"I think not," said Lady Seagrove, "as your conjectures were involuntary. Now tell me what in the name of wonder could lead you to suspect that Captain Wentworth was an earl's son in disguise ?"

"Hal is this the secret!" exclaimed Miss Trimmer, mentally. "Upon my word this is something worth knowing!"

"Really I cannot tell," she replied, after a short pause. "I thuppothe, ath I thaid before, that thome people are endowed with greater powerth of penetrathon than otherth.”

By this, and similar artful management, Miss Trimmer by degrees informed herself of the substance of Wentworth's history as related by Florence to Lady Seagrove, while that weak-minded lady was made to believe that it was all discovered by the wonderful sagacity of her favourite.

THE MOLDAVIAN REAPER'S SONG.

BY G. W. THORNBURY.

WE labour on, from morn till eve,
From eve till pleasant morn,
Breasting our way like swimmers
Through heaving waves of corn.
Hewing our path like woodmen
Through forests old and hoar,
Until with pale, cold moonlight,
The fields are frosted o'er.
We toil from morn to pleasant eve,
Then hie us home to sleep;
But still in the dream, unbroken,
We seem again to reap.

O, gentle hours of summer nights,
When on the calm cool eves,

The reap-hook drops from our weary hand,

As we sleep beside the sheaves.

'Tis pleasant when the burning sun
Dies grandly in the west;

For then the o'erworn reaper

With the wild bird goes to rest.

And when, in the soft grey twilight,

The weary task is done,

We know that rest and guerdon

Were never better won.

And ere the moon-the golden moon

Is up in yonder sky,

Beside their unsheathed sabres

The weary reapers lie.

And early on the morrow,
Full an hour before the sun,
The brawny reaper's bending
At his labour well begun.

And when we hear the vesper
From the city turret borne,
We fall upon our knees and pray
Amid the yellow corn.

A DREADFUL CASE OF MURDER!

THE traveller who, in the good old coaching days, may have journeyed from London to York, will most probably recollect near the village of Peppercorn a pretty little villa which the coachman would point out to him by the name of Ladybird Lodge. It was a sweetly secluded spot, surrounded by beautiful trees; with a puddle-hole dignified by the name of a fish-pond, and a yew clipped into the shape of a peacock, which was perpetually casting his tail, or his legs, or half his body, or doing something equally unnatural; then the garden was so tastefully laid out with eccentric paths that led to nowhere, and oval beds, and half moons, and full moons, and all sorts of stars; and there was an arbour, the grand resort of all the spiders in the county, in which—but why should I dwell upon things that are now no more?—I am writing now of years gone by. Alas! the railway came and went straight through the dining-room and the dairy, and over the peacock and the puddle-hole, and left a wreck behind.

However, in those happy times Ladybird Lodge was tenanted by Mr. Jeremiah Pinchbeck, his wife, two children, and a variety of servants. Mr. Pinchbeck liked the place, and he liked the arbour to smoke a quiet pipe in; and his wife liked the peacock, and was continually tumbling off three steps of a ladder in her attempts to snip its head square; and the children liked the pond, and regularly fell in three times a day, but fortunately it was not deep enough to drown them; in short, every one was satisfied with everything, excepting the coal-hole, and that gave Mr. Jeremiah Pinchbeck great uneasiness. For the fact was, that the coal-hole was built about ten yards away from the house, and the Peppercornites (who from time immemorial have been famed for their dishonest propensities) took advantage of this circumstance to supply themselves with coal at Mr. Jeremiah's expense. If he put locks on the door, they picked them; if he put bars and bolts, they broke them; if he put man-traps, they never walked into them, but somehow or other either he, or Mrs. P., or the children, did, so he gave them up. There was some coal fetched away every night; out of five tons he had in last week, they had stolen two and a half; it was getting too barefaced, and he would stand it no longer; to-morrow he would see what could be done to stop it; and, murmuring this, Mr. Pinchbeck turned on his side and dropped asleep. How long he slept he did not know, but he was awakened by a most tremendous clattering among his coal.

"My dear," Mr. Jeremiah whispered, giving his wife a shake-" my dear, they are at it again."

Well, and what then?" inquired his spouse, who disliked being disturbed in her slumbers.

As Mr. Pinchbeck did not know how to reply to this query, he remarked that he thought he had better get up.

"And, upon my word," he added, "if I see them I'll shoot 'em. By Jove, I wonder where my pistol is; do you know, my love?"

Mrs. Jeremiah did not know, but there is little doubt she had put it somewhere, for Jeremiah had only one (an old flint-and-steel affair), and she had an idea in her head that if it was left lying about it would go

off, which was very likely, so she was always hiding it. Mr. Jeremiah groped about in a drawer where he thought he had seen it about three months before, and by some extraordinary circumstance found it. He got the powder-flask and put a charging in, when it suddenly occurred to him that he had not any bullets. At this moment the noise in the coal-hole

was renewed with great vigour.

"My dear," said he, trembling violently, "I think they have a presentiment that I am coming, and so are running off."

Poor Jeremiah, how devoutly he wished they were.

"Jeremiah, do go and look out of the back window," said his wife (she was beginning to be frightened now); "do go and see what they are doing. I'm sure they are breaking into the house."

"Yes, my love, I'm going," was the reply, "as soon as I can get something to fit in the pistol for a bullet." And he tried to cram all sorts of things in, and at last succeeded in getting his knife and a small key down the barrel. He would then have liked to have called the servants, but they were all women, and would not be of much service; and, besides, the pistol made him very bold, so he advanced firmly to the window and looked out. The moon was shining brightly, but he could see nothing. This made him bolder still. So having informed the people in the yard (if there were any) that he "was coming," and, moreover, that he should shoot the first man he saw, dead, he undid the bolts of the back door and stood in the open air. He had never before noticed what a strong resemblance every tree bore to a robber; but he grasped his pistol firmly, and walked slowly towards his coal-hole.

It is astonishing how the cool air cools a man's courage. At every step Mr. Pinchbeck took he devoutly wished he was safely back in bed. It was so cold that it made his knees totter and his hands tremble, so that he had almost made up his mind to go back, when a figure rushed quickly out of the coal-hole, and jumped at the wall. Mr. Jeremiah started back hastily; his pistol "went off" somehow; there was a wild shriek; the figure threw up its arms and sprang high in the air, and then dropped down a corpse at his tottering feet. He would have liked to run away, but was glued to the spot; he dare not call out, although he heard the whole of the women in the house in full cry. He had, as he thought, committed murder, and he felt a choking sensation that was most horrible. Whatever must he do? Mrs. P., making terrible lamentations, was already half-way down the staircase, followed by the whole household. There was no time for deliberation. An old well was close against him; so, taking firmly hold of the rough coat of the murdered man, he pushed him into it. The splash made at the bottom sounded dismally hollow, and made him shudder, so that he had only just time to collect himself when his wife made her appearance at the door.

"Jerry, dear, where are you?" inquired the affectionate creature. "Here, my love. There's nothing the matter with me- --;" then he paused, for he hardly knew what to say-" but-but-a-the scoundrel ran away, and I fired my pistol after him; and I wish," he continued, "no one to come near this place until I have examined it in the morning, as I think I shall be able to make something out." And, so saying, he returned with his wife to their chamber.

No sleep, however, visited his eyes that night. He was making

arrangements to go to New York before anything was discovered, and he determined to tell his wife in the morning of the dreadful deed he had committed. If the body was discovered, he would instantly be taken into custody, for it was evident death had been caused by the knife fired from the pistol, and the knife had his name engraved upon it.

ears;

When he got up in the morning he went instantly to the fatal spot. There were no traces of the deed, and having put the top of the well on, he retired with a calmer mind to make preparations for an immediate flight. The terrible shriek he heard the night before still rang in his he tried to shave himself, and made five fearful cuts before he had proceeded far. His wife noticed his discomposure, and asked the cause. "It was nothing," he said; "but he should like her to pack a few things up, as he intended taking her and the children on a visit to his uncle's for a few days." He now began to be very anxious for a start; his conscience tortured him dreadfully; he was fearful of being taken; and the terrible words of the extreme sentence of the law were continually ringing in his ears. He had to get something out of a cupboard, when his eye fell upon a bottle, labelled in his wife's handwriting, "Poison." His heart beat violently; here was relief; one small portion of this, if he were taken, would save him all the degradation of being dragged through the streets to the courts of justice. He seized the bottle (and it was a very large one too), and carried it off to his room. When he got there a dreadful sight met his view. Coming down the hill, about half a mile from his house, were a large party of men, among whom were two constables and three others, who from their dress appeared to be some kind of officers of justice.

The party were led by two bloodhounds; at sight of whom Mr. Jeremiah's heart sank within him, and he dropped on a chair. The bottle of poison was still in his hand; he heard the noise of the crowd coming into his yard; and then, breathing a prayer for forgiveness, he put the handle of his hair-brush into the neck of the bottle, and brought out a portion of the poison. He paused a moment, and then a loud shout was borne by the wind from the yard. That sealed his doom. He raised the hairbrush to his mouth and resolutely swallowed the poison. He thought it had a very curious taste; in fact, it looked and tasted very much like preserved gooseberries; however, it instantly took effect, and he felt very ill, so he rang the bell. His wife came into the room, and finding him lying on the bed, asked what was the matter.

"I confess all," murmured the murderer; "I shot him, and threw him down the well. Send for the hangman if you like-I am prepared-I have taken poison and-" But his wife went screaming away for help, and her alarm that her husband had taken poison brought the two constables into his chamber.

up

"Have you found the body?" asked the dying man.

"Yes, zur; Ranger and Rover soon tracked him down; but it's a sad pity he broke his neck down your well,-we hoped to have taken him alive."

"Ah!" thought Jeremiah, "some escaped convict, doubtless. Constable," he said aloud, "I have taken poison."

"Well, then, send for a doctor, Jem-sharp!" exclaimed the constable addressed, while the other instantly ran off.

"Doctors are of no use," said the victim, solemnly; "I am past all help."

"Oh! don't, don't say so, Jerry, dear," sobbed his wife.

"I must-it's the truth; and, constable, listen to what I have to say. I confess that I shot the man, the Lord have mercy and may "Wot man, zur?" hastily asked the policeman.

"The man who came to steal my coal, and whom you have found in the well."

"We arn't found no man at all!"

"Policeman! as sure as I have taken poison and am now on my deathbed, I am speaking the truth," said Mr. Pinchbeck, solemnly, as the doctor entered the room.

"The baboon has evidently been killed by a gun-shot wound and then thrown into the well," remarked the doctor to the constable who came in with him.

"Doctor, I did it," said Mr. Pinchbeck; "but don't call a fellowcreature a baboon; it's unchristian."

"Fellow-creature, what do you mean?" asked the doctor.

Whereupon Mr. Jeremiah narrated how his coals had been stolen, and how he thought they were stealing them again, and how he had gone out and seen a man who tried to escape over the wall, and how he had fired at him with the pistol loaded with his penknife and a key, and how, thinking he would be accused of the murder and hung, he had thrown the body into the well and taken poison afterwards.

The doctor left the room for a minute, and came back to the dying man with the knife and key in his hand.

"My dear Pinchbeck," he said, "you've made a mistake. It's a pity you've taken poison, for you've only shot

"What?" gasped the unfortunate wretch.

"A large monkey, that, it appears, escaped last night from Mr. Wombwell's establishment, and whom these people tracked down here by their bloodhounds."

Mr. Jeremiah groaned awfully, but the tidings seemed to make him better, although, as he said, the poison was fast doing its work. The doctor had just arranged his stomach-pump, when Mrs. Jeremiah exclaimed,

"Why, my goodness! Jerry, did you take the poison from there?" And she pointed in the direction of the big jar.

"Yes," said the poor man. "What is it?"

"Preserved gooseberries," she said, laughing, "that I labelled 'Poison,' to frighten and prevent that little rascal Adolphus from stealing

them."

Mr. Pinchbeck heard this to the end, and then rose from the bed without assistance. It was surprising how rapidly the sickness had gone away. The doctor laughed, and put up the stomach-pump; the men laughed, and put some silver in their pockets which Mrs. P. had given them; and Mr. P. laughed when he saw the dead monkey and thought of his own fright, but resolved within himself never to do anything in a hurry again, whether it was shooting a man or a monkey, or taking poison himself.