on in my haste two wrong cloaks in succession; at last found the right one, with a hat which sunk over my temples-I threw it in a corner-put on the first that seemed to fit, and rushed down the stairs out of the house into the piercing cold, which, however, was balm to my burning brow. I was free, I could breathe again; and I hurried down the gloomy town towards the Castle street.

When I at last reached it, I could not immediately find the right house; they were all alike, with their gray fronts and dark windows; but fortunately I knew the number, and at last found the No. 15, by the pale light of a lamp that burned opposite.

"To-morrow I'll start with the first train," I muttered, as I pulled the heavy key from my pocket, and tried to put it in the keyhole. "I am cured. Meier is right; I was betrayed shamefully, abominably. Ah, well! This confounded door won't open; what a treat to have to stand an hour in the cold street!" I tried again, it would not turn; I blew into the key, but all in vain.

"Meier!" I shouted, with the faint hope that he might have left the ball-room before me; but, of course, received no answer, and tried the key again. It was of no use; in vain I turned the handle a dozen timesin vain did a watchman and a pair of passing chairmen take a most lively interest in me; I got the key into the hole, but there it was fixed, and I could not even draw it out again. I cannot say how long I stood freezing and cursing before the unlucky door; at last a passer-by-for even the watchman had given. it up at last as a hopeless job-advised me to ring the porter up.

Ring! yes, it was all very good talking, but was not the wire broken? Still I followed his advice, though really only through despair and fury, and pulled as if I wished to pull the bell out by the roots. It was comforting to have something on which to vent my passion. But the experiment was not so fruitless as I had anticipated. A bell was set in motion within the house, which not only made the most fearful noise on its own account, but seemed as if it never intended to stop. Before long-and the giant bell was still sounding-a pair of slippers came stamping across the stone hall at immense speed; the person in them coughed very earnestly, and a cheering ray of light found its way through the keyhole. A key was turned within; but to my surprise a bolt was also pulled back, and the heavy door creaked on its hinges.

The old man, who was wrapped up in a furred dressing gown to the ears, cried at the same time,

Who's ringing so furiously?" "Good-evening, old boy!" I interrupted him, as I thrust a piece of money into his dressing-gown-for the sleeves came down far over his hands-walked into the house, and was going up-stairs without further delay; for I was frozen to the backbone through my former heat and long standing before the door. The man, however, first held his lantern under my nose, and said, with a glance somewhat calmed by the tip,Do you live here, then ?" "Yes; with the young gentleman upstairs."

"Since when, then?"

"Since nine o'clock this evening. We went to the ball together."

"Ah, so!" the old man nodded; and fancying that he had then performed his janitorial duties, he turned away with a "goodnight." My eye had fallen on the streetdoor, and I saw him fastening the bolt again.

"Do you do the house up in that way?" I asked him in great surprise. "I did not know that; no wonder my key did not help me."

Yes," the old man said, and began coughing again. "Since they-oho-olo-ohomurdered the old lady-oho-oho-in this street-oho-my master has been frightened -oho-oho!"

"But how will the young gentleman get

in ?"

"He'll ring too," the old man said laconically, and retired into his own apartments.

"That, then, is the end of my sweet dream," I sighed, as I walked up the broad stone staircase in the dark, and held on by the balcony. What did I care at this moment for the bolt ?-other, much more terrible, thoughts were crossing my mind.

"Such is the result of my journey; that is the keystone of my future happiness, on which I had built my castles! Away, away, even with the reminiscence of my misfortune! I will sleep-would it were till the day of judg ment. Ah! death would be a blessing!"

But, though it was so dark up-stairs that I could not see a single step, I knew my road, and felt along the left-hand wall as soon as I reached the first landing. My hand struck something, and at the same moment, while almost smashing my knee against a sharp edge, an earthen vessel fell with a fearful sound to the ground, and the splash revealed to me that I had upset some large water-jug. That was the climax; I was really wading. But how did the jug get there, and whence had it fallen? In truth there was a table there; it must have been placed there since

we went out, and my left knee suffered the consequences. But there was no time for reflection; I could not repair it in the dark, and determined on warning Meier from the window when I heard him come home, that he should not slip upon the water, which would by that time be frozen. I then moved along the left-hand wall-well, the door ought to be here? I could feel nothing but the naked, cold wall. I might certainly have passed it at starting, and sought my way back to the stairs; but there was no door, and yet I was so certain that it was on that side. Again I commenced my wanderings, and my teeth chattered with cold, and with no better success than at first, except that I came to a window which looked out into some dark court. Where was I now ?--what should I do? I could not pass the whole night on the stairs-I should be frozen to death in my thin ball-costume. And should I make a disturbance in a strange house, with what face could I appear in the morning? but, hang it, needs must when a certain person drives, and I could not perish with cold. There must be a door somewhere, and if I did not find the right one, I should at least find some one to show me where my room

was.

I quickly set to work, and at last found a handle, which I tried to turn; but it withstood all my efforts, and I received no reply to my repeated knocking. I went further on, stumbled over a chair, came to a small table, above which I felt a mirror, and at length reached a second door. Although this refused an entrance, still I fancied I heard a noise much resembling snoring. I knocked lustily, and listened. Something moved-a bedstead creaked-then all was still again. I repeated my knocking, and a voice replied, apparently in the greatest surprise,—

"Who the deuce is knocking out there? Is that you, John?"

"It's I, Mr. Meier," I replied, in a gentle but still distinct voice, for I naturally supposed this was my friend's father. "It's Adolph Miller, your son's friend; I can't find my room, or rather his."

"Con-found it, sir, don't disturb people in their sleep!" the fancied father, however, replied in a by no means kindly tone. "I have no son; go to the devil, and leave me in peace.

"But, my dear sir," I entreated him, "it is terribly cold out here, and I may catch my death; if I only had a light so that I could find my room! Which are Mr. Meier's apartments ?"

"I don't know any Meier, sir," the voice replied, with fearful certainty ; "there's not a Meier in the whole house. Good-night."

me.

And I heard the monster turn on his other side; but his words were a thunder-stroke to No Meier in the whole house! That could not be so. Had I not seen the number with my own eyes? But the interior of the house was in truth strange to me-could he be in the right ?-but no! my Meier certainly lived there. The cabman had driven. me straight to the right door,-a proof that I had known the number then. I must consequently make a second attempt to find my bed.

I walked slowly along the wall, and at length reached a second door, which certainly led to a sitting or sleeping-room. I had scarce touched the handle, when such a piercing, terrific shriek was raised, that I started back in terror.

"Mr. Meier!" I, however, quickly returned to the charge, and knocked sharply at the door. "My dear Mr. Meier!"

Murder-thieves-villains-fire-fire!" the voice said in reply, and a bell was pulled with desperate energy.

"But my dear Mr. Meier," I implored, and thus tried to appease the storm.

"Help-help-fire-thieves!" the echo sounded, and doors rattled in all parts of the house, and timid voices were heard. Once again the slippers pattered across the court, and for the moment I did not know what better to do than to yield myself unconditionally to them. I felt my way, as quickly as I could, back to the stairs and down the banisters, and recognized with pleasure the porter's lantern once again. But he scarcely perceived me hurrying to. wards him, probably with evil designs, as he was led to believe from the cries for help, when he rushed back, and bolted his door.

It was some time ere I was able to prove to them my utter harmlessness, especially as the voice heard above thundered down uninterrupted threats of gallows, wheel, house of correction, and galleys, and thus naturally maintained the belief among the gallant defenders that something fearful had occurred. At last my ball-costume, which I displayed to them, perhaps calmed them; it was not, at least, very probable that any reasonable being would try to break into a house, with the thermometer at such a state, in black coat, white kid gloves, and shoes and stockings. I found myself, a few seconds later, and glad in the bargain at not being given in charge to the patrol as a disturber of the

peace, before the very door where I would have given Heaven knows what, so shortly before, in order to get in.

I certainly tried immediately, and while the bolt was again being fastened, to convince myself of the identity of the number; but the last lantern had gone out in the mean while, the street was deserted, and the snow fell in great icy flakes. I trembled with cold in every limb, and apprehended, not without reason, a dangerous illness, if I remained a moment longer, thinly dressed as I was, in the open street. Under these circumstances, nothing was left me but to give up all attempts to find the right house in such darkness and cold, and I hurried down the street to take advantage of the first hotel or inn which might offer itself.

Fortunately, I did not require to search long; a few hundred paces lower down I recognized the gigantic gold letters of a sign. The house-bell was at the right place, and I found--in truth, scarcely able to stand on my feet--an ice cold room, but a warm bed, in which I could recover from the misery and sufferings of this night. Exhausted to death, I naturally fell asleep directly, and only awoke when the bright daylight shone into my room, and the waiter came in with the coffee I had ordered for eight o'clock. The recollection of the past night lay upon my nerves like gloomy nightmare, but the

coffee exerted its beneficial effects upon me; I shook off all my unhappy thoughts, and with the firm determination to leave Emilie for ever (I have not, up to the present moment, quite made up my mind whether the false locks, or the opinion about my poetry, decided me on this), I put on my cloak, donned my hat, which the events of the night had bestowed upon me, and, after paying my little account, opened my door, which led out into a narrow passage.

I took my hat off, and saw, for the first time, that there was a little silver cockade on the side of it. I had, in my hurry on the previous evening, seized some servant's.

Soon after I recognized the door at which I had stood the previous night, the bell-handle I had not yet forgotten-the thick round. knob I had pulled so furiously--and, plague take it, a 13 grinned horribly at me, which I had certainly taken in the darkness for 15. The measure of my anger was filled up.

The same evening I wrote to Emilie a few lines, in which I confessed my unworthiness, and begged for her friendship. Meier I also acquainted with all the details, and three days later received my carpet-bag, as well as all the letters I had written her. Only one thing was missing-my poems. I had insulted a woman, and she revenged herself. A fortnight later they appeared in the Frankfurt Didaskalia, with my own name.

DURING the period that Washington resided in Philadelphia, the incident occurred which furnished the artist with the subject of the picture, and illustrates the considerate and benevolent character of that great man. The President was one day accosted in the street by a small boy of interesting appearance, soliciting alms for a sick mother. Washington made a few inquiries, and then offered to call and see her. This he accordingly did straightway. It needed but a brief conversation to find that the poor woman had been unused to so lowly a condition-that, in the common phrase, she had seen better days, and that she suffered more from the depressing influence of poverty, than from any physical ailment.

Washington sat down by an old table that formed part of the very scanty furniture

of the apartment, and after being a few moments engaged in writing, requested that her son, on his return, should take the paper to the place indicated upon it; and, after a few words of consolation and encouragement, took his departure. In a little while, the lad came home with the scanty pittance he had collected, and delightedly told his mother that a kind gentleman he had spoken with in the street, and who was doubtless a physician, had promised to call and see what he could do for her. "He has already been here," replied the gratified mother; "and there on the table is the prescription he has left; you will see where to take it when you read." The boy hastened to examine it, and to the joy and astonishment of both, found a check for quite a liberal amount, signed with the name of-George Washington.

A WELL-KNOWN and attractive work has been reproduced in very handsome style, by the Messrs. APPLETON, of this city-the celebrated Memoirs of the Duchess D'Abrantes. It was one of the earliest of those disclosures of the private life and personal habits and traits of Napoleon, that have since been so plentifully supplied. Written with wonderful vivacity and tact, and taking a candid though favorable view of the Emperor's character, and abounding in those personal sketches and anecdotes which are entertaining when told of any body, but become fascinating when relating to such a character, it forms one of the best portraitures and most readable books to be found. The lively author brings within the scope of her observation and criticism a great variety of the lesser lights that revolved around the imperial sun; so that a very fair reflex of the court and society of that most pregnant and interesting era can be obtained from these pages. The authenticity of her disclosures has never been questioned, as certainly the skill with which they are made will not be. The style in which the work has been got up is highly creditable to the publishers.

The same house has favored the reading public with rather more and better books for the pleasant uses of the holidays, than ordinary. Some of their issues are magnificent, equalling the costly preparations of the transatlantic houses who cater for aristocratic buyers. The Republican Court, edited by Dr. GRISWOLD, is a very sumptuous affair, yet its elegance of adornment and illustration is the least of its claims. It is a gallery of the portraits of a number of the ladies who adorned the social circles of the revolutionary era-Mrs. Washington, Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Jay, Mrs. Madison, and others, who were distinguished for their beauty and talent in their day, and whose memory is still cherished. These portraits are engraved in the highest style of art, and certainly form a beautiful gallery. The accompanying letter-press is composed of very spirited sketches of the principal social events of the era, in which all that remains of biographical details respecting these ladies and others, is inwrought. It is an interesting contribution to this important period of our national history, and a beautiful work of art, worthy of cherish

ing for either or both respects.

Ornaments of Memory is another fine work for holiday purposes, published by the APPLETONS; and to these may be added their editions of juvenile gift-books, prepared by the renowned PETER PARLEY, and embellished with elegant French engravings.

The busy and useful press of the Messrs. CARTER has recently furnished some valuable works. The Autobiography of William Jay, of Bath, is a very pleasant work, revealing with great simplicity and grace the life and character of a good man. There is a kind of Vicar of Wakefield frankness in the disclosures, which carry the reader's sympathy at

once.

His life, as one of the most popular of the evangelical ministers of his day in England, and as a man of culture, genius, and most gentle personal traits, has many points of decided interest. He was brought into close relations to many of the most eminent personages, upon whom and whose doings he ingenuously comments, often with shrewdness, and always with interest. Appended to his autobiography is a series of sketches of several of his clerical contemporaries, which, though meager, are, nevertheless, valuable as the reliable testimony of an eye-witness. Some literary remains are also added, all of which discover the grace and finish of style, and the sobriety of thought which have been understood to distinguish his pulpit prelections. A very engaging and profitable book.

Remains of the late Rev. W. H. Hewitson, in two volumes, is a collection of the literary productions of a young clergyman of the Church of England, who died early, but not until he had left a permanent record of exalted worth and admirable genius. These Remains are epistolary and general. Hie letters strike us as very fine specimens of a style of literature in which few excel. They are flowing, yet elegant and expressive, and breathe a very devout and pure spirit. R. CARTER & BRO.

A fine edition of the Complete Works of the Rev. Edward Bickersteth, has been also published, comprising all that this energetic and excellent writer had ever issued. It forms a body of religious reading of rare value, combining at once sound religious views, clear thought, and a most excellent purpose. R. CARTER & BRO.

A neat edition of a unique and valuable work by the late Rev. Dr. DUNCAN, a Scottish clergyman, entitled the Social Philosophy of the Seasons, has been issued by the CARTERS. It is a description of the various phenomena of the seasons, replete with learning and accurate knowledge, and followed to their moral and religious suggestions. The abundant facts and truths of the work, the excellent feeling it displays, and the elegant style in which it is composed, make it a work of great scientific and moral value.

A Prize Essay on the Modern and Current Phases /

of Infidelity, from the pen of the Rev. THOMAS PEARSON, has been republished by the Messrs. CARIt is an elaborate treatise, dealing with those aspects of the controversy which have the most interest at the present day.

TER.

A Life of Horace Greeley has been prepared by which, like all gossip, has its interest. Whatever some admiring Boswell of the celebrated editor, may be thought of Mr. Greeley's principles, the sturdy independence of his character, and the successful industry of his life, are points that will attract and deserve admiration. The incidents of this sketch are quite varied and striking, and the personal anecdotes with which it is adorned will detain the reader to its pages till the close. MASON BROTHERS,