"The defendant has not a leg to stand upon-we shall blow him out of court." "Do you think so?" "It is as clear a case of wilful trespass as ever was brought before a jury." "Then you advise me to go on?" "Most certainly-and we shall have swinging damages." It seemed impossible to doubt this man. He had paid so much attention to my statement, consulted so many law authorities upon the knotty points which it involved--spoke so decisively in my favor, and appeared so sincere in his desire to see justice done me. I was almost ashamed of myself, while I resorted to the power I possessed. Nevertheless I did-and what do you suppose was the consequence? Why-that I paid him six and eight-pence for that visit, and changed my mind. But I could not make him change his; or, rather, I could not make him say he had changed it-for in reality, when I changed, we both thought alike. I should have been nonsuited, to a certainty, after spending two hundred pounds. But then, I had two hundred pounds to spend—or more, if wanted—and, as law is a lottery, Mr. Capias thought I might as well put in for a prize, knowing that I was able to pay for the ticket. It was sometimes amusing, sometimes melancholy, to lift up the masks worn in society. Seated in a corner of a crowded assembly, to which every person was invited who could give entertainments in return, I have passed whole evenings in saying nothing, hearing nothing, and yet heaping up wisdom. There would be smiling lips, playing round adder tongues, like summer winds stealing perfume from flowers to breathe upon carrion; and gracious looks, hiding dark thoughts, like sun-beams irradiating a tempestuous sky; and silken words, covering sharp meanings, like a keen dagger in a velvet sheath. It was one huge mart for knavish brokerage, where every factor had his own mock wares to offer, but believed he received genuine merchandize in return. I listened to an argument between a courtier and a patriot. The latter, was eloquent, fervid, and voluble, in his stern reproof of corruption, and the profligate rewards bestowed upon profligate men. I found he had been all his life besieging the fountain of honor for a title, and whoever was minister for a place; and had just received fresh denials from both. There was a father, justifying the disinheritance of his eldest son. His voice faltered, and his features softened into an expression of parental grief, as he dwelt upon the hard necessity of discharging this severe act of moral duty. Any one but myself would have pitied this unhappy parent. But there was an under current of felicity, flowing strong and deep, beneath the ripple of sorrow which played upon the surface. He had a nephew, whom he loved better than his disinherited son; and the almost venial errors of the latter were eagerly magnified into unpardonable offences, that this secret predilection might be indulged, without seeming to be unjust. "God bless you! I shall be happy to hear that you have succeeded." These were the parting words of a benevolent looking old man, as he shook cordially by the hand a female attired in black. She was a widow, and had been soliciting the influence of her late husband's friend, who was an East India Director, to procure for one of her sons a cadetship. She had obtained her suit; receiving unequivocal assurances that the required influence should be used, and others, gratuitously added, which turned hope into certainty almost. But her late husband had, when alive, defeated her present patron in a favorite scheme of his for improving the Company's revenue, which, had it been adopted, would have added some thousands, annually, to his own gains, though it was not quite so clear the Company would have been benefited by it. He did not intend to move a finger in the business; and he called it humanity, to let her feed upon false expectation; and congratulated himself upcn not being of that unfeeling disposition, which would have made some men refuse her, at once! I observed a lady, listening with an embarrassed air, to the discourse of a young man seated by her side. She was older than he probably by six or seven years--but very beautiful. Her downcast eyes, the varying emotions that passed in quick succession over her features, proclaimed the matter of their conversation of more than ordinary interest. Presently, they were joined by a gentleman, of about the middle age of life. The lady looked up, and her countenance beamed with an expression of reflected joy at something he said to her. He and the young man exchanged cordial greetings; and then, offering his arm to the lady, they retired. He was her husband. Happy man! How naturally this exclamation would have fallen from my lips, had I been able to look only upon the fair outsides which presented themselves to my eyes. Miserable man! That seeming virtuous one, whose glad looks appeared to respond to every feeling of your heart, when you spoke to her of home, and her children, had been listening with an unreproving tongue, and more than half consenting mind, to language that dishonored you, for it was fraught with passionate protestations of love-and to scenes of a future, that will wither your own hereafter-for she will appear in them with her paramour. Look at that innocent young creature-her laughing eyes and fond caresses-trying to prevail upon her kind and good maiden aunt, who doats upon her, to move nearer to that part of the room, where one of Mozart's soul-reaching strains is being exquisitely played on the flute. "Do come!-you cannot, at this distance, hear the soft, low, trembling tones-and it is your own favorite Mozart-and the air is that which you so often make me play to you on the harp-but its strings cannot give the rich melody like the flute-do come, dear aunt!" She prevails-and the sylph-like Arabella can hardly restrain her steps, as she hurries along her affectionate relative, till they are in the centre of the entranced group. Ah! you dissembler. I am watching you, and know your inmost thoughts. You are drinking in deep draughts of delicious pleasure while -listening to Mozart's music? No-while gazing upon the handsome youth who is pouring forth its liquid sweetness, and who seems to breathe a new soul into his instrument, because he sees you are there. You are not all hypocrite, however. Your aunt could not have heard that murmuring trill, where she was sitting-and you could not have seen that glance of the player, which says, "is it not like the fine harmony that dwells in the unspoken thoughts of love?" VISITS FROM THE OTHER WORLD. THE SKELETON FINGER. The Brothers spoke of Ghosts-a favorite theme, Crable. It was a large gothic room, with high narrow windows, massy beams, and a wainscot of richly carved oak, in which they were sitting. The sun had gone down; but there was a clear, balmy twilight in the sky, such as frequently succeeds the close of day in fine autumnal weather. As the shadows of evening thickened, many timid and fearful glances were cast round the gloomy chamber, in half anticipation of beholding some of the awful and mysterious things about which they had been discoursing. Even Reginald Glenluce lowered his voice as he concluded the strange narrative he was telling. "I knew them well," said he, "both father and son; and many a time I have heard them relate the circumstance. They were returning home from Lanbaddarn; and just as they arrived at a place called Two Mile Cross, the moon shining brightly at the time, they saw the four men in grey clothes and black bonnets, standing round a corpse in a winding sheet. They were so horribly frightened, that, not knowing what to do, or say, they stood still; but a fierce mastiff dog they had with them, called Lion, went barking up to the corpse, which lay in the middle of the road; when one of the four men, coaxing him near enough, made the sign of the cross upon his head, and the poor brute never barked again, nor so much as wagged his tail; nay, more strange still, he had not power to move, though his master whistled to him with tears in his eyes, being, as you may say, fond of the beast." "And what did they do?" inquired Hoodless Oliver. "Aye," said Glenluce" and more than they would ever tell. At last, the old man, that is Michael Mathie's father, began to repeat the white Paternoster, and then the whole vanished-Lion and all." "What! the dog?" exclaimed Mrs. Trevanion. I never heard of such a thing in all my life.” "Poor dumb creature! "That very day twelvemonth," continued Glenluce, "old Mark Mathie died; and the night before he was buried, his son Michael going into the room where the body lay, he saw the identical four men, in the same grey clothes and black bonnets, standing at the four corners of his father's coffin." "The Lord bless us !" cried Mrs. Trevanion, "Was ever the like of that?" "I don't believe a word of it," said Hoodless Oliver, looking round the room as though he believed every word of it. "You don't believe a word of it," repeated Mrs. Trevanion," you, Hoodless Oliver, who know what happened to your own brother Robert, after he lost that God's gift, as I always called her, his first wife. I'll just tell you," she continued, addressing the rest, "how that affair befel; for I had the whole of it from Joshua Chaplain, Robert's bosom friend, who was present at the time." They drew their chairs a little closer together, and Mrs. Trevanion began. "The flowers had not withered, which his children had planted on their mother's grave, ere Robert wooed Jane Acheson for his bride, and nothing would content him but he must take Joshua Chaplain with him, one evening, to see her. While they were all together, in a small room that had only one window, and as Robert and Jane were conversing by themselves, with their backs to it, Joshua, casting his eyes about, saw the body and face of the dead wife, looking in upon Robert from the window. Robert,' said he, what is that?' Robert looked, and there was the buried woman, lifting up her hands, as it seemed, and trying, but in vain, to take off the grave clothes from her head. She was just as she went to the churchyard, only her eyes were open; and they seemed to say, 'Robert! the worm hath not yet bred in my flesh, and hast thou forgotten me? The moon that shone upon my grave the first night I lay in it, hath not yet left the heavens, and art thou betrothing thyself to another?' You may be sure it was a troublous thing for Robert: a dismal visitation-though he well deserved it; for a sweeter creature never lived than Susan Oliver, nor one more worthy to be had in sorrowful remembrance by a husband, to the hour of his own death. But we are few of us mindful of the mercies we receive, and none of us, I fear, de serving of them. However, as I was saying, Robert found it a troublous thing to see the dead woman looking in upon him, and with such gentle complaint, and striving to remove the grave clothes from her head, as if she meant-but, good Lord! how is it possible for me, or any one, to know what the poor creature meant? Jane Acheson gave a screech and fainted; while Robert rushed out of the house like one possessed. When he got home he took to his bed, and kept it for three days, with no more speeech in him all that time than if he had been born mute. When his speech returned, the first thing he said, was to inquire for Jane; aye, and the first thing he did, was to go and see her; though, as he was putting on his shoes, his dead wife appeared again, walking slowly across his room, in her ordinary dress as when alive, and saying, as she vanished from the door, Robert, Robert, will you not come to me ?—No,' said Robert, and I wish you would not come to me.' That was his very speech, trying to laugh, as if he would bravado it; but I guess it was not long before he found it a venturesome thing to play wag with a ghost." "Did he marry Jane Acheson ?" inquired Margaret Glenluce. "Yes, indeed did he," answered Mrs. Trevanion, "and that too within a month after what I have just been telling. But it had an awful ending. When Robert went to put on the ring, a long, cold, skeleton finger, with the worms crawling over it, stood in his way; he tried all he could, but still that long, cold, skeleton finger was ready for the ring instead of Jane's. He said nothing, though the minister, and Jane herself, and all who were present, wondered to see how he trembled, and turned as white as any snow-drift, while the perspiration fell in large drops from his forehead. At last-I never heard how-he got the ring on, and then the ceremony proceeded, and they left the church lawfully married, if church rites could make that lawful which a voice from the grave forbade." "Do you know what happened afterwards, Mrs. Trevanion?" inquired Mr. Pendlebury, who had not spoken for the last hour. "Ah!" replied the old lady, "I have reason to remember what did happen, for "What's that?" exclaimed Reginal Glenluce. "What?" repeated by all in the same tone of alarm. "That!" rejoined Reginald, pointing to the opposite end of the room. "How very foolish you are, brother, to frighten one so," said Margaret. "It is only Muff scratching to get out. Muff, Muff,-poor Muff-come here, Muff" "Curse that tom-cat," continued Reginald-" he was nearly the death of me, last night. Somehow or other, he was shut up in the old oak chest in my bed room, and, after I had put the candle out, he began making such a clatter, that I thought-get out with you, you beast,”—and he rose to assist Muff in making his exit. But it was entirely owing to Muff's own sagacity and agility united, that he did so without receiving the salutation prepared for him, as he elevated his tail, and rushed through the cautiously opened door, into the long gallery. This little episode, which was turned into a laugh at Reginald's expense, (though truth to say, they were all pretty nearly as much frightened as himself, at first) delayed, for some minutes, the continuation of Mrs. Trevanion's story; but at length, the old lady resumed it. (To be continued.) The unexpected length to which the first and second articles, in the present number, have extended, has caused the exclusion of "The Politician," and several other papers intended for insertion. It was thought better, however, not to continue "The Two Hothams," into the fourth number; while the intrinsic value of the Coleridge correspondence is its own best apology. In the next number, will appear some original letters of the Duke of Wellington, relating to the Battle of Waterloo; and, in the subsequent ones, others from distinguished literary characters of the last and present century. Printed for the Proprietors of the Kentish Observer, (by C.W.Banks) at their Office, St. George's Street, Canterbury. THE CANTERBURY MAGAZINE: By Geoffrey Oldcastle, Gent. No. 4.] AT THAT TRIBUNAL STANDS THE WRITING TRIBE, TIME IS THE JUDGE: TIME HAS NOR FRIEND NOR FOE FOR IF I FALL, BY MY OWN PEN I DIE." YOUNG. OCTOBER, 1834. [VOL. I. THE ENGLISH REGICIDES. No. I. Some of the most interesting and curious particulars, relating to the trial and execution of Charles I., as well as to the motives and proceedings of the persons who brought him to the scaffold, are to be found scattered through the evidence which was given against the Regicides, after the Restoration. Many circumstances, throwing an unexpected light upon the contrivances by which that memorable event was brought about, have totally escaped the notice, of the general historian; at least, they are not to be found in any mere historical relation of the event. Few persons have either the leisure, or the inclination, to turn over the ponderous volumes of the State Trials, or to search through the now scarce publications, which contain the dispersed facts concerning men whose actions filled so large a space in the records of their own time. Springing from the lower walks of life, as is ever the case in revolutions, after they had abused the power which they were wholly unfit to exercise for any good purpose, they fell back into their original insignificance, when the nation would no longer endure their misrule, and either perished on the scaffold, or lingered out the remnant of their days, in obscure exile. It will be the object of this and some following papers, to select, condense, arrange, and connect together, in one point of view, the mass of curious information respecting the ENGLISH REGICIDES which is at present confusedly spread through numerous works. Of the twenty-nine, who were brought to trial after the Restoration, ten only were executed, viz. :— Harrison, Carew, Cook, Scot, Peters, Clements, Jones, Axtell, Hacker, and Scroop; and of the fifty-eight, who signed the warrant for the King's execution, nine suffered death. The others who were convicted, having surrendered themselves upon the proclamation in pursuance of 12 Chales II. cap. 11. sec. 36, could not be executed without consent of Parliament, which |