"Well," said he, after a minute or two of profound silence, during which I scrutinized him closely, "do you esteem it nothing to penetrate thus into the deepest and innermost folds of the human heart, to insinuate oneself into the very existence of others, and to see them as it were naked! In these spectacles the passions are always varied-hideous wounds, fearful sorrows, miseries, that are buried under the waves of the Seine; the enjoy ments of youth, which pave the way to the scaffold, the fearful laugh of despair, and the sumptuous festivals of reckless extravagance. I have heard much talk of the eloquence of Mirabeau; in fact, I have listened to him in my time. He never moved me. But, sometimes, a young girl in love, an old tradesmsn on the verge of bankruptcy, a mother trying to conceal her son's guilt, a man without bread, a noble without honour-these people have made my heart quiver by the energy of their language. Sublime actors, playing their parts too for me only. But they cannot deceive me. My look in these affairs is like that of the Deity! He reads all hearts, and they cannot hide anything from me. I want for nothing. I have everything within my reach. Nothing is refused to him who ties and unties a purse string, It buys ministers and consciences-and that is power; it buys women, and their warmest caresses, and that is pleasure and beauty. We are the silent and secret kings of life; for money is life. Do you think, now, there are no enjoyments beneath my pale mask, whose frigid apathy has so frequently surprised you?" JOSEPH PRICE.

II. A BUSINESS TRANSACTION.

WHEN we reached the Rue de Grès, the young man looked round him with an anxiety and disquietude that surprised me. His visage became livid, and was red and yellow by turns. His agony was intense, for I noticed large drops of perspiration on his brow as we approached M. Gosbeck's door.

As we alighted from his tilbury, a hackney-coach drove into the Rue de Grès. The lynx eyes of the young man distinguished a female figure in this vehicle, and then an almost savage expression of satisfaction irradiated his features. We went up stairs to the old miser.

The viscount bowed to the usurer, seated himself by his side, and assumed one of those courtly attitudes of listening, the graceful ignominy of which it is im possible to portray.

Father Gosbeck sat unmoved, in his chair, by the fire-side. He bore a strong resemblance to the statue of Voltaire, as seen of an evening under the peristyle of the Theatre Français. He slightly lifted his old and worn-out cap in return. to the young man's salutation, and observed, "I have got no money for any one but my regular customers."

"You are angry, then," rejoined the young man, laughing, "that I have been to any one else but you to ruin myself?"

"Ruin yourself?" responded Father Gobseck, in a tone of irony. "You come to me because Girard, Palma, Werbrunner, and Gigonnet have their pocket-books crammed with your bills of exchange. They offer them to everybody at a loss of fifty per cent; but as they only gave you about half the value, they are not worth twenty-five...

"Your humble servant!

"Can I with any decency," asked the old usurer, "lend a single sou to a man who owes thirty thousand francs, and has not a cent in his pocket? Why, you lost ten thousand francs the night before last at M. Lafitte's ball !"

"Sir," observed the viscount, with rare impudence and bowing to the old nian, "my private affairs are no concern of yours. A man does not owe anything till his notes have arrived at maturity.' "Well-that 's true."

'My bills will be honoured when they fall due."

"Perhaps."

"And at present the only question between us is, whether if I offer you sufficient security, for the sum I have come to borrow, you. Exactly.".

66

....

The noise made in letting down the steps of the backney-coach, was now heard.

"I will just step out and bring a guarantee that I have no doubt will be satisfactory," added the viscount.

"Ha ha!" said Father Gobseck to me, as the young man left the room— "Werbrunner and Gigonnet thought to have played me a trick-I shall have a fine laugh this evening at their expense. But, pray have the kindness to stay by my side, for, although I am well armed, and am sure of my aim, yet I distrust this young man most fearfully. But I hear a woman's steps in the passage, and I have a presentiment that a personage, of whom I have formerly spoken to you, is about to make her first appearance on the scene."

In fact, the viscount returned leading

a lady by the hand, whose age appeared to be about five or six and twenty, Her beauty was overpowering, and I easily recognised in her that countess whose distress and the scene in whose bedchamber Gobseck had described to me. As she entered the dark and damp room of the usurer, she threw a glance of alarm at the viscount; she was so lovely that, spite of her faults, I could not help sympathizing with her. It was evident that her internal suffering was great, and that a terrible anguish devoured her heart. Her noble and haughty features wore a convulsive expression.

I guessed that this young man had become her evil genius, and I admired the sagacity of Gobseck, who had foreseen this result three years ago. He, probably, I said to myself, governs her by all manner of ways-vanity, jealousy, the love of pleasure, the force of habit, and the irresistible influence of all around her. The virtues, even, of this woman are converted into arms against her; he makes tears of devotedness burst from her eyes he inflames in her soul that generosity so natural to her sex, he abuses her tenderness, and makes her pay dearly enough for every hour of transport. I will confess that if I did not weep for the fate of this unhappy creature, so brilliant in the eyes of the world, but so shocking to those who can scrutinize the heart, it was because I was horrified at the sight of her assassin; that young man whose brow was so noble, open, and pure, whose lips were so fresh, his smile so graceful, his teeth so dazzlingly white, his skin so soft, and whose outward show was that of an angel.

"Sir," inquired she of the usurer, with a faltering voice, "is there any means of obtaining the value of these diamonds? and she handed a jewel-case to him, “reserving, however, the right of re purchasing them?"

66

Certainly, madam," replied the usurer, "that is what we call a sale with equity of redemption."

The viscount knit his brows; for he considered that the usurer would only advance a lesser sum for the diamonds, clogged with this condition, than he would have done for their unreserved sale.

Gobseck was motionless. He had taken his eye-glass, and was minutely examining the contents of the case.

Were I to live a hundred years, I could never forget the wonderful picture presented by his face, His pale cheeks were

suffused, his eyes sparkled with a supernatural fire, he rose from his seat, went to the window, and held the gems to his toothless mouth, as if he intended to bite them. The flashings of that wonderful diadem seemed to be reproduced in his eyes, while he muttered incoherent and unintelligible words. He lifted in turn the bracelets, the drops, the necklaces, the tiaras, the ferronieres, and held them to the light to mark their cut, their water, and their sparkle. He took them from the case, put them back again, examined them anew, one by one, waved them before his eyes as if to enjoy their dagzling brilliancy, more like a child than an old man, or rather child and old man united in the same person.

>

"Fine diamonds! They would have been well worth three hundred thousand francs before the revolution! What water! Very fine diamonds! Are you aware of their value? No, no; there is no one in Paris but Gobseck who could appraise such a clustre. In Napoleon's court it would have required at least two hundred thousand francs to purchase such a collection." He gave way to a movement of disappointment, as he eja culated, as if to himself: "But now the diamond loses its value every day: since the peace, we are deluged with them from Brazil and Asia; and they don't wear them now at court." But, while uttering these depreciating comments, he examined, with a greedy and inexpressible satisfaction, each rich and flashing gem. "Without spot-ah! there's flaw; there's a speck: fine diamond, though

"Well!" said the viscount, slapping him on the shoulder. The old man started: he dropped his toys, which seemed to him almost like an infant's coral and bells, laid them on his table, seated himself, and became again the usurer. "How much do you want for

them ?"

"One hundred thousand francs for three years."

"Well, we'll see."

He then drew from a case a pair of steel scales, whose nicety was calculated to the weight of a grain of dust, or the influence of the breath, in which he weighed each gem, estimating by sight, (and heaven alone knows how!) their mounting. During this process there was a strange alternation of satisfaction and severity in his countenance; and his cadaverous visage, on which the splen dour of the jewels was reflected, had something awful in it.

The Countess did not move, but seemed to be overcome by a sudden stupor; it appeared to me that she was still aware of the horror of the precipice to whose brink she was dragged, there was remorse in the woman's sotil, and perhaps there was only an effort neces sary to save her; a hand charitably extended might rescue her from the abyss: I determined to try.

"Of course these diamonds are yours, madame! I inquired, in a clear and steady tone.

She trembled; but replied with a haughty air," they are, sir."

"Will you draw out the condition of redemption ?" said Gobseck, rising, and offering me his seat at the desk.

"Madame is doubtless a married lady?" I added. She nodded. JI shall not draw the deed," I ob served.

"And why not?" inquired Gobseck, hastily.

Because," I answered, drawing the usurer to the window, and speaking in a low tone, "this woman is under her husband's authority, and the sale would be null without his participation or eonsent. You could not plead your ignorance of the fact, as her description must be expressed in the instrument of sale or loan”›

Gobseck interrupted me by a gesture, and turning to the guilty couple, he said, "eighty thousand francs in ready money, and you will leave the diamonds with me?"

"But," interrupted the young man"Take my offer, or reject it," said Gobseck, handing the jewel-case to the Countess.

I leaned toward her, and whispered In her ear: "For heaven's sake, throw yourself at your husband's feet and tell him all!"

The usurer, doubtless, comprehended the purport of my observation, and he glanced at me with an expression almost diabolical.

The young man's face turned livid, for the Countess's hesitation was evident. He drew close to her, and although he spoke very low, I heard him say

Adieu, Emily! May you be happy! As for me, to-morrow I shall be be yond the reach of care or sorrow."

"Sir," said the young woman eagerly to Gobseck, "I accept your offer."

"Ha, ha!" said he, drawing a check for fifty thousand francs, which he handed to the Coontess: "and now," with a grin which made his resemblance to Voltaire

A brief sentence of dignified reproof, is often far more effectual than whole pages of precepts. The records of history furnish us with numerous examples in illustration of this axiom. I need not quote the instance of Canute's reproof to his courtiers, which must doubtless be familiar to every class of readers. The following anecdote is, probably, not so universally known.

A situation of some responsibility under the Persian government being vacant, the Shah desired his chief minis ter would recommend a competent per son to fill it. The minister mentioned the name of one whose abilities he thought suitable to the office; "The man you mention," answered the Emperor, "is a Jew, and, of course, by our laws, ineligible to the situation."" He was, please your majesty, but has lately embraced our faith, and may, therefore, be employed."" Speak of him no more," was the reply; he who has been false to his God, will never prove true to his sovereign."

MANORIAL ARCHIVES;

OR,

THE ROMANCE OF OLD MANSIONS: STORY THE SEVENTH."

THE WATER TOWER.

BY HORACE GUILFORD.
(For the Parterre).

Montecelso.-Miserable creature!
If thou persist in this, 't is damnable;
Dost thou imagine thou canst slide on blood,
And not be tainted with a shameful fall?
Or like the black and melancholick yew-tree,
Dost think to root thyself in dead men's graves,
And yet to prosper? Instruction to thee
Comes like sweet showers to overhardened
ground;

They wet, but pierce not deep. And so I leave thee.

With all the Furies hanging 'bout thy neck, Till, by thy peuitence, thou remove this evil, Webster's White Devil.

It was in a tour through the Peak, in the May of 1825, with my amiable and intellectual friend John Lewis Little, that I first saw the Speedwell Mine, which proved not along ago the sepulchre of a large fortune, embarked in exploring

its fancied treasures of lead ore; and which now remains an awful monument of man's daring speculations, and nature's dread and arbitrary interdict. Descending a long flight of steps, black and slippery with, shining moisture, a boat worthy of Charon himself, received us at their termination, and we found ourselves ferried along a shaft, or tunnel, of apparently interminable length, so narrow and so low, that it reminded one of Duke Pietro's cave in "The Malcontent:"

"Where all at once one reaches, where he stands,

With brows the roof,-both walls with both his hands:"

add to this, that the sullen blobbing of the subterranean flood against its rocky channel, and the dismal hue of its weltering waters, as our boat disturbed their melancholy sleep, were enhanced by the equivocal lustre of the boatman's lamp, which served only to make so much of darkness visible as shewed us the dreary length before and behind us in all the It was exaggeration of unknown limits. when we were far removed from the daylight and fresh air, on the one hand, and

apparently as far as ever from the end of our Stygian voyage on the other; and just as I was picturing to myself the feelings of some state criminal thus ushered at once to his punishment and tomb, that the dull distant crash of a cataract first moaned on my ear. When the miners were blasting their way through the rock, in order to form their shaft (for such this dreary canal originally was), they heard in the silence succeeding one of the explosions, the sudden roar of water! A limestone one inch thick, as it was subsequently discovered, was the sole obstacle between them and the torrent thus mysteriously rioting in the bowels of the earth. What a moment of horror! they were then seven hundred yards from the outlet! no wonder they quickly abandoned the barrier behind which they were awaiting the effects of the blast, and fled with all their speed to the mouth of the shaft, with the idea that the water was pursuing them. As we approached, the roar increased, until we entered, and landed on a circular area, soaring upward in a cleft like the interior of an enormous spire, but of such prodigious altitude, that rockets have been sent up four hundred and fifty feet, without rendering its extent visible. They call this "The Hall of Satan!" and we thought it deserved the title ;for on one side was an abyss into which an actual Phlegethon roaring, howling, and hissing, tumbled into a fathomless darkness-while, on the other, the fantastic broken sides, and nameless height of the subterranean spire, were illuminated by the phantom splendours of a Bengal light, which imparted a fearful characteristic to the mad cataract below.

On our return, as the boat moodily plashed through that water gallery, the roar of the cataract behind us was absolutely appalling! I could scarcely divest myself of the panic the original discoverers experienced; so exactly did it seem as though the sweltering monster was rushing after us, to choak and beat about our drowned bodies, in that narrow, dark, endless water-passage!

After supper time, while taking our ease in our inn at Castleton that evening, indulging indolent, luxurious talk, my friend Little imparted to me the following narration, arising from the turn our fireside conversation took respecting the day's adventure:

Just where the brown and transparent Derwent whirls itself round a smooth, green knoll of old turf, the ancient hall of Darkelms soars in venerable seclusion.

It has not the slightest architectura ornaments; no beauty of proportion, no elegance of form; but there is that about its cumbrous walls, grim with age, till every tint of years has mellowed into one dusky stain of greenish gray, its antique battlements resounding with jackdaws, its hoary chimneys monstrous and turret-like, its strange winking windows dotted up and down-its corniced and pillared portal, utterly disproportioned to the gaunt, ungainly height of the house-its soaring gables, deeply indented; in short, the massive character of its sheer bulk closely bordering on the majestic, that inspires the visitor of Darkelms with respect, if not admiration. And this effect was not a little enhanced by the solemn grove of elms, limes, and beech trees; between whose black trunks, and through whose mantling leaves its ivied walls disclose their gloomy countenance, as well as by the close greensward of the pleasant meadow in which it stands, and whose velvet verdure spreads unmolested to the very threshold of the porch. A clamorous sanhedrim of sable rooks debate and fight, build and breed still, as they have done for centuries past, in those dark and huge tree-tops; and though a wealthy yeoman now occupies the chambers of Darkelms, with his prolific dame, and hordes of hob-nailed rustics, in place of the stately family that once swayed there in patriarchal pomp of maintenance, still Gaffer Rook looking askance at the smoking chimneys and golden granaries, finds as yet no reason to forsake the leafy citadel where his noisy coburghers have so long set up the staff of their rest..

About a bowshot's distance from the house, and darkening majestically upon sunny slope that sweeps upwards from the Derwent, a vast and venerable wood marks, by its patriarchal oaks and elms, the ancestral dignity of the abode to which they have long been proud appendages, and over which they still wave their guardian arms, although its dead are in their tombs, and its living lord has abandoned its hearths for fairer halls.

There is not a more gorgeous spectacle, upon a brilliant autumnal day, than to gaze upon Darkelms wood at noon, when the sunlight floats softly over the manifold colourings of the mighty trees, displaying a sheet of animated tapestry, of which Gobelin's liveliest tints are but a shadow :

"The burnished livery of receding suns, Ere yet their fires grow pale!" Serene and solemn in their deadly mag