(FOR THE "FLY.”)

In 1815, all Europe for the second time was let loose upon France. The empire, undermined by treason, had burst into pieces, of the Loire, could only attest the heroic the last remains of which falling on the banks achievements of a handful of brave men, the faithful companions of a great and magnanimous one. We had no longer that eagle eye, the glance of which betokened victory-no more banners, lost and won, not a colour left immortalised by deeds of glory, or of conquest. A family of kings, dropped as it were from the waggons of the rear-guard of that stupendous and coalesced army, had entered Paris with their foreign manners, ancient regime notions, and a host of superannuated courtiers, to rule a people who had long since had ever existed. We were at length under forgotten the name, or that such a distinction the yoke of foreign dominion, bearing on our brows as well as in our hearts the mourning of past triumphs. a The

Once more

and on stopping to take up the last long lin- THE GRENADIER OF THE EMPIRE. gering passenger, a female who had the look of a country lass (as well as I could discern), of some twenty years of age, buxom and jolly. She sat herself down in the place where the parcel as I thought was lodged. My back was at this time to the door. Our steam once more up, and carrying on, I happened to turn myself round, and to my great surprise found my next door neighbour seated in the corner, with what will the reader suppose in her lap? Not a parcel, which I thought was there, but with a specimen of the human kind! It was evenso. She had found the seat narrow, and to improve it had taken the urchin from his nook, and without speaking clapped him on her knees! Here he rode quiet and silent as a dormouse, till a person opposite got out, when, with as little ceremony as before, she popped him on the vacant seat. under weigh, but not for long, as we had soon occasion to stop under a gas lamp, judge of my surprise, and I must suppose that too of the country miss,when the stranger, who in height and size might have passed for boy seven or eight years of age, proved to be France would not permit even that to remain allied sovereigns leagued against a little man (dressed in all respects like one), which the mitraille (canister shot) of Waterloo of three or four and twenty! On remarking his face, he appeared a could not overthrow. Trembling in the heart good deal chagrined at this unlooked-for incident, as it of our own cities, every where surrounded by would seem, though still he uttered not a a foreign soldiery, nothing would suffice but word. disbanding of the army; the demand was We had now arrived at our journey's end-made, the demand was an order, and the that is to say, the The old soldiers "Castel 'd Elephant," troops were disbanded. when a branch buss-so it was called-being whom the fatigues of war called to repose, ready to move off to my destination on the again sought labour in the fields; once more road, I left the omnibus folk to compose their put their hand to the plough, furrowed our quarrel, if any such existed between them, fields, and brought to public market the fruit by returning back, as they came, which under of their painful toil. all circumstances did not seem very likely. F. E.

PHYSIOGNOMY.

Vincent, one of the grenadiers who carried to the end of the world the glory of the French name (the writer we need hardly remark is a Frenchman), had no fields to cultivate-not he. He had left too young to have learned any I have seen the worst of men, in their worst trade or business whatsoever, and was soon of moments, yet could not all their vice, blas- reduced to the little pension attached to his phemy, and oppression of guilt, extinguish the ruban rouge, which a wound on the head and light of good that shone in their countenances two on the shoulder did not permit him to -the spirit of humanity, the ineffaceable traits cover with a porter's badge. He waited, of internal, eternal perfectibility. The sinner therefore, with some impatience the first quarWe would exterminate; the man we must em- ter's payment-it arrived, but, alas! they paid brace. Oh, physiognomy! What a pledge not, they dared even to throw out the word art thou of the everlasting clemency of God" arrears" in the face of an old campaigner, towards man! Therefore, inquirer into na- who said, "I am a hungered, give me foodture, inquire what actually is. Therefore, the price of that blood which I have shed on man, be man in all thy researches; form not the field of battle." Vain request! vexation to thyself ideal beings, for thy standard of and misery was the lot of the old soldiers; comparison. Wherever power is, there is and here the cup of bitterness ran over. He subject of admiration; and human, or, if so had nothing-nothing whatever he could you should rather, divine power, is in all men. only extend his hand to the passengers! Man is a part of the family of men: thou art man, and every other man is a branch of the same tree, a member of the same body-is what thou art, and more deserving regard than were he perfectly similar, had exactly the same goodness, the same degree of worth thou hast; for he would then no longer be the single, indispensable, unsuppliable individual which he now is-Oh, man! rejoice with whatever rejoices in its existence, and contemn no being whom God doth not contemn.

LAVATER.

But Vincent had a noble heart-What! he a beggar! Sooner would he have rammed down his cross, cartridge like, into his gunbarrel, and have blown out his brains. Work, however, he must, and find the means to do so, or starve. By dint of seeking, the old grenadier found out that he knew just enough to enable him to drive a cabriolet. The career was not a brilliant one-what signified that, bread must be had-Vincent turned cab-man. Now observe the destiny of man! he who had been in all the fights of Europe: whose hair

was blancued in the field of battle, whose sole ambition was to sleep in the lap of glory, was constrained to endure the first prig's caprice, who chose to hire his vehicle!

it was now about two years that Vincent stationed at the Place Vendôme, and standing had exercised his laborious calling. One day in front of his cabriolet, his eyes fixed upon the bronze column before him, there he read the history of his past life. Trouble, endurance, misery, all was in a moment forgotten

he had recovered the heart of the old soldier, and he was transported beyond himself, and ready to start forward and clasp in his arms that grand monument, gigantic as was the ge nius of him that raised it-when all in a sudden the illusion had vanished-the bubble was burst-some one behind him had called out "cocher!" The word was enough! hereserved The driver mounted his seat beside a young to himself all his grievances, past and present. colonel, whom he conducted to the faubourg Saint-Germain, and having set down his fare, proceeded, sad enough, and took his station on the nearest stand.

a pocket-book, upon opening it, he found In arranging his cushions, Vincent perceived 10,000 francs in bank notes, with other papers, from which he gathered the name and address of the officer, and proceeded thither without delay.

"Colonel," said he on entering, and capping after a military form, "you have just now left this pocket-book in my carriage."

Oh! par ma foi, 'tis most lucky; for I have not your number.'

"There is enough to furnish a whole regiment's subsistence; but look if the sum be correct."

"It is quite unnecessary. It arrears that you have served, my brave fellow." "During twenty years."

"In that case, I do not ask if you have confronted the enemy."

Here the cab-man drew himself up, and carried away by an honest pride, said,

"Austerlitz! on the field of battle!" "And why hide that honourable badge ?" "Colonel, it was handsome on the uniform of the old guard,-upon my rags it would be a continual reproach for the people who govern us."

"You are in the right, my old comrade, I know what a soldier is-good, generous, nothing selfish, I remember them well."

"And I also- but it is over: I no longer hear the roar of cannon." "Perhaps "

"Oh no, not with such like about uswith the other-I do not deny."

"Ah! oui, the other-you have served many of his campaigns ?"

"The whole."

"That of Russia ?"

"I was at Moscow, and at the passage of the Beresina."

"And I also."

"You, colonel? indeed!"

"Let that suffice, my fine fellow-we were brothers in arms. Let us call to mind those battle scenes."

"He did right, morbleu! if you were really in need-I have, myself, done the like; I remember it well. A young officer of the etatmajor, who I encountered on the route to Dnieper"

"On the route to Dnieper ?"

"Yes, his horse was knocked up: the poor young man, he was lying in the snow without motion, ready to expire with cold and privations; I divided with him my soldier's all-a morsel of bread."

"Yes, a morsel of bread, and what after ?" "There was a few drams of eau-de-vie in my gourd (calabash), that I could not share with him; I left him that."

"And the name graved on the gourd ?" "How should you know that, colonel?" "The name! I conjure you tell me the name!"

"Well, then, my own-Vincent!”

"Vincent !" exclaimed the colonel, straining the old grenadier in his arms, "Vincent! ahl have I then found the preserver of my life ?"

In five minutes the cab was sent back to the remise of the proprietor; and the colonel taking Vincent into a private apartment, showed him his calabash hanging on the wall amongst several warlike trophies.

"Observe, my old comrade, when you gave me that, there was within all the existence of

man-mine-there it is; I restore it in the same state, containing still, all a man's real existence-if a good action may be so called -but this time, it is thine."

The reader need hardly be told that Vincent's occupation, from that day, like "Othello's," was "no more." The colonel placed him on his own pension list, and liberal was the provision bestowed on the old soldier, who repaid his bounty, with great docility and gratitude. Thus proving himself in peace no less worthy in his vocation, than in war he had shown himself great and glorious in arms, and well deserving the honours he received.

F. E.

NAPOLEON used to say, that often the fate of battles, and even empires themselves, depends d'un rien. Such is certainly true, he

8. What is the foundation of the domination
of the former over the latter?
Does the Establishment conduce to re-
ligious instruction}

5. What is the state of the Establishment? and is it possible to reform it? 6. What is that compound thing, called Church and State? and what would be the effects of a separation of them? Legacy to Peel ls. 6d. Legacy to Labourers 1s. 4d. The "dirty-souled" (vol. 82, p. 772,) enemies of Mr. Cobbett represent these works "out of print;" they are not, but are selling by hundreds. TO THE RADICAL REFORMERS OF SOUTH

LANCASHIRE.

On Oct. 19 wil be published, No. 1, (price Three Half-pence), to be continued, of a new political periodical, entitled

mind, as to what it will at present bear in the phi This publication is an experiment on the public the standard of physical and moral science, and losophy of politics and religion, reducing both to seeking the supercession of the various false and shallow pretences of the day.

A. Carlile, publisher, Water-lane, Fleet-street, London; and 220, Deansgate, Manchester.

TURPIN'S RIDE TO YORK.

Mr Glover begs to acquaint the trade, that the incon venience experienced in obtaining a supply of the first three numbers of this work, arose solely from an unprecedented demand, beyond what his most san guine expectations had imagined. He has arranged for a RE-ISSUE of Nos. 1, 2, and 3, this week, and a full quantity of the succeeding numbers will be prepared.]

This day is published, No. 4, of

ICK TURPIN'S RIDE TO YORK, re the celebrated flight of Turpin (the notorious high. wayman), from the death of his associate, Tom King, at Kilburn Wells, to the death of his matchlesa mare, Black Bess, at York. It is hardly necessary to state, that these sketches are taken from the po pular romance of " Rookwood;" the author as well as the readers of which must be highly delighted by the vivid and characteristic manner in which the

Dresenting the most interesting periods of

extraordinary incidents of this matchless fest, whether as regards the daring intrepidity of the rider, or the remarkable symmetry and lasting qualities of the mare, are pourtrayed. Each suc cessive scene in which Turpin and his Mare are ex hibited treated by the artist with a happy know. ledge of pictorial effect, and tells the story with an accuracy, which all who have read the romance will readily appreciate. The series commence with the start from Kilburn Wells, where Turpin had been carousing with some of his brother blades, and was suddenly alarmed by the arrival of the traps. The second plate shows his progress through Edmonton, and flying-leap over a donkey-cart and driver, which had crossed the road directly in his path. The third, represents his stoppage of the York Mail. The fourth, his leap over the tell bar. The fifth, his interview with the queen Gipsy, at the foot of the gibbet. The sixth, his race with Sir Luke Rookwood, whom he mistakes in the mist for the shade of his companion, Tom Published for the Proprietors by T. P. Carlile, King: and the seventh and last, the death of the 220, Deansgate, Manchester; and sold by Hey- faithful Bess, close to the gates of York, and the es wood, and all booksellers. cape ofour hero. The costume of the period is through London agent: A. Carlile, Water-lane, Fleet-out accurately preserved; and the grouping and action

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of the horses are not excelled by any of our modern animal painters. The last scene, in which poor Bess drops broken-hearted amidst the turmoil of pursuits, is beautifully conceived, and shows the final agonies of death in this noble animal, in a manner which, when her attachment to her master and her unflinching courage are considered, must excite the warmest sympathy, and incline the spec tator to echo the words of Turpin's affectionate

lieutenant, which he was for six years, if fate had not willed it otherwise; one happy event, or one fortunate discovery, may cause the world to resound with the name of a private individual. We have at present a man, whose reputation, within a few months, has started up, and has burst forth into an astonishing degree of popularity. He has already, we are told, refused ten thousand pounds for his name and secret; we allude to Thomas Holloway,

"Then one halloo, boys! one loud cheering balloo! To the swiftest of coursers-the gallant, the true; For the sportsman unborn shall the memory bless Of the horse of the highwayman-bonny BLACK

resting, and humorons. Short, pithy, well-told tales; entertaining narratives; extraordinary and curious facts in science and literature; witty say. ings; sparkling poetic gems; lively accounts of all sorts of ODD fellows, and funny things of every Numbers price Twopence each (complete in Theatres, and of popular living actors; interest-eight). Glover, publisher, Fly-office, London. description. Also, original notices of the London ing dramatic intelligence from the best sources, &c. &c.

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Sir Walter Scott was born at Edinburgh on 15th of August, 1771. His father, Mr. alter Scott, was a respectable Writer to the gnet, a branch of the law profession in Scotid, corresponding to that of attorney or soitor in the English Courts. The house cupied by the family, at the period of the et's birth and for some time afterwards, stood the head of the College Wynd, a narrow ey leading from the Cowgate to the northern te of the College, and now considered one the meanest lanes of the Old Town. At at time, however, the College Wynd was inbited by several families of respectability; d, among others, by that of Mr. Keith, andfather to the present Sir Alexander ith, likewise a Writer to the Signet, who greeably to the ancient Edinburgh fashion) cupied the two lower flats of the same use of which the upper stories, accessible another entrance, belonged to the family of e poet. This mansion was eventually pulled wn to make way for the new college. Sir Walter was the third child of a family six sons and one daughter, all of whom survived. From an early period of his inncy until the age of sixteen, he was afflicted ith frequent ill health; and either from the fects of a sickly constitution, or, as some acunts say, from an accident occasioned by the relessness of a nurse, his right foot was inred and rendered lame for life. The delicacy f his health induced his parents to consent to is residence, during a considerable part of his arly boyhood, at Sandy Know, the house of is paternal grandfather, a respectable farmer a Roxburghshire. This farm-house occupies n elevated situation near the old border fortet, called Smailholm Tower, and overlooks a

.

large portion of the vale of the Tweed, and the adjacent country, the Arcadia of Scotland, and the very cradle of Scottish romance and song. Southward on the Northumbrian marches, rise dark and massive the Cheviot mountains, with the field of Flodden on their eastern skirts; while on the west, within a few miles' distance appears the legendary three-peaked Eildon, looking down on the monastic ruins of Melrose and Dryburgh, on the "Rhymer's Tower," and "Huntly Bank," and "Leader Haughs," and "Cowdenknows," and on the storied streams of Teviot and Ettrick, and Yarrow and Gala-water, issuing to the Tweed from their pastoral glens. "The whole land," to use the poetical language of Allan Cunningham, "is alive with song and story; almost every stone that stands above the ground is the record of some skirmish or single combat; and every stream, although its waters be so inconsiderable as scarcely to moisten the pasture through which they run, is renowned in song and in ballad. 'I can stand,' said Sir Walter, one day, 'on the Eildon Hill, and point out forty-three places, famous in war and verse.'" His residence with his venerable relatives, at this secluded spot, which after early boyhood was, we believe, occasionally renewed during the summer vacations of the High School and College, was undoubtedly fraught with many advantages, physical and mental. It was here that his feeble constitution was, by the aid of free air and exercise, gradually strengthened into robustness; and though he never got rid of his lameness, it was so far overcome as to be in after-life rather a deformity than an inconvenience. It was here that his love of ballad lore and border story was fostered into a passion; and it was here, doubt less, and at the house of one of his uncles (Mr. Thomas Scott, of Woolee, also a Roxburghshire farmer), that he early acquired that intimate acquaintance with the manners, character, and language of the Scottish peasantry,

which he afterwards turned to such admirable account in his novels. That such was the fact, indeed, the writer of this sketch is fully persuaded from circumstances that have come within his own knowledge, as well as from many incidents mentioned to him in conversation by Sir Walter himself.

ong,

While his poetical education (if we may so term it) was thus prosperously though unconsciously proceeding, his progress in school instruction is understood to have been considerably delayed or interrupted by his absence in the country and his irregular health. Mr. Cunningham mentions that he was taught the rudiments of knowledge by his mother. Mr. Chambers states that he received some part of his early education at a school kept by a Mr. Leeshman, in Bristo-street, Edinburgh; other accounts say that he attended a school at Musses selburgh; and the present writer happens know that he resided some time at Kelso, the his early days, in the house of a relative whether or not he attended any school, he cannot say. These minute details, t exploits all highly interesting in reference to a distinguished, must necessarily be left accurately sifted out by more competent bi prit du phers. It is sufficient for our present pir again. to mention that he entered the class of M to the Frazer, in the High School of Edinburg autumn October, 1779, when he had compl, eighth year; and two years subsequ was transferred to the class of the R mes Dr. Adam,ise amiable man and an excellent. teacher, whose memory Sir Walter ever held in high regard.

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It would appear from all accounts that have yet reached the public, that his progress in the classics was at this period by no means ox traordinary. It is even affirmed that he was remarkable for incorrectness in his exercises; and it appears, at least, pretty well ascertained that he left no distinct impression of superior talent or acuteness, either on his teachers or