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on having gained the ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before his astonished eyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen when he entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore; room after room did he peep into; at length, just as he was on the point of giving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the identical room in which he had spent the evening, and beheld his missing property on the table.

Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retrace his steps to his bed-chamber. If his progress downwards had been attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back was infinitely more perplexing, Rows of doors garnished with boots of every shape, make, and size, branched off' in every possible direction. A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of sone bed-room door, which resembled his own, when a gruff cry from within, of “Who the devil's that?” or “ What do you want here?" caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a marvelous celerity. He was reduced to the verge of despair, when an open door attracted his attention. He peeped in-right at last. There were the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire still burning. His candle, not a long one when he first received it, had flickered away in the drasts of air through which he had passed, and sunk into the socket, just as he closedthe door after him.

“No matter," said Mr. Pickwick, “I can undress myself just as well, by the light of the fire.”

The bedsteads stood, one on each side of the door: and on the inner side of each was a little patlı

, terminating in a rush-bottomed chair, just wide enough to admit of a person's getting into or out of bed, on that side, if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then took off

' and folded up bis coat, waistcoat, and neck-cloth, and slowly drawing on his tasseled night-cap, secured it firmly on his head, by tying beneath his chin

, the strings which he had always attached to that article of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recent be wilderment struck upon his mind; and throwing himself back in the rush-bottoined chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that it would have been quite delightful to any man of well-constituted mind to have watched the smiles which expanded his amiable features as they shone forth, from beneath the night

" It is the best idea,” said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he almost cracked the night-cap strings—" It is the best idea, my losing myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, wick smiled again, a broader smile than before

, and was about to continue the process of undressing, in the best possible humor, when he was suddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption : to wit, the entrance into the room of some person with a candle

, who, after locking the door, advanced to the dressing-table, as a set down the light upon it.


The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features, was instanlaneously lost in a look of the most umbounded and wonder. stricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be? A rob ber! Some evil-minded person who had seen him come up stairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What was le to do!

The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen him. melf, was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping ont from between the curtains on the opposite side. To this manoeuvre he accord. ingly resorted. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and nightcap, and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up rourage, and looked out.

Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the dressing glass was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their “ back hair." However the unconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there for the night; for she had brought a rushlight and shade · with her, which, with praiseworthy precaution against tire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmering away like a gigantic lighthouse, in a particularly small piece of water.

“Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, "what a dreadful thing!"

"Hem !” said the lady; and in went Vír. Pickwick's head with automaton-like rapidity.

“ I never met with anything so awful as this,”-thought por Mr. Pickwick, the cold perspiration staring in drops upon his nightcap. “Never. This is fearful."

It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect was worse than before. The milelle-aged lady had Sinished arranging her hair; and carefully enveloped it, in a muslin night-cap with a small plaited border, and was gazing pensively on the fire.

.“ This matter is growing alarming"--reasoned Vír. Pickwick with himself. “I can't allow things to go on in this way.


That the lady started at this vnexpected sound was evident, by Hier falling up against the rush-light shade; that she persuaded herself it must have been the effect of imagination was equally clear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she had fainted away, stone-dead from fright, ventured to peep out again, ale was gazing pensively on the fire as before.

“ Most extraordinary female this,” thought Mr. Pickwick, popping in again. “Ha-hum.”

These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us, tie ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing his opinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distincily audible to be again mistaken for the workings of fancy.

* Gracious Heaven!" said the middle-aged lady, “what's that!"

" It's—it's-only a gentleman, Ma'am,” said Mr. Pickwick from behind the curtains.

“A gentleman !" said the lady with a terrific scream. "It's all over,” thought Mr. Pickwick.

"A strange man," slirieked the lady. Another instant and the house would be alarnied. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the door.

“Ma'am"-said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in the extremity of his desperation, “Ma'am.”

Now although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite ubject in putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a good effect. The lady, as we have already stated, was near the door. She must pass it to reach the staircase, and she would most undoubtedly have done so, by this time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr. Pickwick's night-cap driven her back, into the remotest corner of the apartment, where she stood staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. Pickwick in his turn stared wildly at her.

"Wretch,”—said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, “what do you want here?”

.“Nothing, Ma'am-nothing whatever, İla'am;" said Mr. Pickwick earnestly.

"Nothing !" said the lady, looking up. “Nothing, Ma'am, upon my honor," said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head so energetically, that the tassel of his night-cap danced

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“Certainly, Ma'am,” interposed Mr. Pickwick, very quickly.

Certainly, Ma'am. I-I-am very sorry, Ma'am," said Mr Pickwick, making his appearance at the bottom of the bed, " te have been the innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion, deeply sorry, Ma'am.”

The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pickwick's character was beautifully displayed at this moment under the most trying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over his night-cap, after the manner of the old patrol; although he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over his arm, nothing could subdue his native politeness.

“I am exceedingly sorry, Ma’am,” said Mr. Pickwick, bowing

"If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,” said the lady.

"Immediately, Ma’am; this instant, Ma'am,” said Mr. Pick. wick, opening the door, and dropping both his shoes with a loud erash in so doing.

"I trust, Ma'am,” resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and turning round to bow again, “ I trust, Ma'am, that my unblemished character, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this”—but before Mr. Pickwick could conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and locked and bolted the door behind him,

very low.

MARCO BOZZARIS.-By Fitz Greene Halleck
At midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,

Should tremble at his power;
In dreams, through camp and court be bore
The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams, his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring;
Then press’d that monarch's throne--a king:
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's garden bird.
At midnight, in the forest shades,

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,

Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian's thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood,

On old Platea's day;

And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires who conquer'd there,
With arm to strike, and soul to dare,

As quick, as far, as they.
An hour pass'd on: the Turk awoke.

That bright dream was his last.
He woke to hear his sentries shriek,
"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek fos
He woke, to die 'midst flame and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,

And death-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud,
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,

Bozzaris cheer his band :
* Strike!-till the last arm’d foe expires;
Strike !--for your altars and your fires;
Strike!-for the green graves of your sires;

God, and your native land !”
They fought like brave men, long and well;

They piled that ground with Moslem slain; They conquer'd ;-but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their loud hurrah

And the red field was won,
Then saw in death his eyelids close,
Calmly as to a night's repose, -

Like flowers at set of sun.
Come to the bridal chamber, Death!

Come to the mother's, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath;

Come when the blessed seals
That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ;
Come when the heart beats high and warm

With banquet song and dance, and wine;
And thou art terrible:-the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear,

Of agony, are thine.
But to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard

The thanks of millions yet to be.
Come wher: his task of fame is wrought;
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought;

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