thought that possible. And your husband desarted you, too,—well, such things do happen." Jack now felt a severe pang. She could not but see that her ungainly we had almost said her unearthly appearance, prevented the captain from even yet suspecting the truth, and the meaning of his language was not easily to be mistaken. That any one should have married her, seemed to her husband as improbable, as it was probable he would run away from her, as soon as it was in his power after the ceremony. "Stephen Spike," resumed Jack, solemnly, "I am Mary Swash!I am your wife!" Spike started in his bed; then he buried his face in the coverlet, and he actually groaned. In bitterness of spirit the woman turned away and wept. Her feelings had been blunted by misfortunes, and the collisions of a selfish world, but enough of former self remained to make this the hardest of all the blows she had ever received. Her husband, dying as he was, as he must and did know himself to be, shrank from one of her appearance, unsexed as she had become by habits, and changed by years and suffering. THE POSTMAN. BY H. R. ADDISON. OH! speed thee on, oh! postman, speed, Then speed thee on, oh! postman, speed, Yon little note with mourning seal The uncle's death, its lines reveal The miser's gone, the spendthrift now Those ill-directed lines shall bear His mother's prop and pride, Yon sweetly-scented little note The rich man's prayer for bartered The broker's deep laid scheme, The falsehood of a wife, Thy little burden bears more woe, And minds, though far apart, Shall tell far more than language dare, Then speed, &c. THE OLD MAN AND HIS GUESTS. BY H. J. WHITLING. "While I touch the string, Wreathe my brows with laurel, Has, at least, a moral." THE following story is gathered from a gossiping tradition which, although probably hitherto unknown to the reader, is common enough in the locality named. Its leading incidents are, with some slight occasional variation, in the mouth of every peasant in the country round, where they are cherished and regarded with a very suspicious kind of veneration. IDLESSE; OR, THE NOON-DAY HALT. TOWARDS the close of the summer of 1606 a party of disbanded spearmen had just returned from assisting one of the pugnacious bishops of Cologne in an attack, common enough in those days, upon the territories of some of his neighbours. Contrary, however, to the custom of such men at such times, they were wandering along silently and discouraged, for they had gained but little wherewith to line their pockets by the unlucky war which had been waged against the Bavarian princes. That portion of the church-militant under whose banner they enlisted themselves, seems to have had the worst of it, and now, they knew not to-day, how they should supply the wants of the morrow. The times must, indeed, have appeared to them to be particularly hard, since the emperor had enjoined universal peace among the rulers throughout the holy Roman empire, in order the better to assist the necessary combination against the danger which still threatened its frontier on the side of Turkey. All hope, therefore, of occupation at home was for the present at an end; and, to fight against turban'd infidels, carrying horse-tails and crooked sabres, was the last thing likely to enter the heads of these worthies, not because they dreaded hard knocks, but because they cared not to war in an already devastated border, where, when the fight was done, there was but little to expect by way of comfort for dry throats and hungry stomachs. They were, indeed, a motley and ill-assorted group, numbering amongst them men of all heights and ages, ready to do battle and to sell their blood in the cause of any master, however desperate or lawless his object might be. Their halberds and steel caps were all rusting through the neglect consequent upon recent disuse; their swords no longer glistened with their wonted brightness; their buff coats shewed occasional spots of mouldy hue; their wide trunkhose had long ago lost their original colour; their shoes stained by the soil and service of many countries, promised soon to part company with the feet they so inadequately protected; and, altogether, they presented as interesting a specimen of reckless and marauding vagabondism as ever graced the times we speak of. As they wended their way along the hot and dusty road by Arnsberg, some sullen and gloomy, others muttering between their beards, or cursing their stars in no very measured numbers, they came to a wood, on the skirt of which meandered a little stream, tracing its crystal course between alders and overhanging bushes; here they agreed to halt awhile in the shadow, till the heat of the day had abated, and then to continue their journey. Little, however, did such turbulent spirits, accustomed to activity, though, it must be confessed, not always of the most praiseworthy kind, brook the delay in the long cool grass, still less could they think of slumbering. The place they had selected was, to be sure, pleasant enough; but, then, what could they do? they had nothing to wile away the time. If, indeed, a barrel of the bishop's wine had stood there, flanked by a roaring table, it would not only have been endurable, but they would have revelled and feasted away in noisy jubilee till the last morsel was eaten, and the barrel exhausted. As it was, there they lay rolling about in all the restless abandonment of discontented indolence. Some plied the dice upon a cloak which had been outspread for the purpose, while others fetched water from the brook in their iron caps, and, for the first time perhaps for many years, quenched their thirsts with a fluid for which throats so long accustomed to wine had but little relish. The former, however, soon became weary of play where there were no stakes; and the others of a beverage which yielded neither gratification nor excitement, and the old sense of tediousness again returned upon them. At this moment one of them whose ill-favoured visage was so mangled and scarred that it would have been difficult to discover in it a sound place as broad as the dice he had been throwing, then addressed his comrades: "Arnoldi may as well take this opportunity of fulfilling his promise, by telling us how it is he contrives to find his way out of every scrimmage safe and sound; for, though he is always the first to enter where blows fall thickest, yet not a scratch can he shew throughout his whole carcass; and at every onset, the devil, who, I can't help thinking must be some relation of his, seems to wrap him away in fire." "True, by said another, of younger blood, beneath whose middle feature the fledging down was just appearing like a soft lock of wool, "all true; I saw Arnoldi at Dettelbach, standing unhurt amongst the lances and swords, which flashed and glittered around him like lightning; the thunder-boxes peppering away all the while as if it snowed lead; and when the pastime (for it was nothing else to him) was over, there he stood leaning on his halbert, coolly shaking out the bullets, which rattled like peas from his breeches and doublet. But not one dot of a wound had he on his impenetrable hide; while I, stuck as full of darts as a hunted boar, was hacked and hewed like mincemeat for the great Nuremberg sausage."* "Ay, ay! we know it," cried the others; "you are right; so tell A gastronomical work of art, for which the German Florence is still, though no more in so great a degree, famous ! This huge sausage, measuring upwards of 300 feet in length, and gaily bedecked with ribbons and flowers, was, in the previous year, borne through the streets of Nuremberg on the butchers' feast-day, to the great terror of the porcine race, who are represented with agonised features scampering off in all directions, with tails curled most distractingly, and their whole mass of blood evidently turned at the sight of this fearful procession! us, Arnoldi, how you manage it. You cannot deny that your skin is bullet-proof, for we have all seen it too often. You must tell us, Arnoldi; you must-you must, even though the devil himself fetch you for disclosing his secrets; so let us hear your tongue once more.” "You are much more likely to feel the weight of my arm," said the other, with a menacing gesture, "if you do not wag your beards less freely." But it was of no avail, his comrades allowed him no repose; there were those about him who, equally desperate, did not fear him; and at length, after many a hard word and hearty curse, he prepared, if not to satisfy, at least to divert them. It must be remarked, however, that he did so with no good will; gladly would he have resorted to blows to pacify their bantering, could he have hoped the subject would then have been suffered to sleep; but in an evil and unguarded hour, he had, over the wine cup, divulged a few particulars of his earlier life, which, though confused and broken enough under the circumstances of their disclosure, were of sufficient interest to awaken their curiosity, and excite a desire to hear more. From that unlucky moment his companions had given him no rest, but rallied him incessantly till he could no longer endure their tormenting recollections; and now, amidst loud cries of "The story! the story! we must have the story, though Sathanas himself help to tell it," Arnoldi thus began : "I heed not your miserable lies," said he, grinding his teeth, "any more than I should the drunken babblings of so many old women; and, as to the spells you speak of, I know but of one, and let that suffice, as it has served many a stout man in his hour of need, and may, perchance, help some of you to cheat the devil a little longer of his due, if you will only make the trial." The eyes of the surrounding group glistened with expectation, and their faces gathered increased earnestness while they listened to the deep and measured accents of the speaker. "In the holy night, In the pale moonlight, And while the mystic words she breathes, No mortal can the wearer harm." "But, what is to be spun?" said his companions. "A linen garment, which must be spun by a pure virgin on the holy night, and worn upon the naked body," replied Arnoldi. "And you mean to tell us that neither cut, thrust, bullet, nor blow, can injure the wearer ?" I do; and am ready to uphold that truth with dagger and sword; and, further, that he who wears such a one is not only safe from all murderous weapons; but that he need not even fear the devil himself, should he approach in mortal shape." "And you wear such a one?" inquired they. "Is it likely?" said Arnoldi, grimly smiling, "when, as you all know, I am not lucky enough to possess a shirt even of that sort with which every Christian should cover his back; and then, as to the other, pure virgins are not very likely to be so much in love with me as to work the devil's charm in order to prolong my life." "And yet, methinks, if you had not tried it," rejoined one of his hearers, "you would scarcely be so ready to pledge life and limb in upholding its efficacy." "Excuses-empty excuses!" cried as with one voice the impatient listeners. "Peace!" growled Arnoldi, in a rasping voice,-" peace, I say, and shame me no more that I have been such a babbling fool thus far to utter dead men's tales. But let the rest for ever remain behind the hedge: 'twere dangerous for us all, so let it pass, therefore, -as pass it assuredly will-unconcluded." But the yells of his now more than ever excited and boisterous associates would not permit it. "You skulk behind the hedge no longer!" cried they. "If the devil were at your elbow when you made the promise, let him answer as to its fulfilment now!" and, finding it in vain to attempt quieting them in any other way, he thus once more began, after again cautioning them of the danger they incurred in listening to a charmed tale. THE SPELL. "My birthplace was in Brunswick; my parents were Italians; and my home is at Eimbeck, where my brother still lives. He worked with my father at husbandry; but, for myself, shovel and plough were alike hateful to me. I detested the constant disturbance of the soil as the worst species of drudgery, and determined to buffet about |