orphan protegé of Lord Arden into the acknowledged son and heir of a noble father, has to be explained. Amiens de Meez, Count de Louvaine, married young, but having unfortunately been drawn into the society of some noble gamesters, lost, by their wicked arts, his property so completely, that equally unable to maintain his beautiful Florette and infant son, or to see them perish by famine under his own eyes, he resigned them to his bosom friend the Lord Fitzwalter, an excellent English nobleman, begging that the little Guarine might be called Walter, after him, and never know the name of his father; a strict command also did he give to his lady, never, as she valued his entering the world with an unblemished reputation, to suffer his name, (and title, should he die first) to be renewed in the person of his child : to this command the fair Florette acceded with tears, and took leave of a husband whom she loved, and whom she was never to behold again! Soon after her arrival in England, the unfortunate Countess was siezed with a malady, which terminating her life, left her poor child virtually an orphan; and Lord Fitzwalter, believing it for the present to be best, determined faithfully to adhere to the directions of the unhappy Count, until Guarine should arrive at the age of twentyone, when he meant to institute such inquiries, as should cause his birth to be known, and (were his father dead) bestow on him a title, and some, probably, recovered property. But death siezed the good Fitzwalter ere he could carry into effect his benevolent resolutions, and Walter was consigned to his brother Lord Arden; a man who was well acquainted with the circumstances of his history, who was adorned with every virtue, and who resolved faithfully to be to his unconscious charge, all that Fitzwalter was, and would have been. In the family of this brave and virtuous nobleman, young Walter grew and flourished, admired by all for his extreme beauty, and loved for his virtues; considered as a son by the Baron, and treated by the real sons as a brother. However, the day was not yet arrived, though near, when the secret of Walter's birth was to be revealed. Lord Arden could not but secretly lament upon the approach of the Tournament of the Peak, that he could not as a knight (knighthood always implying genteel birth) display his martial attainments, and gain the hand of Mellette Whittington; but fortune, or rather that kind Providence, who has care for the welfare of the virtuous, was, in this instance, more favorable than the good Arden could have anticipated. The Tournament was fixed to be held on the Wednesday, and at ten o'clock on the Monday night preceding it, when all the inmates of Haddon Hall were retired to rest, a stranger arrived, who claimed the rights of hospitality from Lord Arden, stating that his visit, the purport of which should be explained in the morning, was to him; and pledged his word as a nobleman and gentleman, that no harm was meditated by him to one whom he should be proud to call friend. This statement, which was delivered in very pure and elegant French to the Baron himself, availed; and an apartment, with supper and wine, was immediately prepared for the Count de Louvaine, whom the stranger stated himself to be. Lord Arden surmised his errand, but would not as he was much wearied, and the hour was (for those days) late, press him to divulge his business then, and very early next morning Walter was off to Peak Castle, ere he had seen the stranger, from whence, as will be recollected, he was summoned by his patron. Letters, and other documents, being produced on either side; it appeared incontestably, that the Count de Louvaine was the person whom he represented himself to be; and having, by strict economy and undeviating attention to mercantile business, gained a considerable fortune, and retrieved his mortgaged estates, was now come to claim a son, who need no longer be ashamed of his father. Their meeting it is needless to describe; and the confusion of getting him, who was a knight by birth, equipped for the next day's Tournay, must be imagined; it is needless also to relate all the gratulations, all the feastings, and all the rejoicings which occurred upon the union of Guarine de Meez, and the martial but lovely Mellette of Whittington: suffice, it was said, that then the Peak ran wine; that the Devil's Cavern, now so celebrated, being lighted with above three hundred torches, formed as far as one could stand upright in it, a spacious banquetting hall for the neighbouring population; that honest Alfred not only saw, and did, all that he liked on the wedding day, having bribed one of the Odin miners to officiate for him at the gate of Peak Castle on that occasion, but, that having dined, and danced, and drank to his heart's content, with the merry throng in the cavern, he was ever after heard to declare, that, "the day when the Frenchman married Mistress Mell, was the blessedest day of his life!" or land-poort, which was situated in the Broadway, near where Trinity church now stands. Beyond this, between Liberty and Courtlandtstreet, stood the company's windmill, where nearly all the flour was made for the consumption of the little metropolis. The place where he took his rounds was a sand bank elevated above the surrounding objects, whence he could see the river, the opposite shore of New Jersey, then called Pavonia, the capacious bay, and the distant hills of Staten Island. The night was calm, and the cloudless sky showed thousands of wandering glories overhead, whose bright twinklings dawned in the slow undulating surface of the glassy mirror. All round there was perfect silence and repose; nothing moved upon the land, or the waters; neither lights were burning, nor dogs barking; these sagacious animals having been taught, by a most infallible way of appealing to their instincts, that it was unlawful to disturb the somniferous indulgences of their masters. It was a scene for poetic inspiration; but Jan Sol was no poet, although he often availed himself of the poetic licence in his stories. He was thinking of something else, besides the beauty of the night and the scene. The truth is, his nerves were very much out of order at that moment. "It was about the time that witches made their first appearance in the new world, whither they came, I suppose, to escape the pleasant alternative of being either drowned or hanged, proffered to them in those days by the good people of England. But they got out of the frying pan into the fire, as history records, particularly to the eastward of the Manhadoes, where some of them underwent the ordeal of Shadrack, Meshac, and Abednego. Others fled to New Amsterdam, greatly to the discomfiture of the good citizens, who took such um as brage at broomsticks, that the industrious and cleanly housewife's vo. cation of sweeping the parlour twelve times a day, was considered nought. It is affirmed that, instead of a broom, they used the broad brimmed Sunday hats of their husbands in blowing away the dust, for fear of being taken for witches. There was a universal panic, and a universal dust, throughout all the city. "But this was not the most of it, either. Just about this time, Dominie Egidius Luyck prophecied the world was coming to an end, as plainly appeared from the great quantity of toad-stools, which made their appearance in the Ladies' Valley and Windmill Meadow after a heavy rain. This prophecy was followed up by the appearance of the northern lights, falling stars, and mysterious rattlings of invisible carriages through the streets at midnight. To crown all, an inspired fanatic had passed through the Broadway, crying out Woe, woe, to the crown of pride, and the drunkards of Ephraim! Two woes past, and the third coming, except ye repentrepent-repent!' All these horrors now encompassed the imaginations of Jan Sol, as he paced the little sand hillock with slow steps, and, from time to time, started at his shadow. The half hour seemed an age, and never did anybody long so much for the appearance of a corporal's guard to relieve him. " He had not been on the watch more than ten minutes or so, when, happening to look towards the opposite shore of Pavonia, he saw something moving on the waters, like a canoe shooting across the river. Five hundred Indians, with tomahawks and scalping knives, all at once stood before the little sentinel, whose imagination was ready cocked and primed for the reception of all sorts of horrors. He had a great mind to fire his gun, and alarm the garrison; but a little of the fear of his companions' jokes restrained him for that time. However, he drew a pistol, and refreshed his courage with a little of the genuine Schiedam, after which he ventured to look that way again. But the canoe had disappeared in a most miraculous manner, and Jan was satisfied in his mind, that it was neither more nor less than the ghost of a canoe. There was not much consolation in this; but it was better than the five hundred Indians, with their tomahawks and scalping knives. "The night breeze now sprung up with its chilling dews, and cooled Jan's courage, till it nearly fell down to the freezing point. The wind, or some other cause, produced a sort of creaking and moaning in the old crazy windmill, which drew the eyes of the little sentinel in that direction. At that moment, Jan saw a head slowly rising and peeping over the wall directly in a line with the windmill. His eyes became rivetted to the spot, with the irresistible fascination of overwhelming terror. Gradually the head was followed by shoulders, body, and legs, which Jan swore belonged to a giant, at least sixteen ells high. After sitting a moment upon the wall, the figure, according to Jan's relation before the governor next morning, put forth a pair of enormous wings, and, whirling itself round and round in a circle, while its eyes flashed fire, and its teeth appeared like live coals, actually flew down from the wall towards the governor's garden, or rather sunk into the ground close by the garden gate. Jan fired his gun, and one might have supposed he killed himself, for he fell flat on his face, apparently as dead as a door nail. "Here he was found by the relief guard, about five minutes afterterwards, with his face buried in the sand hill. The moment they touched him, he began to roar out with awful vociferation, woe, woe to the crown of pride, and the drunk 6 ards of Ephraim.' They could make nothing of Jan or his story, and forthwith carried him to the big house,' as it was called, where the governor resided, and who, together with the whole corporation and city, had been waked by the discharge of the gun. Such a thing had not happened within the memory of man. Jan told his story, and swore to it afterwards; but all he got by it, was a ride on the wooden horse the next morning. The story, however, took wind, and there was more liquor sold that day at the Stadt Herberg, or city tavern, than for a whole week before. Coming upon the back of the Dominie's toadstools, the northern lights, the rumbling of the invisible wheels, and the mysterious denunciation of the drunkards of Ephraim, it made a great impression; and many, not to say all, believed there must be something in it. Several people went to church the next day, who had not been there since they were christened. "Measures were taken the following night, and for several nights afterwards, to detect this gigantic spectre, but in vain. Nothing appeared to disturb the quiet repose of the guard and the city, till the next Saturday night, when it came to Jan Sol's turn to take his watch upon the sand hill, about the same hour as before. They say that Jan fortified himself with a double allowance of Schiedam, and put a little Dutch bible in the pocket of one of his breeches. But all would not do, for many people were ready to swear afterwards, that his hair stood on end so sturdily that he could hardly keep his tin cap upon it. Ghosts, hobgoblins, and that sort of thing, have not only a propensity to visit some one particular person, but are likewise extremely regular in their habits, as well as in their hours of appearing. Exactly at the same hour, the little canoe shot from Pavonia, the night breeze sprung up as before, the old windmill began to creak and to moan, the gigantic spectre peered over the wall at the same spot as before, and cautiously glaring round with his fiery eyes, unfurled his mighty wings, and, after turning a few somersets, flew towards the gate of the governor's garden, where he disappeared as before. This time Jan was too far gone to fire his matchlock, but a few minutes after he was found almost insensible with fright, by the relief guard, who carried him before the governor next morning, where he swore to the same story, and was complimented with another ride on the wooden horse. "But the repetition of a miracle is sure to make it less miraculous; and a wonder twice told is almost half proved. People began to believe, and from believing, to be sure there was something out of the way, at least in this affair. Miracles, like misfortunes, never come single; and almost every one had a wonder of his own to reinforce that of the little Dutch sentinel. At least fifty of them happened within less than a week, each more alarming than the other. Doors opened at midnight by invisible handsstrange black cats with green eyes, and sparks of fire flying out of their backs, appeared at different timesthe old mahogany chests of drawers made divers strange noises, and sometimes went off with a report almost as loud as a pistol-and an old woman coming into market with cabbages before daylight in the morning, met a black figure, she could almost swear had a tail and a cloven foot. A horseman was heard in the middle of the night galloping furiously to the land-poort, crying 'whoa! whoa!' with a hollow voice; and what was very singular, though several persons got up to look out of the windows, not one could see the least sign of the horse SOUTH WALL LIGHT HOUSE, DUBLIN HARBOUR. THE Bay of Dublin is justly celebrated for its picturesque beauties, and in several particulars bears a striking resemblance to the farfamed Bay of Naples. But although very capacious, it is subject to some defects highly injurious to security of navigation. Considerable portions of the bay to the north and west are occupied by two dangerous sandbanks, termed the North and South Bulls, between which lies the harbour. This harbour is properly a continuation of the channel of the river Liffey, and is capable of receiving vessels of three hundred tons burthen, but is narrow and difficult of entrance, in consequence of a bar, on which the lowest water is not more than five feet in depth. Near the northern extreme line of the sand-bank termed the South Bull, has been constructed a very noble pier, which is, unquestiona bly, the largest work of its kind in Europe, and which, to adopt the words of Mr. Brewer, " reminds the spectator of the magnitude and grandeur of Roman undertakings, when Rome was imperial mistress of the world." The pier, or South Wall of Dublin Harbour, commences at the village of Ringsend, in the suburbs of Dublin. At the distance of 7,938 feet from its commencement, in the vicinity of Dublin, are the buildings now collectively known by the name of the Pigeon House. The pier extends 9,816 feet in a south-east direction beyond these buildings, to the spot on which the light-house is constructed, and, in conjunction with the quay-walls of Dublin, forms one great line of barrier against the waters, nearly six English miles in length. Throughout the first part of its progress it consists of double stone walls, filled between with gravel, and admitting an |