to come upon one of those picturesque anecdotes, detailed with all the vigour and spirit of the Quorum pars magna feeling, in the midst of merely scientific details.

Paris and Fonblanque's book is in three octavos. The present work is not printed in such grand style, nor on half so fine paper; but it contains (the English edition we mean) everything really and particularly useful in the other, in one business-like, closely printed, thick octavo of 640 pages, at ONE HALF of the price. We are sure we have said quite enough to fix some portion of public attention on the book, and this is all we wished to do. The ignorant state in which Jurymen continually come to the consideration of points of medical evidence on criminal trials, is truly lamentable. In regard to men of any habits of reading, it is really sinful; and certainly not the less so, because the works which they ought to read and master happen to be about the most interesting and amusing books in the whole world. The work of Beck and Dunlop is unquestionably one of the most interesting that even the merest literary lounger could take up to dissipate the ennui of his sofa. We know of no romances half so interesting as the real " tales of terror" to be found scattered over these pages; and not a few of these, being American and Scotch, have never before made their appearance, in any shape at all, accessible to the general reader.

There is one remark more which we

must make. In this book all sorts of information in regard to the treatment of persons wounded, poisoned, halfstrangled, half-drowned, &c. are to be found; and when we think of the innumerable instances every day occurring, in which so much benefit might be derived from the possession of this kind of knowledge, we really cannot hesitate about saying that the work before us ought to take its place upon the shelf of the country gentleman's and farmer's library, especially in remote and wild parts of the country, even if there were no chance of the possessor being called upon to prepare himself for any duties but strictly domestic ones. We have little doubt that a book so full of facts and sense, and got up with such an honourable disdain of those fashionable arts, which never ought to have any admission where facts and sense are the matters in hand, must soon command general attention; and we certainly have no doubt at all, that, if it commands attention, it will retain favour.

A great many of our first medical writers have been wags in their way; and assuredly Mr Dunlop displays a noble share of this characteristic humour, as well as of the higher qualities with which that has so often been combined. His notes are, many of them, quite delicious. One wishes there were enough of them to make a book by themselves. But all this, perhaps, in due time.

Feb. 4th, 1825.

It was now the depth of autumn; and, according to an immemorial custom, the poorer inhabitants of Debretzin, whose lands lie at several days' journey from their homes, pursued their way across the sandy plains; the greater portion in droskies, or little waggons, and not a few on small, lean-looking horses.

On the produce of these acres, though situated so far from them, depend their almost only hopes of sustenance, and thither, for a week or so, twice or thrice every year, do they journey with their families, as culti vation, seed-time, and harvest, call for their presence.

"Thrice did they cross the shade of night," and three times did the horn, blown beneath the morning sun, summon them to arise and be going, ere they hailed, at the base of the great Carpathian chain, the scantily tilled fields, enclosed with ranges of thinly scattered poplars; the only inheritance which had descended to them from their fathers. In the course of a few hours, they came to a spot marked out by a gibbet, on which a criminal had been hanged, and the road branches out from a central spot in many directions; the cavalcade paused.

After a short halt, to permit of a general palaver, and interchange of amicable greetings, it divided itself into various portions; waggons drove to right and left, accompanied or followed by panniered horses, bearing women and children; while perchance a listless donkey lagged in the rear, with its burthen of kitchen utensils. Behind all, stalked the brawny peasant, with his long whip, which, ever and anon, he threw out before him, and smacked over the heads of the jaded animals, as a tale-bearer of

MARMION.

threatening castigation; his wide, heavy jack-boots impeding the journey he strove to cheer with a timeous whiff of tobacco smoke, a loud shrill whistle, or the chanting of some old, rude, half-forgotten Sclavonian ditty.

The area of cultivation consisted of small fields, or rather patches of wheat, mingled with rye, oats, or maize, the last of which predominated, from its being the most productive in crop, averaging generally in the rate of thirty-fold. No houses being erected, as no one took up a permanent residence in the neighbourhood, the sound of the hammer echoed in a hundred quarters over the plain, as each family busied itself in fitting up an abode, such as was requisite for accommodation during the time of harvest, varying in shape and dimensions, according to the number intended to be packed in the interior, or as the geniality of the weather seemed to warrant. Some constructed tents, by fixing four poles in the ground at right angles, stretching a blanket between them, and covering in the top by means of skins or oiled cloth. Others, by nailing boards together, erected booths more fit for shelter and comfort;

while many contented themselves with simply sleeping in their oblong waggons, screened from the cold and moisture of night by the envelopements of a coarse cloak, or, by burrowing, like pigs in a barn-yard, beneath bundles of fresh straw.

It was now evening. Surmounted by masses of picturesque and illuminated clouds, the great sun was sinking majestically behind the mountain boundary of the west. The voice of song continued from the woodlands, as the birds chanted their vesper hymns, and a shrill, murmuring, monotonous sound, like the tinkling of a

thousand little bells, was heard at a distance, which was afterwards discovered to proceed from innumerable frogs, collected around the margin of the swamps and marshy grounds. The various encampments were now almost finished; and the cattle enjoyed, beside them, the privilege of a constientiously long tether, to make up matters with their masters, and annihilate the marks and remembrances of fatigue, encountered in a long and difficult journey. The men, in their loose cloaks, during the time that preparations were making for the evening meal, rested before the line of huts, in the fine, serene sunshine, smoking pipes, and making observations on the changes of the landscape, over which their eyes wandered; while, here and there, might be seen some one of the younger females, passing to, or returning, with the pipkin on her head, from the stream that flowed beneath its fringe of pollards, at the western extremity of the enclosures. Among these was Theresa, the heroine of our little story, whom we shall briefly introduce. This Hungarian beauty was now in her twentieth year, fair as a lily of the brook; and, though born to the estate almost of a peasant, nature had beneficently endowed her with those gentle and delicate feelings, which can alone add lustre to a higher station, and form the only real distinguishing excellence of female character. With her aged parents, who were alike contented, virtuous, and respected by all who knew them, she had come up from their home at Debretzin, to assist in the labours of the harvest. In stature she was rather below the common, and more slender than otherwise; but her form was elegant in the extreme. She had none of that clownish heaviness and insipidity about her, which seems to hang like a dim wintry cloud over a countenance, which is thereby rendered unmeaning, though well favoured; but, in the grace of her gait, and in the expressive quickness of her eye, dwelt the life and animation, which communicate themselves to others. There is no doubt, in a word, that she was a bright, sweet little creature; and whoever glanced down for a moment at her small foot and taper ankle, knew at once that the elastic form to which it belonged was one of fairy agility.

She had reached the stream: one

foot rested on a stone a little in from the brink; and, with her right hand, she was dipping down the pitcher, while, with the other, she supported herself by catching hold of a wild lilac bush which grew behind her, when she was accosted unawares by a voice, which caused her to start, as she had perceived no one, and deemed herself alone in the solitary place. Turning round to whence the sound came, she saw an old man rising up from the flowery bank, whereon he seemed to have been resting, clad in the habit of a Cygani or Gypsy; and, as people belonging to the wandering tribe are to be met with in every sec tion of the country, his appearance, after the first startle of surprise was over, excited no alarm.

"This is a fine, calm evening, my child; may I have a draught from thy pitcher?" He drank, and proceeded. "Now, by the sparkle of thine eye, I guess, that since we happen to be here alone, you would confess to me that you would like to have your fortune told. Say at once, now, that I am right. Is it not so, my sweet girl?”

"Nay, now," returned she, making an effort to draw her breath, which her momentary surprise seemed to have impeded, and blushing, as she lingered to answer him; "nay, now, good father, you are wrong, believe me; I have no such anxiety about me. How should I, pray, now?"

"These are women's words," answered the Gypsy, "not to be taken just as they are spoken; though, like worn coin, they sometimes pass current at full value. There is onenay, but look in my face—a secret one, in whose fate and fortune you are not altogether uninterested. Turn not away, child; look up, and tell me, if you dare, you simpering fairy, that it is otherwise."

Theresa looked half playfully at him. "That may, or may not be. I will not make you wiser. You only want to try me; but, if I had secrets, I know how to keep them, my good father. Isn't it foolish in an old man like you," added she, smiling, "to be prying into a poor girl's thoughts? But-good evening-I am loitering with you here, when I have other things to attend to;" and with this she stooped down to raise the pipkin from the stone on which it rested.

"Nay-stop but for a moment, my nightingale; I ask not your secrets. But what would you say were I to tell you, without asking you any questions at all, what you oftenest think about? Love promises bring long hours of thought after them, before they come to their fulfilment ; as the morning sun casts before him many a flattering and fleeting ray, before he shews his bright face over the mountains. Sometimes they may be altogether forgotten, when change of scene, and change of companions, bring about change of heart. Yours are not so-if I have any skill in reading a lesson from a fair face."

"Old man, you are flattering me. Farewell I must away-good even." "Nay, nay-another moment, and I have done. Methinks I see one who is far away; yet, amid strange scenes, and ainid strange faces, he is mindful of his home, and of a dwelling still dearer than his home. It stands on the bank of a stream-its windows look to the east-and at each side of the door are two barberry bushes. He is mindful of a love he left there; ah! as mindful as ever you could be of such a one. It will be well for you both, when the wars are over, and the weapons put into their sheaths. Now, you look down, and sigh. I knew that I had something which you would like to hear."

"How can you, who are an old man, speak such silly things? or how can you know anything about foreign parts, or about people you have never seen? I could almost think-but I am a foolish girl, or I would not stand listening to your nonsense, as earnestly as if it were one of Father Nicholas's sermons. Really, I am foolish, and the evening coming down so heavily," she added, pointing to the hills, whose declivities were darkening to azure, and to the mass of sombre cloud above them, from whose margin the gold of day was decaying, and lifted up her pitcher to depart.

"Let me look at your hand a moment-but a moment, then, since you have no patience with me, and care not to hear my prattle, however full of good things, and fair promises, and I shall tell you in a breath, fair flower, whether the future shall be sunshiny or sombred with clouds, like yon. Why do you hesitate? Do you doubt my skill? In

deed, you have soon come to think yourself very wise."

Theresa stretched forth her small white hand to him; and, turning up the palm of it, she looked in his face, as, with a semblance of serious thought, he cast his eye along the lines of life. "Now I know your destiny, Theresa-Is not that your name?'

She looked at him perplexed, and then nodded assent. He then added, with a degree of fervour, as he gazed over her beauties with a more than momentary steadfastness, which made her shrink, and turn away her eyes from him," He whom you love, Theresa, he who loves thee as his soul, is not far distant. I, who perhaps have never gazed on you before, am prophet enough to assure you of this; and do you still doubt my skill? Lo, the truth is at hand, and the flight of time shall not be far, till my words be made good. But there are leisure hours till then ; and I leave these things, my fair girl, for your dream this night. I bargained for no fee-but you will not refuse me this;" and, gently pressing her yielded hand, he raised her fingers to his lips," it is a sufficient reward for my fortune-telling. Despise not a Cygani hereafter. Weeds are but flowers under a meaner name. Good-night, and may Heaven bless you."

With a mind overflowing with meditation, Theresa returned home; and, during the remainder of the evening, her mother observed her pensive and silent. She sate, seemingly attentive to what was going on, yet absent when spoken to, and more inclined to gaze into the fire, than to look her neighbour in the face.

Night passed over, with many a dream peaceful or perturbed; and, with the morning sun, all were astir, and preparing for the field labours. Theresa, like Juliet, was willing to mistake the nightingale for the lark, such a paradise of vision floated before her heated imagination; nevertheless, she arose with the rest, partook of their slight breakfast, and with her sickle thrown over her arm, passed forth in the early sunlight to the labours of harvest. To the buoyant mind, toil is scarcely an effort; the birds sang, and the flowers bloomed; the waters made a pleasant sound, and hour after hour passed rapidly away, while Theresa dreamed sweet dreams, and never

before felt such a delight in the soft breeze, and the verdant landscape.

When the sultry day had journeyed by, beholding an industrious band gathering in the treasures which Providence had furnished so liberally for their support, and the evening star had arisen to light them on their homeward road, Theresa started, and her heart went a-fluttering, when the band of females were met by the same old Gypsy, who was loitering by the wayside. She knew not whether his eye had singled her out or not, as she turned away her head to avoid his gaze; but, when they had passed on a little way, she glanced behind, and saw him making up to the men, who were escorting the loaded wains. Like an idler, who had nought but his amusement in view, he turned back again with them; and, at a bend of the road, Theresa, mounting on a stone, saw him in conference with her father.

With that hospitality so characteristic of the Hungarian peasantry, he was invited to partake of the evening meal; and, when all were duly refreshed, the old men of the party replenished their pipes, and seated themselves on the temporary settle before the door.

"Have you been long in these parts?" said old Peter Shemnitz to the Cygani, after an hour's conversation and fellowship had made them better acquainted; 66 or do you reside at a distance ?"

"You may as well ask the direction to Cain's dwelling as to mine.We are none of your shell-fish that grow to the rock. As the swallow passes from country to country, so pass we from town to town. Will you have a little music ?"

"What can you give us?"

"Why, almost what you choose, on violin or dudel-sack-Zrinii's March, Maria Carlvitch, the Song of Istolar, or anything you like. I have brought a famous pipe from Vienna."

"So you have been at the great city; come tell us something about it. 'Tis said all the great kings are there, carousing after the wars are over."

"True, indeed," said the Cygani, smiling; "the times are miraculously changed. The French lion has at length been caught in the toils; and I hope that a long peace will bring prosperity and plenty along with it.'

It

"Come tell us what you saw. is a mighty fine thing to have seen the world. 'Tis said the Emperor's town is ten times as big as Pesth."

"Truly I cannot exactly tell, but an immense place it is without doubt; and so rich and fine! Ah! if you only saw the nobles there, with their crosses and golden stars, galloping through the streets in their grand chariots!if you only saw the palaces, and the churches, and the castles, you should never think any more of Pesth, and its bridge of boats. But other things than seeing rare sights caused me to travel. I had an only son, and he was called away to join the army; for we borderers of Transylvania must all be trained up as soldiers. He was my only son; and, after he was torn from his home, I heard nothing of him for years. I had none to leave behind me, none to care for me, and of what value is life to a man in that case? The news of bloody battles came to us often and often, as the sound of far-off thunder comes upon the wind;-the yearnings of a father's heart are difficult to be borne ;-so, having braced my little bundle on my shoulders, and taken my staff into my hand, I even locked the door of my widowed hut, and set out, on what many would reckon a fool's journey."

"Was it so?-What success had you in your travels? I dare say you found him out after all ?"

66 Alas! you urge me to recall heavy thoughts to my mind, but

"No, no; save yourself the pains. We understand that he perished on the field of battle."

"Yes, indeed he did; but it was some consolation to my old heart (here he wiped his eyes) to find, that he still lived in the remembrance of his comrades, who cherished his memory with a fond regard, and welcomed the father from love to his son. There was one of them who had long been his tent-fellow, and had stood by his side in many an action, in many an hour of danger. By the by, he came from this very neighbourhood. His forefathers had possessed a place at Warlada for many generations; till forced, in his father's time, to mortgage it.His name was Ludovico-I forget what more.'

"Ludovico Marlin!-I knew him well, I knew him well!-Theresa," he