keep conservatories for the porpose, in which holes are dug, three or four feet deep, in the ground, which are covered with a board, and at the bottom of the pits are put straw, so that the frogs are never quite torpid, and are always ready for the cook.

J. T. FERGUSON.

ON SPIDERS.

A remarkable occurrence happened once at the church of St. Eustace in Paris. The sexton of that place remarked that a particular lamp went out before the rest, and that the oil was gone, but the wick remained; he, therefore, determined to watch and see the reason of it; when he found that a very large spider came down the rope and drank the oil.

An equally singular occurrence happened at a church in Milan, in 1751. Mr. Morland, of the academy of sciences, has given the following relation of it:-A great spider, which weighed two pounds, was observed drinking from one of the lamps, it was taken, and sent to the Emperor of Austria, and is now in the imperial museum at Vienna.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

We are sorry that a Correspondent finds himself disappointed because

none of his transmissions were in our last paper. We must inform him that it is our business to select what articles we think most novel, but we find that he has sent us several things gathered from the publications of the day, which is a plan we wish to avoid as much as possible, because we began not with a view to fill our pages with what our readers may have just before been put in possession of.

We beg leave to decline admitting into our pages "The Nic to our Nac," although, to do justice to the writer, we are obliged to acknowledge that the subject is novel, and the criticism full of pertinent remarks,which would,no doubt, prove extremely interesting to certain parties.

The Ancient Vessel came too late to be inspected this week.

G. M. D., F. Hall, and W. C. anon.

No. X.

PRICE ld.

SIR WALTER SCOTT having indulged the literary world with another highly interesting production, under the title of Peveril of the Peak," we have embraced the earliest opportunity of presenting our readers with the first part of the narrative, which we intend continuing in a synoptical manner, that, while it proves interesting, it may not occupy too much of our room, nor appear tedious or a waste of time to the peruser. The high estimation in which this nobleman's abilities are held, is incontestibly proved by the avidity which every one evinces in their eagerness to read his effusions; and surely Mr. NIC-NAC would be deemed very remiss if he did not scrape together a few of this author's precious words before the ravenous literati had swallowed them all.

WILLIAM, the Conqueror of England, was, or supposed himself to be, the father of a certain William Peveril, and not wishing to let his son's illegitimacy be a bar to his royal fayour, granted him certain property and lordships in Derbyshire, and he became the erector of that Gothic fortress, which, hanging over the mouth of the Devil's Cavern, so well known to tourists, gives the name of Castleton to the adjacent village. In King John's stormy days these possessions were forfeited by one William Peveril, yet his descendants were long distinguished by the proud title of Peverils of the Peak.

In Charles the Second's time, the representative of this ancient family was Sir Geoffrey Peveril, a man who had many of the ordinary attributes of an old-fashioned country gentle

man, and very few individual traits to distinguish him from the general portrait of that worthy class of mankind. In religion Sir Geoffrey was a high churchman, though many thought he still nourished in private the Roman Catholic tenets, which his family had only renounced in his father's time. When the civil wars broke out, Peveril of the Peak, proud from pedigree, and brave by constitution, raised a regiment for the king, and shewed upon several occasions more capacity to command than men had heretofore given him credit for. In the midst of the civil turmoil, he fell in love with, and married, a beautiful and amiable young lady of the noble house of Stanley; but scorning to be allured by domestic inducements, Peveril of the Peak fought on for several rough years of civil war, until his regiment was cut to pieces by Poyntz, Cromwell's enterprizing and successful genéral of cavalry. The defeated cavalier escaped to his castellated mansion (Martindale Castle), which suffered severely from the cannon Cromwell brought against it: it at length surrendered, and Sir Geoffrey became a prisoner; but his liberty was restored upon a promise of remaining a peaceful subject to the commonwealth in future.

But his forced promise did not prevent him from joining the Earl of Derby. He witnessed also the final defeat of Worcester, where he was a second time made prisoner, and nearly shared with the Earl of Derby his execution at Bolton-le-Moor. But Sir Geoffrey's life was preserved by the interest of a friend, who possessed influence in the councils of Oliver.This was a Mr. Bridgenorth, a gentleman of middling quality, who, when young, attended the same school with the heir of the Peverils. A sort of companionship, if not intimacy, took place betwixt them. Mr. Bridgenorth did not, however, carry his complaisance so far as to embrace Sir Geoffrey's side during the civil war, but became a decided Roundhead, and all friendly intercourse betwixt them was abruptly broken asunder. This was done with the less acrimony, as

Sir Geoffrey was almost constantly in the field, while Major Bridgenorth resided chiefly in London, and only occasionally visited Moultrassie Hall, which was but two miles distant from Martindale Castle, for the purpose of seeing his wife and family.

Upon these visits he learned with pleasure, that Lady Peveril had shewn much kindness to Mrs. Bridgenorth, and had actually given her and her family shelter in the castle when Moultrassie Hall was threatened with pillage by a body of Prince Rupert's ill-disciplined cavaliers.

Major Bridgenorth determined to repay the obligation, as far as he could without hurt to himself, and it was chiefly owing to his mediation, that Sir Geoffrey's life was saved after Worcester battle. He obtained him permission to compound for his estate, and, finally, when, in order to raise the money to pay the fine by which he had been punished, the knight was obliged to sell a considerable portion of his patrimony, Major Bridgenorth became the purchaser, and that at a larger price than had been paid to any cavalier under such circumstances, by a member of the Committee for Sequestrations.

In the beginning of the year 1658, Major Bridgenorth was childless; ere it ended, he had a daughter, indeed, but her birth was purchased by the death of an affectionate wife. The same voice which told Bridgenorth that he was father of a living child, (it was the friendly voice of Lady Peveril,) communicated to him the melancholy intelligence that he was no longer a husband. The feelings of Major Bridgenorth were strong and deep, rather than hasty and vehement; and his grief assumed the form of a sullen stupor, from which neither the friendly remonstrances of Sir Geoffrey, who did not fail to be with his neighbour at this distressing conjuncture, even though he knew he must meet the Presbyterian pastor, nor the ghostly exhortations of this latter person, were able to rouse the unfortunate widower.

Without detaining the reader's attention longer on this painful theme,

it is enough to say that Lady Peveril undertook the duties of a mother to the little orphan. The voice of Peveril continued to be that of a comforter, until the month of April, 1660, when it suddenly assumed a new and different tone. "The king shall enjoy his own again," far from ceasing, as the hasty tread of Black Hastings came up the avenue, bore burthen to the clatter of his hoofs on the paved court-yard, as Sir Geoffrey sprang from his great war-saddle, now once more garnished with pistols of two feet in length, and, armed with steelcap, back and breast, and a truncheon in his hand, he rushed into the apartment of the astonished Major, with his eyes sparkling, and his cheek inflamed, as he called out,-" Up! up, neighbour! No time now to mope in the chimney-corner. Where is your buff-coat and broadsword, man? Take the true side once in your life, and mend past mistakes. The king is all lenity, man-all royal nature and mercy. I will get your full pardon."

"What means all this ?" said Bridgenorth-"is all well with youall well at Martindale Castle, Sir Geoffrey ?"

"Well as you could wish them, Alice and Julian and all. But I have news worth twenty of that-Monk has declared at London against those stinking scoundrels the Rump. Fairfax is up in Yorkshire-for the king for the king, man! Churchmen, Presbyterians and all, are in buff and bandelier for King Charles. I have a letter from Fairfax to secure Derby and Chesterfield, with all the men I can make. D-n him, fine that I should take orders from him! But never mind that—all are friends now, and you and I, good neighbour, will charge abreast, as good neighbours should. See, there, read-read-and then boot and saddle in an instant. 'Hey for cavaliers-ho for cavaliers, Pray for cavaliers,

Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, Have at old Beelzabub, Oliver shakes in his bier.""

After thundering forth this elegant effusion of loyal enthusiasm, the stur

dy cavalier's heart became too full. He threw himself in a seat, and exclaiming, "Did ever I think to see this happy day!" he wept, to his own surprise, as much as to that of Bridgenorth.

was

Sir Geoffrey and Bridgenorth were both at Chesterfield, which peaceably secured on the king's behalf, when the news arrived that the king was landed in England; and Sir Geoffrey instantly announced his purpose of waiting upon his majesty, even before his return to the Castle of Martindale.

"Who knows, neighbour," he said, "whether Sir Geoffrey Peveril will ever return to Martindale ? Titles must be going amongst them yonder, and I have deserved something among the rest.-Lord Peveril would sound well-or stay, Earl of Martindaleno, not of Martindale-Earl of the Peak.-Meanwhile trust your affairs to me-I will see you secured-I would you had been no Presbyterian, neighbour a knighthood,—I mean a knight-bachelor, not a knight baronet,

would have served your turn well."

"I leave these things to my betters, Sir Geoffrey," said the Major, "and desire no thing so earnestly as to find all well at Martindale when I return."

66

"You will-you will find them all well," said the Baronet; Julian, Alice, Lady Peveril, and all of them— bear my commendations to them, and kiss them all, neighbour, Lady Peveril and all-you may kiss a Countess when I come back; all will go well with you now you are turned honest man.'

"I always meant to be so, Sir Geoffrey," said Bridgenorth calmly.

Well, well, well-no offence meant," said the Knight, "all is well now-so you to Moultrassie Hall, and I to Whitehall. Said I well, aha! So ho, mine host, a stoup of Canary to the king's health ere we get to horse-I forgot, neighbour -you drink no healths."

I wish the king's health as sincerely as if I drank a gallon to it," replied the Major; “and I wish you, Sir Geoffrey, success on your journey and on your return."-(See page 82.)

GHOST STORIES.

No. II.

A sad tale is best for winter;

have one of ghosts and spirits: I'll tell it softly-yon CRITIC shall not hear it. SHAKESPEARE.

"One evening, the President de B, at whose house I had supped, escorted me home as he was wishing me good night at my door, the cry alarmed us. He, as well as nearly all Paris, can vouch for the truth of this history. The president was so terrified, that he was conducted to his carriage more dead than alive.

"Another time, I asked my friend Roseley to accompany me to la Rue St. Honore, to purchase some articles of dress, and pay a visit to Mademoiselle de St. P who lodged near St. Dennis's Gate. The chief subject of our conversation was the spirit, as he called it. Though he ridiculed my adventure, he was struck with its singularity; he pressed me to invoke the phantom, and promised to place implicit belief in it, if it answered me. Whether it was owing to my weakness or my boldness, I know not; but I did as he requested. The cry was immediately uttered three distinct times, with a degree of rapidity and shrill ness terrible beyond expression. When we arrived at our friend's house, we were obliged to be assisted out of the coach, where we were found sitting, petrified with terror, and nearly in

sensible.

she accepted my offer; I gave her the least of the two, and got into my own. While my servant was undressing herself, I said to her, We are now almost at the end of the world; and besides, the weather is so tempestuous, that the cry would be rather puzzled to find us out here.' It was at that time instantly uttered. Madame Granville thought all the demons of hell were in the room; she ran in her chemise from the top of the house to the bottom, and suffered no one to sleep during the remainder of the night. This, however, was the last time of my being troubled with this kind of noise.

"Seven or eight days after, while I was enjoying myself in my usual society, the clock struck eleven, and immediately the firing of a gun was heard against one of my windows. We were all sensible of it; we saw the fire, and heard the shot; but, upon examining the window, we found it had received no kind of damage. We concluded that some person had a design upon my life; and that, having failed, it was necessary to guard against any future attempt of a similar nature. The Intendant went directly to the house of M. de Marville, the Lieutenant of the Police, who was his friend. came, attended by the proper officers, and examined the house opposite mine, but without discovering the least ground for suspicion. The following day, the street was narrowly watched the Officers of Police had their eyes upon every house, but, notwithstanding their attention, the same discharge was always heard at the same hour for three months, against the same pane of glass, though no one could ever discover from whence it proceeded. This fact is attested by all Registers of Police.

He

"I became so accustomed to this new trick of the spirit, that I scarcely paid any attention to it; and one evening, at the hour of eleven, when it was extremely warm, I opened the window, and, with the Intendant, seated myself in the balcony. The instant the clock struck eleven, the gun was discharged as usual, and we