within their hearts and shone in their sweet faces. They were singularly alike; if on Melanie’s cheek the rose was somewhat paler thnii on thiit of Celeste, it was more transparent, and iflier eyes were less brilliant,

they beamed forth with a still softer and more tender expres- sion: early inured to misfortune, their minds had been

chastened and strengthened, and sorrow had bound them

so closely together, that it seemed as if but one spirit anima- ted both; it was a beautiful sight, those two fair girls! in

that time and place they were like flowers blooming in the midst ol'a wilderness ; and yet were there fiends, in the form

of men, who could mercilessly crush those tender flowers. —Well, wcll,l must not anticipate, but \vlienl think of those sweet girls, fifty years fade away and I am young

again. From the time of my recovery I was their constant companion, accompanying them in their walks, reading to them, and teaching them English. Madame St. Pol absorb- ed iii anxiety for her husband, took little notice of'what was paSsing, but she had no cause to fear. I was only too much

alive to the feeling, that with a sabre cut across my face, lame andbrokeu spirited, I could be nothing but an object of compassion. I soon, however, won their confidence, for I also had been subdued by disappointment nd sorrow; and the broken down invalid was percbauceiiore valued

friend, then the gay young soldier might have been. One evening Melanie came bounding into the room with an ex- pression ofbappiucss beaming in her countenance, such as Iliad never seen before. She threw her arms round her mother, exclaimiog, ‘ He is safe !’ From that hour the little circle assumed a cheerful aspect; they had received news from their father of his safe arrival in England, and they

now looked forward with hope to a time when they might

join him and find a home in a foreign land, no matter where,

if together. Some weeks had passed away in happiness, iii-

terrupted only by reports of cruelties perpetrated in the

large towns, when I observed a cloud over Celeste’s counte-

nance, and an anxiety she seemed to wish to conceal. Sonic-

times, when not observed, a tear would steal into her eye,

and her lip quiver with some deep emotion; at a sudden

noise, or the sound ofu strange footstep, she would start and

turn pale; she no longer left the house. Isought her com

fidence, and atlast drew from her the explanation ofhcr dis-

tress. At it little distance from their chateau liveda man of the name ol‘Brissot, whom we frequently met in our rambles; we had always avoided him when possible, they because he

was suspected ofbeing one of their father’s persecutors, and

I for fear of detection. We had often observed hiin passing by the chateau, and lingering about as if endeavouring to watch the movements ofitsinmates; it might be partly pre- Judice, but I thought I had never seen a face on which villain

was more distinctly written. Celeste had one day, it appear- ed, encountered this man, who had been watching an oppor- tunity oladdressing her; he not only dared to urge a lawless suit, but at the same time told her that he knew ol'theircor- respondence with their father, and threatened her, if'rejected, with the direst vengeance. She, ofcourse, repulsed him with indignation, and he had left her, vowing revenge upon them all. ‘lcare not what becomes of me,’ said the poor girl, bursting iiito tears, ‘but my mother and Melanie, he cannot be so hard hearted as to injure tliem.’ Icould give her little comfort, and though fearing the worst, was careful not to iii- crease her anxiety. Alas! my lears were too well founded; that afternoon, while 1 was in my chamber, a cry reached my ears; I hurried down stairs, and found armed men fill- ing the passage, Brissot standing in the middle ofthe room with papers in his hand, looking with fiend-like triumph on Ccleste,’who had thrown herselfou the fainting form of her mother, lying at the betrayer’s feet; Melanie Was standing by, her hands clasped, her eyes raised to the face of Brissot With an expression that would have softened any heart but his. He had taken advantage of the discovery of the girl’s correspondence with her father, to arrest them as disafl-‘ected to the government; in vain did Melanie offer to give up all their papers ; in vain were all protestations oftheir inno- cence; in vain did Madame St. Pol plead for her children; once I forgot my crippled state, and rushed upon the villain to fell him to the ground, but my arm' fell powerless by my side, and the wretch did but scofi'at my powerless rage. fCeleste,’ said she, ‘ did not my father, when be blessed us in parting,say he could leave us nothing but our good name and each other’s love? and did we not then nvow that no- thing but death should part us? But death even is kind, for it will not divide us, and heaven will have mercy on our mo— ther! My sweet sister, look up, your grief is worse than deatli.’ Celeste did look up, and! saw that all weakness had passed away. Brissot seized her arm; ‘ has the world no charms for you?’ said he; ‘ Will you condemn yourself and sister to death, when a life not only of safety but of splendpur is in your pOWer? Be mine, I ask you once more, it is yet time, and these papers shall be destroyed.’ ‘Ne’ver, never!’ exclaimed the unhappy girl, and with a cry of agopy sank once more upon the ground. Brissot was pale with rage. ‘You have made your choice,’ said he in a hoarse vmce, ‘your blood be on your own head.’ They were led away to prison. 1n the morning sentence was pro- nounced; Madame St. Pol was in court; there was no hope, she knew there was none, and was perfectly calm. She passed the remainder ol'that day and next at work in disk. ing hercbildren’s shrouds,l in watching. The following day

Madame St. Pol wasraIIOWed to see her daughters in 3:233:11 I remained outside :7 the bell'tolled, the square (pas qoimded to excess, ranks of' soldiers lined the place, an sur 8" and the scaffold. At last,the prison gate was thrown 3p 5, the a murmur was heard from the assembled multitu e, a very two girls appeared, walking side bysu'le. I‘hey_i'veit‘3Which pale; on Melanie’s face there was an expression ‘ . m seemed already of heaven. Madame St. Pol followetd, Ear- a groan or a tear escaped her; she had prayed lolpg tinI and vently for strength to support her dear ones to t chenib,_ ’m it' was granted. Iobserved Celeste look up to t e [1% sun that shone above their heads, and a tear rolled down . tar cheek. A little cloud was floatiiig'uorthWard with the win , sbe followed it with her eyesas it disappeared in the horizon, and stretched out her arms with a convulswesoh Was she thinking ofher father, and ofthe happy re—uiiiou ip that frlee laud lO‘Wlllcll the vapour-wreath was hastening. As he mnurnful procession reached the calfold, there “next move- meiit among the populace,——-u hope of rescue flashed dcioss my mind, but the soldiers were therein great strength,t ieii arms clashed, and the people overawed fell back. Madam; St. Pol performed the last and office for her children ; houud up their long glossy hair with her own hands, and blesse them as they knelt before her. I looked again, they weie iii each other‘s arms. The bandage was placed over their eyes. I could look no more. A sound as ofa stroke, then another, followed by a cry of'borror from the multitude, told me that all was over. 1 carried Madame St. Pol to her desolate home, and, iii a few days, followed her to the grave. bhe could not survive the loss of her beloved ones. Some time after I made my escape, and arrived safely in England. I made many inquiries after Count St. [:‘ol, but "was never able to obtain anv information concerning him. The old man ceased speaking for a while and then added, ‘Muny Vears have passed away since the occurrence I have related, but I have never since seen the young and fair Without a Sigh for those once as fair and bright as any.’ As he concluded, a ray oflight from the coal broke into the room, and when the sun rose and lit up the apartment With his morning beams, the dresses and robes were hanging quietly on their accustomed pegs, and all was still as when I first entered the apartment. I rose from my seat, wondering at my strange adventure, and as I pursued my way-homcwards, re- solved to return some other evening to reVlSltglhe nightly in- habitants ofthut mysterious chamber.”

CANNOT.

We very much question whether thereis a. word in the English language productive of as much mischief as the one placed at the head ofthis article. Indeed, it has iio business where it is so fi'equeiitly found; for it is an intruder on our forms ofspeech, and deemed unworthy of notice by the lexicographer; yet there are some men who are always using it, and find it always at their tongue’s end. The man who admits this word into his vocabulary, is regularly done up; henceforth he is good for nothing, because he Will per- form nothing. VVe like a man, aye and woman too, who at proper times can utter a plain, plump No; for that little word may be their salvation; butiftbey meet you With a canting cannot, depend ‘upon it, they will—“ for a con- sideration.” .