being ignorant that I am your husband, and having never seen me; but we must embrace all opportunities that offer to put an end to our captivity. I do not wish, my beloved Elvira, to lessen your present joy, or mix with bitterness this happy reunion; nevertheless, I must tell you, that you may not be deceived in your intentions, that you have nothing to hope from the assistance of your father." He softened as much as possible the circumstances of her father's death, for fear of afflicting her; he, however, said enough to convince her that there was no hope of a ransom from England. This news afflicted Elvira, but in her present condition, now speaking to her husband, and hoping never more to be separated from him, her heart opened but faintly to the impressions of grief. Great joys seize entirely on the mind, and hurry away the soul with impetuosity, not leaving the least room om for sorrowful ideas. In a heart full of the present object, distant images make but a faint impression. At another time the news of her father's death, and the dissipa. tion of all her riches, would have excited the highest sorrow, and have overflowed her in tears; but having now recovered her husband whom she adored, and thought to have lost for ever, she was hardly affected with any lasting sorrow at this news. the utmost regret I employ these means, and I am not insensible that your soul will shudder at deceiving one who merits nobler treatment, but the greatest of all 'crimes would be our neglecting the means of reuniting us for ever. What," continued Elvira, seeing the Colonel pensive and silent, "do you hesitate on the part you ought to act? Do you hesitate between the happiness of possessing me, and the fear of deceiving a person you never saw? Ah! you love me not, Colonel; five months' absence has banished me from your heart! Ah! what will become of me should this absence continue longer!" "Just Heaven!" cried the Colonel, "can you, my dear Elvira, throw on me so injurious a reproach! I cease to love you! I forget you! Ah! cruel, that heart which adores you has not merited such piercing reproaches! Doubt not but I am ready to undertake every thing; for I know no other happiness but that of adoring you. Can you think it strange that a virtuous mind like mine, should hate falsity and dissimulation, that it should shudder at being forced to have recourse to such detestable expedients! I should deservedly appear less amiable in your eyes, could I undertake such detestable measures without reluctance. I consent to accept, odious as they are, the means which fortune offers us of shaking off slavery; but let us complain bitterly of this same fortune, who, after having loaded us with evils, will not suffer us to put an end to them without committing a crime. Lastly, my Elvira, let us not be blinded by the dissimulation we are going to make use of; for shall we not eternally re amiable Zara to that melancholy condition in which we must expect to find her on our arrival in England, when she shall learn from our words and behaviour that she has no share of my heart?" "Since all hope," said Elvira, "is torn from us in our native country, let us embrace the opportunity which love and chance gives us in this: Heaven is witness there is no extremity which should induce me to violate the sacred rites of friendship, but the hope of restoring liberty to my husband. It is to me intolerable anguish to abuse that weak-proach ourselves with having reduced the ness of a friend of which I am the confidant, but the fear of being separated from you carries every thing before it. What I am now speaking must appear a mystery to you, but it is necessary I should explain it in a few words.-Zara, the Dey's daughter, loves you; she has many times gazed on you from that grove unpercived by you; and she has now charged me to make you this present. She is now ready to fly with us to England. Since fortune has deprived us of all other means of procuring our liberty, it is necessary, my dear Colonel, we should embrace this; it is with "Why should we take her to England?” interrupted Elvira: "you may, if you please, make use of her to prepare every thing for our departure, and when we are gone, we shall deceive her only in leaving her here." "You give me a commission," said the Colonel, "which I fear I shall but badly execute; but my dear Elvira, where shall I see you hereafter? the idea of that moment in which other in her presence, otherwise our eyes, our you quit me makes me tremble." "I shall come into the grove," replied Elvira, "every morning at this hour; you will also find me there at the setting of the sun; and, according to all appearance, Zıra will sometimes accompany me; I shall fear the sight of her when we are together, and I can judge to what a pitch jealousy would carry her by what I perceive in the violence of her passion; we cannot therefore, my dear Colonel, be too cautious of regarding each gestures, and our words will betray us. A DEATH OF MR HORNE TOOKE. THE death of this remarkable character,, mind as that of Horne Tooke, was sufficient is not an occurrence of every day, it is the death of a man, who in the period in which he has lived, and the sphere which he has filled, has been more active and more conspicuous, || than any other person now living. From the commencement of the reign of his present Majesty, to the day of Horne Tooke's death,|| scarcely has any public occurrence passed in which he has not had a greater share than belonged to his mere private station. He bas accordingly been the most active individual in a period of general activity. He has lived in more revolutions of politics and parties than any other man of the day, and in all of them have his talents or his intrigue, his good or bad intentions, and indefatigable spirit and exertions rendered him an actor. to render him the eminent scholar which he afterwards exhibited himself. It is the character of Westminster School, that it puts its pupils in the right way, and imbibes them with a right mind, and therefore they have only to follow in future life the plan which is there traced for them. This is all that any school can do, and it is ntore we believe than is done by the greater part of them. To begin well is to ensure a good conclusion. It is related in a memoir of Horae Tooke, inserted in a work published some time since, that he was removed from Westminster to Eton at the usual age. This, however, must be a mistake, as Westminster and Eton are not in the relation of school and college to each other. It is possible that Horne Tooke might have had the advantage of both these eminent schools, but is more probable that this is an error. In the year 1754, he was sent to Cambridge, and entered himself of St. John's College. We do not know what was the reputation of this College at the time, but it is certainly a high honour to its name in literature that it has sent forth such a profound scholar as Horne Tooke. His father at any rate 'was sufficiently reHe studied at College with the most exemspectable to be the Treasurer of a Public Cha-plary industry, and he acquired the necessary rity. This was the Middlesex Hospital, of fruit of such assiduity, an early proficiency in which Horne Tooke himself afterwards be-learning and philology. came one of the Governors. Mr. H. Tooke was educated for the Church, Mr. Tooke was sent to Westminster School and his first prospects are said to have been at a very early age, and is said to have passed || very promising. He entered into Holy Orders through all the forms of that distinguished at the usual age, and immediately obtained seminary. This course of itself, in such all the living of Brentford. He had connections whose favour did not stop at this point. The Duke of Newcastle, we believe, from some kind of interest, took him into his patronage, and Horne Tooke obtained a promise, that he || should be appointed one of the Royal Chap-| lains. Fortunately, however, (for such we must consider it) for the interests of religion,|| Mr. Horne's star here interposed. The nation very shortly became convulsed by party dissentions. The English were too easily persuaded that Lord Bute possessed a dangerous and unconstitutional influence. The Opposition, in Parliament, as anxious at that time as at the present, to adopt any watchword that might rally the popular affections around them, filled the kingdom wh exclamations against the Double Cabinet, and the "Influence behind the Throne which control ed the Throne itself."-This was the clamour of the day. And the incidental affair of the expulsion of Wilkes, which in ordinary times would have been considered only as an irregularity, and rectified as such, added fuel to the flames, and rendered the country and metro wit, satire, and eloquence, should be accom panied by so little goodness. Junius replied in an angry declamation, and Horne Tooke rejoined in another, as singular for its boldness, as for its splendour and real eloquence. In this answer, Mr. Tooke first announced himself the champion of those principles, which afterwards set Europe in a flame. He employed, amongst others, the following pointed sentence, which, however true in the abstract, no honest man should openly produce as a maxim of action:"The King, whose actions justify rebellion to his government, deserves death from the hand of every subject, and should such a time arrive, I should be as free to act as any."Now, though there is nothing erroneous in the bare abstract assertion of this principle, yet it is one of those, which tend to weaken the necessary respect and attachment of Sovereigns and subjects. Questions of this uature must never be argued. The matter must speak for itself. Mr. Horne again came forward as the po the war was commepced by the skirmish at Lexington, Mr. Horne opened a subscription, and advertised in the public papers "for the relief of our unfortunate brethren in America basely murdered by the British troops."The Attorney-General very properly prosecuted him for this insult on the Government, polis one scene of mob, sedition, and clamour.pular advocate in the American War. When Mr. Horne immediately embraced the popular cause, and united himself with Wilkes. He visited him at Paris during his exile, and when he failed in his attempt to obtain his return in Parliament in 1768, Mr. Horue warmly adopted his interests, canvassed the town and country for him, opened houses, solicited votes and subscriptions, and ultimately pro-and the Jury very justly found him guilty-He cured him to be returued as the Member for was in consequence imprisoned in the King's Middlesex. Bench. Shortly afterwards a rupture ensued between these friends. Mr. Tooke did not find Wilkes that violent patriot which he had anticipated. When Wilkes had obtained what he wanted, and was provided for by the liberality of the city who made him their Chamberlain, Wilkes was satisfied and therefore quiet. Horne Tooke lost his firebrand, and he resented it by a public attack and abuse of bim. Junius, the writer of the letters under that name, imputed this dispute to its just origin: Horne Tooke wrote a letter in reply to him, which appears in the collection of that work. It is certainly au admirable specimen of his talents, and only excites a regret, that such Mr. Horne Tooke had now nothing to hope from ecclesiastical preferment. He now, therefore, with the most shameless indecency, if not direct impiety, threw off his clerical gown, and produced himself as a layman. He resigned the living of Brentford, and entered himself of the Society of the Inner Temple. He kept his Commons regularly, and studied the law as a profession. The period at length arrived, in which, having kept the necessary terms, he was to be called to the bar. He put in his claim for this nomination. But the Benchers, with a feeling which did them honour, unavimously rejected him, on the grounds, that having been in Holy Orders they could not counte-ders. His seat was in consequence vacated, nance such an indecent and impious deser- and a new writ issued. tion. As Mr. Horne Tooke's abilities and his violence were occasionally of great use to the leaders of parties, he was occasionally much courted and highly considered by them. Mr. Fox declared him to be a man of very eminent use to the Commonwealth, and publicly patronised and praised him. Mr. Tooke came forward as a candidate for Westminster in 1790. Mr. Fox and Lord Hood stood at the same time. On this occasion he kept himself in reserve till the very morning of the election, when he published a hand-bill, in which he declared his purpose. Mr. Tooke did not of course succeed, and he presented in consequence a petition to Parlia ment, in which he treated all parties with the utmost insolence. It was written, however, in his usual style of plain energy and popular eloquence. Mr. Tooke next appeared as the advocate of the French Revolution, and he soon attracted the attention of Government upon his movements, and avowed principles. He was arrested as a traitor, and tried by a Special Commission. The Jury acquitted the whole of them, but the popular voice, or at least the best part of the people, though they did not approve of the violence of the accusation, felt only one regret, that they had not been all tried for sedition instead of treason. Mr. Tooke, in the interval of his political pursuits, has published several excellent pieces of literature. His principal work of this kind is the "Diversions of Purley," a most profound and learned Grammatical Treatise. Mr. Tooke likewise published an attack on bis Royal Highness the Prince Regent, and in a pamphlet on the Marriage Act, took occasion to speak with his usual contempt of the Royal Family. Lord Camelford, an eccentric character, at length procured Mr. Tooke to be returned as Member of Parliament for the Borough of Old Sarum. On Monday, Feb. 16, 1801, he took his seat, and on the 4th of May he was declared ineligible, as having been in Holy Or From this period Mr. Tooke has been only known as the friend and political instructor of Sir Francis Burdett, and whatever may be the feeling of the country upon the loss of a man of so much faction, bustle, and celebrity, Sir Francis, we believe, will have occasion sincerely to regret his death. Mr. Horne Tooke died at Wimbledon, aboat 12 o'clock on Wednesday night, in the 77th year of his age. He had lost the use of his lower extremeties, and his dissolution had been for some time expected. Symptoms of mortificon recently appeared, which soon occasioned his death. He was attended by his two daughters, Dr. Pearson, Mr. Cline, and Sir Francis Burdett. Being informed of his approaching change, he signified, with a placid look, that he was fully prepared, and had reason to be grateful for having passed so long and so happy a life, which he would willingly have had extended if it had been possible. He expressed satisfaction at being surrounded in his last moments by those most dear to him; and his confidence in the existence of a Supreme Being, whose final pur. pose was the happiness of his creatures. His When facetiousness did not forsake him. supposed to be in a state of entire insensibility, Sir Francis Burdett mixed up a cordial for him, which his medical friends said it would be to no purpose to administer; but Sir Francis persevered, and raised Mr. Tooke, who opened his eyes, and seeing who offered the draught, took the glass and drank the contents with eagerness. He had previously ob served, that he should not be like the man at Strasburgh, who, when doomed to death, requested time to pray, till the patience of the Magistrates was exhausted, and then, as a last expedient, begged to be permitted to close his life with his favourite amusement of nine-pins, but who kept bowling on, with an evident determination never to finish the game. He desired that no funeral ceremony should be said over his remains, but that six of the poorest men in the parish should have a guinea each for bearing him to the vault in his garden. SINGULAR AND INTERESTING NARRATIVE. among others," said the Officer, "I was tempted, through curiosity, as much as other motives to visit her, and bargained for some thing, on condition that she should have my gold watch and seals, should I be killed before the expiration of a fortnight. The time passed on till the last evening, and at that time it was not my turn to do any duty, till two days after. I was making merry upon the subject of Ma-' dame Grim's disappointment, and took a walk out to see the guard march off for a post on the outside of the camp, to which a great deal of importance had been always attached, as it was the only pass by which the Turks could surprise us. It was likewise the only thing of which I was afraid in my bargain; for, during the whole of the week, every detachment IN the wars betwixt the Russians and the Turks there are many barbarities committed by the troops of both nations, and they frequently rather contrive which shall lay a plan for a murder with more ingenuity, than fight with the open bravery and generosity of European warfare. The following story, told and vouched as a truth by a respectable Officer in the service of the Court of Muscovy, is a most remarkable instance of this.-The two armies, he said, were encamped at no great. distance from each other on the banks of the Danube, and there was a deep morass between them, at the approaches to which each of the armies had piquets. Owing to the length of time the war had been carried on in the country, necessaries were becoming somewhat scarce; and the officers, in particular, hav-which had been sent to watch it, had been ing been deprived of many of these little luxuries which are considered of so much importance in a camp, were very liberal to any one who could provide for them. Amongst others, whom the love of money tempted to engage in this traffic, there was an old woman of a very singular character and appearance, She was accustomed to bargain with the officers, to afford them every thing at a very inconsiderable price, on condition, that if they were killed before that time, she should bave their property. Many of them were extremely willing to make an agree ment on these terms, as they had no prospect of fighting for a long while after the time she mentioned; and they were accordingly supplied in every thing they wished. Every one, to the great surprise of their comrades, were killed almost at her day, and almost in such a manner as could excite no suspicion that she had the smallest connection with it; it was perhaps their turn to go out on a foraging party, and they were met by a detachment of the enemy on the same errand, or some dangerous post was given to their charge, on which they were attacked, and their whole party cut to pieces. The thing, however, bappened so naturally, that others only cursed the luck of the old witch, and continued to make agreements with her; found in the morning dead, to a man, with their heads cut off; and although the numbers had been almost doubled every time, it had been of no avail; none of them returned alive. I was quite secure, but felt a little of that horror which naturally seizes one on very narrowly escaping a terrible danger, especially as many of the officers, killed on this spot, had fallen just at the time the old kag had predicted. The men were drawn up, and ready to march, and my comrades were telling me I was one of the luckiest fellows in the world; when a message was sent from head-quarters for the next officer, in order to assume the command of the guard, as he, whose turn it was, had fallen sick. I was somewhat disconcerted at this; but still, as it was not my turn, I found all safe: and to my great satisfaction the guard at last marched off; while I betook myself to my tent for the night. Imagine my consternation, however, when not many minutes after, orders were sent that I should mount and follow the detachment, as their officer had his arm broke by a fall from his horse. There was no alternative, so with as good a grace as might be, I took my place; comforting myself that I had twice as many men as any of the others, and would at least stand against the Turks, though much superior in numbers, till I could |