Look in her face, and you'll forget them all." This is Victoria Park, at the East End, within | at all hours of the day. Within range of the ery of the wretched operatives of Bethnal eye is the spot on Constitution Hill where Sir Green, and the starving weavers of Spitalfields. Robert Peel met his death, by the shying of It is a wide and lovely spot, not lacking the his horse as he stopped to speak to a lady. sheet of water which every London park has, It was in Hyde Park, too, that our English and fine roads, and grass-plats, and all that friends, under some strange delusion, enacted can be gathered in a simple rural paradise; upon the Serpentine the truly comical farce of and the Crystal Palace might have stood within setting a Lilliputian British frigate to blow up its ample bounds, with all advantages for a Lilliputian American frigate, and this in comers and goers, while the coming and going 1814! "Wishing of all employments, is the would have enriched that whole toiling neigh- worst," said the poet; but surely one grade bourhood, and done more for the relief of its lower is trying to act out our wishes in little. poor than the Queen can ever do by ordinary But we can paraphrase another poet when we legislation. This so obvious mode of equalizing think of dear old England, and any narrow the benefit of the World's Fair to the Londoners streaks of nonsense she may have about her. was proposed in Parliament by Lord Brougham, "If to her share some trifling errors fall, but lost there, perhaps because Lord Brougham proposed it, as his wisest suggestions are apt to be received with a certain distaste. It is so much the fashion in England to give to the rich, that the proposition to throw money into the laps of the starving probably seemed absurd. So the Great Exhibition goes to the West End, in the midst of idle people who keep carriages; while thousands in the eastern part of the town, who dare not spare a day, lest they and their children starve, and to whom the expenditure of a shilling sterling each for an omnibus trip, with another shilling apiece for the sight, would seem insanity, must lose both the benefit and the pleasure. But, happily, they are used to it, and will, perhaps, meekly think that the show which calls together the representatives of all nations was not made for such as they. Hyde Park, then, is the chosen spot;-the Hyde Park where Charles II. used to play with his dogs and feed his ducks, and where Cromwell drove his Friesland horses so furiously; -"not doubting," says Ludlow, "but the three pair of horses he was about to drive would prove as tame as the three nations which were ridden by him,"-that he managed to get a fall off the box, which fall fired a pistol that he carried in his pocket, and so narrowly missed cutting short his protectorate unpleasantly. The stranger who desires to see the spot where the fiery driver of three kingdoms was at last buried, will find it not far off from the fashionable drive. At Cumberland Gate, which any policeman will point out, is an iron plate, with the inscription, "Here stood Tyburn turnpike;" and at this point, identified with crime and disgrace, the English people thought proper to inter the remains of the Protector, after they had wreaked upon his insensible dust the poorest vengeance that insane anger ever prompts. Near Cumberland Gate is a far pleasanter sight,-a stand for beautiful little carriages for children, drawn by two or four goats apiece, to be hired Yes! the more we look at her, the more we love her. Americans are generally a little repelled, at first, by the air of wonderful selfsufficiency which characterizes so many English people, and they are apt to meet it by a "back-fire" of flouncing defiance, which is neither dignified nor well-bred. To be " 'spunky" suits the backwoods very well; to be quiet is much more effective in London. When we are asked whether we have railroads in America, or whether our style of living at all resembles the English, or any other question which betrays that the speaker has hitherto been content to ignore our existence, and now asks questions only from politeness, we must learn to be equally nonchalant; to remember that it is a matter of perfect indifference whether the English know us or not, and that any eagerness on our part to increase their stock of information will be entirely thrown away. We are speaking now of a very ordinary class of people. Among the first, such cautions are needless, for they know us nearly, if not quite, as well as we know them. Thorough goodbreeding and high cultivation are the most potent freemasonry; members of the order understand each other "from China to Peru;" but we meet many in England as well as in America who know not how to recognise or return the sign. To suppose that England will receive us without prejudice is vain; but it is still more futile to be vexed that she does not transform herself for our benefit. England receives no foreigner without prejudice, least of all an American. But, besides this, why disguise or deny the fact that, in manners and accomplishments, the English are our superiors? As well affirm that the moon is bright as the mid-day sun, as that the people of our new land, still struggling for the means of elegance, and content thus far to imitate the old world in whatever constitutes it, possess the polished well sister go out this morning. Let us knock dear child. Your sister has, I trust, gone to a Her sorrows are over, and she is an angel rejoicing now while we are weeping for her." Fanny raised her eyes, and seeing the sympathetic tears that rolled down the good woman's cheeks, threw herself into her arms, and buried her face in her bosom. "There! sob away, my poor child. It will relieve your broken heart," said Mrs. Brown. Fanny raised her head after a few minutes, and wiped her eyes. "You are very good to The agent raised her. "What can I do?" me, ma'am," she said. said the young man, anxiously. "Never mind my being good, my dear, but "Run across the street and bring the apo- just tell us, my cousin the carpenter John thecary here," said the agent. The young man disappeared, and returned quickly with the apothecary, who brought a bottle of ammonia in his hand. He dropped some of it in water, and forced Fanny to swallow it; and then rubbing her temples with some more of the same preparation, the poor girl was gradually roused. She looked wildly at them for a moment, and then glanced towards the bed. She broke away from the agent. "Oh, Ellen, my dear, dear sister!" she exclaimed, throwing herself on the bed; "speak to me, Ellen; speak to your poor, broken-hearted Fanny. She will never speak again," said she, suddenly raising herself from the bed. "And I:-where was I when you were dying, poor suffering one? Finishing that dress for that hard-hearted girl, and you, no doubt, calling for me. Oh, why did I mind them? What did it matter if I should offend them all? But I was a coward, and now I am punished!" she added bitterly, and once again she dropped her head on the bed and sobbed convulsively. All were affected by her distress. The apothecary and the agent were accustomed to scenes of distress; but the young man, fresh from the country, was almost as much agitated as Fanny herself. Grey here and myself, what we can do for you." Fanny tried to speak, but her quivering lips uttered no sound. "Well, sit down, my dear; I see your head is too distracted to tell what you do want." She went to the door, and held a whispered conversation with the carpenter, who then disappeared. She then put the room in order, and performed the last sad rites for poor Ellen. When all was done, observing that the glaring sun struck full on Fanny's aching eyes, she took off her dark apron, and hung it up before the window. Fanny silently took her seat by the bed. Mrs. Brown left the room, and returned after a short interval with a bowl of hot tea and a roll of bread. " There, my dear, try and swal low a little of this," she said. Poor Fanny tried to obey her, but she could not swallow. The kind woman placed it beside her, and said: "Well, perhaps you will taste this by and by. And now, good bye, my child; I must go home, for I have a family to attend to. I will see you again to-night." A coffin was procured the next day; and poor Ellen, followed by Fanny, Mrs. Brown, and the carpenter, was consigned to the grave. The good woman now. urged Fanny to return home with her, but the broken-hearted girl clung to the room in which her sister had "Has she no relatives or friends?" he in- breathed her last. quired anxiously of the agent. The man shook his head. "They are orphan girls, and have not long lived in this city. I have never known them have any company on Sunday or other holidays, and they never went anywhere except to church." "Poor thing!" said the young man, compassionately. He paused for a moment, and then said: "I'll go to my good cousin Brown. She is a baker's wife, and lives not far off. She is a right good soul, and will do all she can for this unhappy creature." Five years have rolled away, and once again behold our friend Fanny. She is seated in a rocking-chair, in a small but neat and comfortable room. A beautiful infant is crowing and laughing in his cradle, the tea-table is set, and the tea-kettle gives forth its cheerful hum. Fanny is knitting, but now and then glances towards the window. "I wonder what makes your father so late," she said, addressing the infant. The boy tossed its little chubby arms, as if in answer He left the room, and when he returned to her question. She bent over him and kissed with his cousin, found Fanny alone. Mrs. him. At that moment the front door opened, Brown went up to the poor girl, and taking and our carpenter, John Grey, walked into the one of her hands, said, "Be comforted, my room. He caught the child from its cradle, and tossed him up in the air until the boy screamed with delight. He then threw him back in his cradle, and turned to his wife. A grave expression stole over his face, as he said: "Fanny, there is a poor woman and her daughter in great distress not far off. The old woman is dying, and the daughter, a sickly, miserable-looking creature, seems half distracted. An accident caused me to become acquainted with their situation, and as it was a case where I could not do any good alone, I hastened home for you." "Let us have our supper at once, John, and I will go with you; we can leave our child with our kind neighbour next door." Supper over, our worthy carpenter and his wife hastened to the relief of the miserable pair, John carrying a basket containing some articles for their relief. Wretched indeed was the scene that presented itself to their eyes. On a low, dirty straw bed, lay the body of the mother, and beside her, with her hair hanging in matted masses about her face, was the daughter. The good couple raised her, and gave her a cordial from their basket. She looked at them sullenly, but said nothing. When her hair was thrown back, Fanny thought that the countenance was familiar to her, but could not recollect where she had seen it. The face had been beautiful, and the outline of the figure was still graceful. After a few moments, the unhappy girl muttered, "How shameful that we should be left in this way! I have not deserved such infamous treatment." The tone of voice confirmed Fanny's half-formed suspicions. "Good heavens! Miss Norton, can this be you?"— "You may well ask the question," said the girl. "Yes, I am Miss Norton; but who are you who recognise me in this degraded state?"— "One who will do her utmost to serve you, young lady," said Fanny; "but how have you been thus reduced?"- "Whoever you are, you appear to know that I have been reduced. My father failed, and not being able to face the world, cut his throat. My mother and myself were left unprovided for. We could not work, and we lived for some time upon the sale of such articles of jewelry as we were able to secrete from the creditors; but we sold the last ring two months since, and my mother has begged from door to door since. She caught cold one rainy night, took a fever, and is now dead.”—“But had you no relatives or friends, my dear young lady?"-" None," said the girl haughtily. The truth was, that Mr. Norton had laid the foundation of his fortune by a lucky speculation; he was originally of low origin, but as he acquired wealth, he and his wife cut and shook off all their humble relatives. The beauty of his daughter, whom he educated at a fashionable seminary, backed by his own wealth, introduced them into fashionable society; and when he failed, those who would otherwise have come to the aid of his family, rejoiced in the idea that pride must have a fall." Two days after saw Rose established at Fanny's home. Fanny had set her house in order, and was now busy looking over a large basket of needlework. She drew forth a pair of woollen stockings, and commenced darning them. "Dear me, what shocking coarse work!” said Rose, contemptuously; "what beautiful things I used to make," she said, with a sigh.— "What kind of things?" said Fanny, mildly.“Oh, card-racks and purses."—“Well, perhaps you could make some now, and we could sell them for you." Rose assented coldly to this proposition, and Fanny procured her some materials for her work that evening. But Rose's natural indolence was now increased by real ill health, and she would not try to exert herself. She spent the last few months of her life in peevish repinings over her lost luxuries. The good carpenter and his wife pitied although they could not respect her. She died, unregretted by any one save the kind couple, who made allowance for the faults and follies of a fashionably-educated beauty. They placed her by the side of her mother, and one stone recorded their names; and, as Fanny stood by the grave with her boy in her arms, she thanked God that her youth had been chastened by misfortune, and that under his providence, the toil of her own hands had given her the glorious privilege "of being independent!" PREMATURE INTERMENTS AND THE UNCERTAIN SIGNS OF DEATH. BY GEORGE WATTERSTON, M. D. DEATH is an event which every living being in his senses wishes to avoid as long as possible. The miseries of life, its vapid realities, the loss of fortune, the privation of friends, disease, old age, and all the other "ills which flesh is heir to," tend to blunt its sting and soften its horrors; and to those who may have happily placed their reliance on Him who is the rock of their salvation, the anticipated glory of eternity, and the consciousness of a well-spent life, present a shield which, in the hour of dissolution, disarms the monster of his terrors, and smooths the rough path to the grave. But even to such it is a condition not entirely free from dread. "For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?" Few can think of the dissolution of the body, of becoming a kneaded clod, the food of worms, a mass of putrefaction, and of quitting the delicious sunshine,-the gorgeous and enchanting scenes of this beautiful world, and all that renders life delightful, with calm and stoical indifference, or with a feeling of anticipated pleasure. To die, to sleep, to be obliterated from the memory of man as a thing that never lived, to sink into the cold grave and be utterly forgotten, is a reflection that must appal the great majority of mankind. Compared with it, the mere physical agony of dissolution is nothing, if that agony is at all experienced, which has been doubted. "Death is a fearful thing, Ay, but to die, and go we know not where, The weariest and most loathed worldly life To die once, we should suppose, would be the characteristic signs of death as described "Sic funere primo In France, premature interments frequently occur, from the prevailing practice there of burying bodies too soon. In the course of twelve years, it is asserted, that ninety-four cases were prevented by fortuitous circumstances. Of these, thirty-four persons came back to life the moment the funeral ceremonies were about to commence; thirteen recovered by the tender care and attention of their families; seven from the fall of the coffins; nine from wounds inflicted by the needle in sewing up their winding-sheets; five from the sensations of suffocation they felt in the coffin; nineteen from accidental delay in interring them, and six from doubts entertained of their death. In England and the United States, interments are rarely made till decomposition, the most infallible sign of death, has commenced. In Germany, interment is prohibited by law, for three days after death; and in the gravehouses attached to the burial-places of some of the principal towns of that nation, a curious and humane regulation exists, which requires bodies brought before the end of the three days allotted them to remain, to be laid on trestles, with rings on their toes and fingers to which bell-pulls are attached, so that if the corpse should revive, it may, by ringing for it, have immediate aid and assistance. After the three days, however, the body is considered as legally dead, and must be buried whether life be wholly extinct or not. History furnishes a number of cases of premature interments in different countries, and some of the most curious and well-authenticated of these I proceed to give. Archbishop Geron, in the town of Cologne, was buried alive, and died in consequence of not being released in time from the tomb. The same misfortune, it is stated, happened in the same place, to Johannes Duns Scotus, who was afterwards found with his hands torn, and his head lacerated. The following case is mentioned by Maximillion Messon. The wife of one M. Mervache, a goldsmith of Poictiers, having been buried with some rings on her fingers, which she had requested to be put on while on her deathbed, a poor man of the neighbourhood, In the year 1571, the wife of one of the magistrates of Cologne being buried with a valuable ring on one of her fingers, the gravedigger the next night opened the grave to take it off, but what was his consternation, when the supposed dead body squeezed his hand, and laid hold of him, in order to get out of the coffin. The thief, however, disengaging himself, made his escape in great haste, and the lady relieving herself in the best manner she could, hastened home, and knocked at the door, and called one of the servants by name, to whom she gave a brief account of what had occurred; but he regarded her as a phantom, and filled with horror, ran to his master to relate the terrible occurrence. The master turned it into ridicule. The lady, in the meantime, stood shivering in her shroud, till the door was finally opened to her. After being warmed, and treated in a proper manner, she was soon restored to as perfect a state of health as if no such misfortune had befallen her. acquainted with the fact, proceeded on the | painful arrangement, so fatal to her happiness, following night to open the grave and obtain threw her into a disorder in which her senses possession of the rings; but being obliged to were so locked up as to give her the appearance use considerable exertion to effect his object, of death, and she was buried as dead. Her he roused the woman from her deathlike torpor, first lover soon heard, with profound grief, of who spoke to him, and began to complain of the event: but, as he remembered that she the injury he had done her. The robber, alarmed had once before been seized with a violent and terrified, made his escape, and the woman paroxysm of lethargy, he conceived that she rose from her coffin, which he had left open, might have been attacked by a similar disease. returned home, and in a few days was again in This opinion not only alleviated the excess of perfect health. She is said not only to have his sorrow, but induced him to bribe the gravesurvived this misfortune for many years, but digger, by whose assistance he raised her from to have afterwards been the mother of several the tomb, and conveyed her to a proper chamchildren. Messon gives another instance of a ber, where, by the application of all the nearly similar character. remedies he could think of, she was happily restored to life again. The young woman was probably in great consternation when she found herself in a strange house, beheld her darling lover sitting by her bed, and heard the detail of all that had befallen her during her paroxysm. Her grateful sense of the obligations she lay under to him, and that love she had always borne him, proved an irresistible advocate in his behalf; so that, when she was perfectly restored, she justly concluded that she owed her life to him who had preserved it; and, as a proof of her affection, consented to accompany him to England, where they were married, and lived for several years in all the tender endearments of mutual love. About ten years after, however, they returned to Paris, where they lived without the care of concealment, because they conceived no one could ever suspect what had happened. But this did not prove to be the case, for the collector unluckily met his wife in a public walk, where he at once recognised her. He immediately accosted her, and though she endeavoured to divert his suspicions, he parted from her fully persuaded that she was the very woman to whom he had some years ago been married, and for whose death he had gone into mourning. The collector, by great perseverance, not only discovered her residence, in spite of all the precautions she had taken to conceal herself, but claimed her as his wife before the court authorized to decide in such cases. vain did the lover insist upon his right to her on the ground that he had taken care of her; that, but for his efforts and the measures he had resorted to, the lady would now have been rotting in her grave; that her former husband, who now claimed her, had renounced all claim to her by ordering her to be buried; that he might justly be arraigned for murder, in not using the precautions necessary to ascertain her death; and urged a thousand other reasons, suggested by love: but, perceiving that the court were not likely to prove favourable to his claims, he determined not to await their decision, and, accordingly, escaped with his A still more curious and interesting case of premature interment occurred several years ago in Paris. Two wealthy merchants lived in the same street, and were united together by the closest bonds of friendship. The one had a son, and the other a daughter, of nearly the same age. By being often together, they formed a strong attachment for each other, which was encouraged and kept up by frequent visits, authorized by both fathers, who were highly gratified at the evidence of mutual attachment in their children, and which was in harmony with their desire to unite them in the bonds of matrimony. Accordingly, a marriage was about to be concluded between them, when a wealthy collector of the king's revenue saw and loved the daughter, and asked her in marriage. The charm of a superior fortune which he possessed soon induced her parent to change his resolution with respect to his neighbour's son; and the daughter's aversion to her new lover being overcome by her filial duty, she married the collector. The melancholy induced by this In |