was incessantly employed with the means of pear until I had left it.. I now felt the injusseducing her. "I carefully sought, and soon obtained the means of being introduced to her father; I manifested the desire I had of being better acquainted with him. He received me with a sort of gratitude, thinking himself honoured by the pleasure 1 appeared to take in his conversation. I availed myself of the campaigns which he had made, the engagements which he had been in, and the feats of valour which were attributed to him; and the worthy old man was quite elated with my praise, and gave ine a long account of all his inilitary achievements. This beginning, which succeeded beyond my most sanguine wishes, gave me the means of often seeing his daughter. I flattered her much more on the score of her beauty than the tender solicitude which she displayed towards her father, for the comforts which her filial piety sought to procure him, and the care which she took to alleviate the sufferings caused by his infirmities. I seemed to take a lively interest in her situation, which appeared far from easy. On learning the injustice of the government towards her father, who had so gloriously served his country, I expressed a wish of repairing the ingratitude of the one, and of alleviating the labours of the other. It is by flattering people's pride that the road is easily found to the heart. She assured ine that she was very grateful for my kindness. These few words emboldened me to ask for more. I made her understand that it depended entirely upon her to spend her days in happiness, and to procure for her father all the comforts which his age required; that to obtain all this, she had only to agree to the means offered by one who greatly pitied her situation, and whose happiness would consist in rendering it more fortunate. I spread before her imagination all the charms of elegant ease, which are generally so much prized by the female sex, which tempt, so often seduce, and effect a triumph over them. To all my promises I added some valuable presents; I left no sophistical argument untried; but she, calin in the midst of all my splendid offers, listened to me without displaying the smallest emotion, but with a mild firmness rejected my suit; and which, far from having dazzled her, as I expected, she viewed in no other light than that of an insult offered to her delicacy, and which had severely wounded her feelings. I, however, had the temerity to renew my arguments; but all the reward obtained was, that whenever I entered her father's dwelling, she immediately found some excuse for withdrawing, and did not again ap tice of my couduct, and as a punishment formed the project of never beholding her again.-But this was a task I could not fulfil. Her image followed me incessantly; I sighed, I existed for her alone. Astonished at finding such virtuous sentiments united with so much beauty, and now convinced that neither the one nor the other cau be too much honoured, and, in short, that the passion of love, when joined with these, ought to equalize all ranks, and excuse all the follies which prejudice and false pride attach to it, I resolved to offer her my hand. "The next day I opened my heart to her father: I told him the affection with which his daughter had inspired me, and the desire I had of becoming his son-in-law. The worthy man could scarcely cout in his astonishment and joy. What, seriously,' he exclaimed, you think of my Eliza; you wish to make her your wife?' 'Yes,' I replied, 'I ask her of you, with the fervour of a man who renders still more homage to her virtues than her charms; and so earnest am I in my eutreaties, that your acceptance or refusal will decide the happiness or misery of my life. My refusal,' said he, that you surely do not fear.' -What! hastily rejoined I, can there be any other obstacle? A very great one, Signior; the difference of our fortunes. You are rich, and I have only a very slender pension, which is not even sufficient to afford me the common necessaries of life, and which dies with me. From this you will perceive that my Eliza has nothing to offer you.'~ 'She has all that my most sanguine wishes could aspire to,' replied I, she is the daughter of a respectable man, and a brave officer, who is covered with laurels; she possesses every virtue; these endowments far surpass all riches.' The old man's eyes were filled with tears; he took my hand, and affectionately pressing it, led me in silence to his daughter. The modest dignity with which she received my proposals, only encreased my love. Her answer was, that she depended on her father; but that should he agree to my offers, she could not yield to them, if she must be separated from him. This obstacle was soon overcome; I assured her that her father should accompany her, and that we would live together in this mansion, where all my felicity would consist in their society. "We were shortly married; and for three years lived in a state of the most uninterrupted happiness. Our first grief was the loss of her worthy father, who about that time departed this life. I mourned his loss with the same sincerity as if he had been my own parent; and this I certainly owed him, for his, many virtues, and for the felicity I enjoyed by the gift of his lovely daughter. "In the vicinity of my domain, there dwelt a man of rather mean extraction, who possessed some talents under which he contrived to conceal many vices. He was a tolerable musician and painter, and also occupied himself successfully with agriculture. I had rendered him some important services, and he passed the greatest part of his time at my house; his attachment, which I fancied sincere, and his seeming kind attentions, rendered him very dear to me. A lovely wife, and a sincere friend, united the tenderest affections; these I thought I possessed, and was completely happy. "We often took the diversion of hunting, but my friend Cornelio left me almost always before the termination of the chase; sometimes he complained of fatigue, and at others a sudden indisposition recalled him to the house. An honest heart is unacquainted with suspicion: I adored my wife, I esteemed her; how could it have entered my mind to watch her actions? I should have considered even the shadow of a doubt an irreparable injury to her. Besides, what had I to fear from Cornelio? He possessed no attractions, his manners had nothing agreeable in them; he was rough, and often silent; I also thought I had remarked, that my wife appeared civil to him merely on my account. Notwithstanding, the frequency of his leaving me during the chace, and the various pretences he made use of to excuse himself from accompanying me in my visits to my neighbours, could not fail to excite astonishment; and I once took au opportunity of telling him, that politeness required him not to leave me so often. To this he de no reply. "The people of this country are very superstitious, and ever ready to find out something supernatural in the most trifling events. A report was spread abroad, and reached my ears, that whenever I hunted, at night a ghost appeared in my house. In reality, I had several times heard my dogs bark, and remarked that my servants seemed unusually terrified and disturbed. One night I resolved to get up and endeavour to discover this mystery. I sought for the ghost, but in vain. My wife was not exempt from the general terror. When I was called from my chamber by the noise of my dogs, she carefully bolted the door, and did not open it again till she heard my voice. ' and though I said nothing, it seriously occu pied my thoughts. I remarked, that when Cornelio left me, when we were hunting, the same night the ghost did not appear, and all passed in perfect tranquillity. This discovery was calculated to excite suspicion, or at least a wish to unravel this mystery. Accordingly one night I ordered the most resolute of my servants to conceal himself where he could not be observed, and to watch carefully the proceedings of the supposed ghost. I had gone to bed, but remained listening, when suddenly I heard a most dreadful noise; I hastily rose and ran to the place where I had stationed my servant in ambuscade. Make no noise, Signior,' said he, all is discovered; the ghost is no other person than your favourite, Signior Cornelio, who while you are searching all over the courts and gardens, goes to keep my mistress company in your absence. To tell you how he gets into her chamber is more than I can do, but I can answer for the truth of my report, and it is not to-night that I have discovered these proceedings.' A thunder-bolt would have struck me less than these words. 1 remained for a few moments stupified with borror; but suddenly recovering myself, and yielding to the fury which possessed me, I rushed upon the miserable servant, and plunged my poignard into his heart, saying, 'you, at least, shall not live to repeat this to others. Take the reward of your losg silence.' The unhappy man fell dead at my feet, and I dragged his body into a little shed which was near at hand. All my actions were guided by a sort of frenzy, and yet my appearance was calm. I returned to my chamber with apparent coolness, and called to my wife; she questioned me longer than usual, to be assured that it was myself, she said, before she would admit me; at length she opened the door, and seeing me look pale and wild, exclaimed, Good God, my dear! why do you appear so agitated? What is the matter? Nothing, nothing!' replied I. O what torments at that moment assailed my heart! I had, however, the strength to dissemble; I restrained my rage; I concentrated it only to employ myself with revenge; I went to bed. My wife did not seem satisfied, she again questioned me, and showed such a lively interest in my supposed indisposition, and with such an appearance of sincerity, that I was for a moment staggered in the belief of my misery. You may judge what sort of a night I passed, and what were my sufferings. I arose at the break of day, and called Cornelio and my huntsman to go to the chace. We "This alarm contiuued for several months; remained out the whole day; towards the evening Cornelio appeared more fatigued than ordinary, and told me, he was so weak that he feared he should faint. Return to the castle,' said I, and tell my wife that she need not wait for me, as I shall not sleep at home.' Night came on, I got rid of my followers, and by a circuitous path returned to my house. As in this country we are in no fear of thieves, I easily entered without alarming any of the family. I instantly repaired to Cornelio's chamber, but he was not there. I now struck a light, and entered a saloon which || adjoined to a corridor above my wife's apartment. Each step I took my heart palpitated violently with terror and grief. I passed along that part of the castle which looked towards the garden, and remarked a ladder placed against the wall, and leading to a small window of my wife's room, which was covered within by a picture of Titian's, which I had lately purchased, and for which I had not yet found another place. This discovery was a deathblow to me, for how could I any longer doubt their guilt? My knees bent under me, and I was near fainting, so much had rage and despair taken possession of my faculties. Having, however, somewhat recovered, I threw down the ladder, flew to my wife's apartment, |; and called, or rather screamed. She instantly opened the door, Cornelio was there, and, terrified at my appearance, ran to the window, but missing the ladder, in his haste, fell to the earth, and broke several of his ribs. I heard his fall, shut my wife in her chamber, and ran to him. Wretch,' cried I, monster of wickedness and ingratitude.'—I conld not conclude, but gave him numerous blows with my poniard. Still more inflamed by the vengeance I had taken, I returned up stairs, and raised my arm to strike my adulterous wife, but the steel fell from my hand; and since then, whenever I have attempted to punish her, I have never had the resolution to pierce the heart of one whom I had so tenderly loved. "Ashamed of my weakness, but still under the influence of passion, I resolved to shut her up in a kind of tomb, with her lover and the servant I had killed. "This revenge is doubtless dreadful, yet it has not satisfied my broken heart; her death alone would do that. But I have never been able to perpetrate the art. I daily take her food to support her miserable existence; for twelve days she has not beheld the light, nor heard me pronounce one word, and I am an hundred times more wretched thau herself O, why cannot I abandon her to herself, forget her, and fly to the dreary desert! But No. XXXIV. Vol. V. what will be said of me and my family by the public, that cruel tyrant who always judges without listening? You, Signior, the only per. son to whom I have opened my heart, add to the kindness you have shewn in listening to my woes, that of following me; come and behold the melancholy and fatal object with whom it is impossible for me to live, and shall I confess it, whom it is impossible for me not to love!" My companion ceased speaking. I was strongly affected by his story, and in silence rose and followed him. We crossed the garden, and directed our steps towards the tower, which 1 had observed on my arrival; we entered, and he opened the door of a kind of dungeon, the fatal depository of his victims. I was now seized with horror at the sight of a spectacle to which it is impossible that words can do justice. On one side appeared a corpse covered with wounds, besmeared with blood, and already emitting the most insupportable exhalations; on the other side lay another corpse, placed under the eyes of one of the loveliest women that nature ever formed, and whose mild and diguified grief seemed to embellish her, whilst it attested her innocence or repentance. And as if this spectacle was not sufficiently affecting, the dog I formerly mentioned had followed us, and recognising his unfortunate mistress, leaped towards her, and licking her hands, howled aloud with joy. I burst into tears; and Don Alvaro could not restrain his. I availed myself of this moment, and said: "Hitherto, Signior, I have listened to you in silence, I have sympathized in your griefs, O, now have the patience to hear me. You have acknowledged to me, that the love which you felt for your wife even at first sight can never be effaced. Well, Signior, we will not discuss this deplorable adventure; whether your suspicions be just or ili founded, is it not true that no one was acquainted with your unhappy secret but those two miserable wretches, who cannot now reveal it? You appear to attach much importance to public opinion; but the credit which it gives or takes away does not consist in what we know ourselves, but in what others say of us; or else there would be few men who would dare to appear in society. The death of these wretches assures you of an eternal silence, all is buried with them. O, Signior! raise your eyes, look at your wife; she still breathes, perhaps she is innocent, and I dare believe that she is so, since I have had no certain proofs to the contrary The vain attempts which you have made to deprive her of life, do they not appear to you as a kind of voucher, F and speak loudly in her favour? Ah, Signior, be at the same time just and generous, and listen to your wife." to me, presume you are informed of the rest. Let Before Don Alvaro, who was lost in thought, could reply, his wife said in a feeble voice, which penetrated my heart, "No, no, whoever you are, do not intercede for me, your trouble would be lost; I hold life in detestation; great God what cause should I have to regret it? Oue alone would render it dear to me, and that was his affection; I have lost it. O, then in pity, let me die. However, as so strange an adventure may leave a deep impression on your remembrance, and as the fate which I experience might induce you to accuse my husband of cruelty, or make you believe me criminal, which I have not deserved, before I close my eyes on the world, this double motive compels me to relate to you the truth. The unhappy Don Alvaro wept bitterly. “These two men whom you here behold," Well, Signior," said 1, "will you not put an have merited the death which they have re end to this torturing scene?" At these words, ceived; the one for having related things quicker than lightning, he rushed towards his which he could not have seen; the other not wife, and cut asunder the bonds which confined for the harm he did, but for that which he her. At this sudden and unexpected moveintended, in betraying, by the most atrocious ment she fell, and fainted in his arms; his ingratitude, my husband, his benefactor and emotion, and the weak state of his health, mine. Sometimes this wretch would approach almost placed him in the same situation; yet me in my lord's absence; but with a look 1 he exerted himself in order to assist her: when awed him, and he always behaved with a re- she came to herself, he covered her face with serve which gave me no reason to complain, kisses, fell at her feet, manifested every mark and which re-assured me. It is true, that on of repentance, cursed his impetuosity, imputed the night of the dreadful catastrophe, which it to his affection, implored her to forget his has eternally ruined my happiness, I beheld cruelty, and to pardon him. Medical assisthim walk from behind a picture, without know-ance, but more particularly peace and happiing how he could have found an entrance into my chamber. I was much terrified and surprised, and was just going to call for help, when I heard my husband's voice at the door. As he has conducted you hither, Siguior, I ness, soon restored this lovely and interesting ACCOUNT OF PETER BALES. PETER BALES, one of our earliest and school at the upper end of the Old Bailey, and most eminent writing masters, finished a per- the same year published his "Writing Schoolformance which contained the Lord's Prayer, master." In 1595, he had a trial of skill in the Creed, the Ten Commandments, with two writing, with a Mr. Daniel Johnson, for a short prayers in Latin, his own name, motto, golden pen, of twenty pounds value, and won day of the month, year of our Lord, and reignit. Upon this victory, his contemporary and of the Queen (Elizabeth), to whom he after-rival in penmanship, Joha Davies, made a wards presented it at Hampton-Court, all within the circle of a silver penny, and enchased in a ring with borders of gold, covered with a crystal, so accurately wrought as to be plainly legible, to the great admiration of The particulars of the contest for the pen, her majesty, her ministers, and several am- supposed to be written by Bales himself, are bassadors at court. In 1590, Bales kept all in the British Museum, dated Jan. 1, 1596. satirical ill-natured epigram, intimating that FAMILIAR LECTURES ON USEFUL SCIENCES. THEORY OF THUNDER AND LIGHTNING. meets with in its course, as the common conductors have upon such as are presented to them. If, then, a cloud of this description meets with one which is either not electrified or less so than itself, the electric matter flics off from all parts towards this cloud. Hence proceed flashes of lightning and the formidable report of thunder. PHILOSOPHERS are now agreed that the cause of thunder is the same with that which produces the ordinary phenomena of electri- || city. So great indeed is their resemblance, that thunder and lightning cannot be regarded as any other than a grander species of electri- || city naturally produced without the feeble efforts of art. This fluid is, probably, at all times diffused through the whole atmosphere, either in a greater or smaller degree, and is occasionally rendered perceptible to our senses by a certain concurrence of natural circum-cloud or more, increasing very fast in size, and stances. The cloud which produces thunder and lightning may be considered as a great electrified body. In order to explain how it has acquired its electric virtue, it is necessary to pre- || mise that this power is excited in two ways, by friction and by communication. Bodies electrified by friction communicate their virtue to other bodies which are susceptible of it, provided they are insulated and at a suitable distance. As air is a self-electric body, there is reason to presume that, especially in stormy weather, when the clouds and the wind are frequently observed to take contrary courses, one portion of the atmosphere, rushing by another, may cause the air to be electrified by the friction of its own particles, or by rubbing against terrestrial objects which it meets in its passage, or perhaps against the clouds themselves. It is not improbable also, that the inflammable matters which rise from the earth and accumulate in the cloudy regions contribute to increase the effect, not only of themselves, but perhaps still more by the electric matter which they carry along with them. A circumstance favourable to this inference is, that thunder-storms are more frequent and violent at such times and places in which we have reason to conclude that these exhalations are most abundant in the atmosphere; as, for instance, in warm seasons and climates, and situations where the earth is impregnated with substances capable of furnishing a large quantity of these exhalations, and iu particular in the vicinity of volcanoes. A cloud in a thunder-storm may be regarded as a great conductor, actually insulated and electrified, and it may be supposed to have the same effect upon the non-electrics which it Thunder-storms, says Beccaria, generally happen when there is little or no wind, and their first appearance is marked by one dense rising into the higher regions of the air; the lower surface black and nearly level, but the upper finely arched and well defined. Many of these clouds seem frequently piled one upon another, all arched in the same inauner; but they keep continually uniting, swelling, and extending their arches. At the time of the rising of this cloud, the atmosphere is generally full of a great number of separate clouds, motionless and of odd and whimsical shapes. All these, upon the appearance of the thunder-cloud, draw towards it, and become more uniform in their shapes as they approach, till coming very near the thundercloud, their limbs mutually stretch towards one another: they immediately coalesce, and together make on uniform mass. But sometimes the thunder-cloud will swell and increase very fast without the conjunction of any of these adscititious clouds, the vapours of the atmosphere forming themselves into clouds wherever it passes. Some of the adscititious clouds appear like white fringes at the skirts of the thunder-cloud, but these keep continually growing darker and darker, as they approach or unite with it. When the thunder-cloud has increased to a great size, its lower surface is often ragged, particular parts being detached towards the earth, but still connected with the rest. Sometimes the lower surface swells into various large protuberances, bending uniformly towards the earth. When the eye is under the thunder-cloud, after it has grown larger and well formed, it is seen to sink lower and to darken prodigiously, at the same time that a number of adscititious clouds, the origin of which can never be perceived, are seen in a rapid motion driving about in every uncertain |