flight of some huge bird. A sweet and inexpressible harmony often pervades the feelings of youth. I evinced such inward happiness, that my tears flowed without pain or sorrow having given them birth. Meanwhile the full moon had appeared above the mountains, and changed the whole neighbourhood into a sea of light, in which a thousand strange objects, indistinguishable from each other, were seen, It seemed as if the fairies were hastening to greet their elfin king.

Who ne'er in sweet and stilly night,
Hath longed for solitude;

Who ne'er hath watched on mountain height,
And been by full-moon wooed;
He knoweth not the magic might

That springs from bush and tree.
O! long, and calm, and stilly night,
Again I worship thee.

Thus it was I wrote some days after, while thinking of those intoxicating moments. What was wanting but for a hunting-horn to be sounded from the other wing of the building? It was a young forester, who had reached home late in the night, and was, like myself, unable to sleep. He amused himself by playing simple, but pretty melodies, till morning dawned. It seemed to me as if I had lived in enchantment; had seen wonderful events; and yet there was little more than an excited imagination.

But I was going to relate something to you, a fact of importance; and a favourable opportunity may not again offer. About the same time I travelled into Switzerland. In the neighbourhood of the lake of Geneva I met with something that may be termed wonderful. I require, however, that you keep all I communicate to you a secret. I know and confide in you.

In Geneva, where I had been staying some weeks, a friend introduced me to a family, with whom my fondest desires soon took up their abode, who shortly occasioned me the greatest joy, and the bitterest agony. A mother, with her three daughters, inhabited one of the many villas which are so beautifully situated on the lake, in the enjoyment of the most lovely views. The father, in order to recover a large inheritance, had already been twelve months in Italy, and it was feared, as the affair had become more and more complicated, his return would still be delayed.

The eldest of the daughters, Rosa, was handsome and tall. She was a blonde, of a merry humour, and joked and laughed a great deal. She gave free scope to her jests with those who evinced any tenderness for her, or acknowledged a true or hypocritical passion for her. She was far more friendly with those men who were cold and indifferent, spoke of their affairs, the chase, or politics, and only paid the customary attention to the ladies, or even wholly neglected them.

The second daughter, Jenny, was a slender brunette. She was serious and reserved, and much occupied with books, of which Rosa took but occasional notice. She was very friendly with me, because I unweariedly satisfied her passion for literature, and had also begun to read German with her and my favourite author.

The youngest, Lidia, was the most gentle and tender. Her dazzling beauty had in it something magical, although she seemed not to know how charming she was. Simple as a child, she was friendly and confiding towards every one; joined in all conversation and games, and was now as mad as a boy, now as whimsical as a little girl, and again sedate and thoughtful, almost melancholy.

They spoke, by turns, German and French, but the poets they were acquainted with were French only.

In a short time I had gained the confidence of the family, saw them daily, and soon felt a brotherly tenderness for the three beautiful children; at first, I thought them all equally dear to me. A platonic polygamy is quite possible, so long as egotism and passion are silent. The young heart is moved by the numerous lovely beings in a manner hitherto unknown.

Thus life had become a pleasant dream, and I had no other wish than to continue to-morrow where I had left off to-day. By means of Goethe's works I was on the most confidential footing with Jenny. She was astonished at my poet, without exactly approaching him; on my authority she compelled herself to find everything beautiful; but I felt that much, which in my favourite penetrated me with delight, made no impression on her heart.

It is remarkable how habit can become nature. When she took up Racine, and read to me with tears one of the most celebrated scenes, although I understood the fine language and rhetorical power of the tragedian, still I could find less of the poet in him, than Jenny in Goethe. We disputed and grew warm, and despite so many unsuccessful attempts, I did not despair of converting my obstinate friend, who, perhaps, because she did not understand Goethe, took a greater interest in him, because she could stare at him as an incomprehensible wonder.

Pretty Lidia regarded our endeavours with wonder. She shook her beautiful curls, and was surprised that we could be so serious over a joke. Rosa was not so indifferent, for although she often danced, laughing, about the room, she would sometimes leave off, listen, reflect, and then commence a dispute with me or her sister, which frequently became so violent as occasionally to end in an unfriendly manner, and once, indeed, with bitterness.

"Why do you endeavour," she said, "to

Did you make the infernal machine?-I did not.

Did you ride before the house on horseback while Fieschi took the level?-I rode on horseback.

Were you not tried for that offence, and sentenced to the galleys?—I shall not answer that question.

Were you not aware of what was going on?-I knew that there was a conspiracy. The witness under examination was named Kawulski; he was made publisher of the Court Gazette' when Mr Gray took in hand the affairs of Mr Edward Hill (son to Mr Hill, the banker, in Smithfield), as lately appeared on Mr Edward Hill's coming before the Insolvent Debtors' Court.

It may not be improper to add that Lord Denman, in summing up, remarked that, as the witness had not denied being connected with the daring plot referred to, they must draw their own conclusions from the circumstance, and consider whether, on temptation being held out to him, a man would not be likely to perjure himself, who, it might be inferred, had conspired to commit murder. The jury found for the plaintiff.

The parties to the plot against Louis Philippe acted with singular perfidy towards each other. Fieschi, it will be remembered, was wounded by the explosion. His treacherous accomplices had damaged some of the barrels in the hope that Fieschi's destruction would be thus secured, that the act might appear to be his, and his alone.

The circumstances that brought this witness here have not transpired. Other trials are, we hear, likely to come on, in which Mr Kawulski's valuable testimony will be required, and perhaps some further disclosures will be made.

THE TUSSA MOTH.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'MIRROR.' SIR,-Observing that you have given interesting particulars of some of the textile tribe in your very useful publication, I beg leave to introduce another to your notice. The insect I allude to produces a fibre exceeding in strength that of the common silk-worm almost as much as the latter surpasses the thread of the spider in tenacity. It is, in fact, one of the strongest productions of animated nature.

The Tussa moth is found in India and America. Specimens of both are seen among the stores of the Royal Polytechnic Institution.

The native of the western is smaller than that of the eastern hemisphere, and I cannot learn that its cocoon is put to any useful purpose. The inhabitants of the

East Indies have long made use of the Tussa silk for strings to their bows. The Kholes make a fabric from it which they use for dresses. A specimen made by the natives of Kholestan will be found in the institution already mentioned, together with some silk woven by Europeans from the same material, alone, and mixed with the production of the mulberry-fed silk

worm.

The large female moth there deposited was taken from the coom tree, as the natives call it, a large bush growing in the jungles of Lower Bengal. It was reared from an egg by a gentleman, who put it into mould, and watched it till ready to fly. The contents of the abdomen, which were considerable, have been removed and replaced by stuffing. The cocoon made by these insects is as large as a pigeon's egg.

The piece of native woven silk was made by means of the simplest of looms; the toes of the native Khole were described to me as working backwards and forwards, to serve the purpose of a shuttle. No one has penetrated into the interior of Kholestan: the inhabitants are still free allies of the British. This curious people are said to have no religion, unless a belief in witchcraft may be considered so.

In Bengal the Indians prepare the cocoon for winding by boiling it with the lees from wood ashes-the alkali dissolves some of the gum, and allows the fibres to separate readily. They are in the habit of adding gummy matters, oil, and dirt, to add to the weight, by which they are paid.

A piece of Tussa moth silk, woven in the way common in India, with congiee, or rice starch, for stiffening, 37 inches wide and 8 yards long, weighed only 1 lb. 5 oz. When the congiee was washed out, it weighed only 14 oz., having lost nearly one-third. A thinner specimen, of nearly the same dimensions, lost a still larger proportion of paste by washing with cold

THE NOBLE HOUSE OF THURLOW. THE first recognized ancestor of this family is William Thurlow, who lived in the time of Queen Elizabeth. He died in 1590, leaving with other issue a son, Edward, who inherited his property. Edward had a brother named Nicholas, who was father to John Thurlow, an enterprising traveller. He was much praised in his day, and obtained a grant of arms in 1664.

Edward Thurlow, already mentioned, died before the year 1623, and left an only son. This was William Thurlow, who, on his decease in 1652, left two sons, Violet and Thomas. It was the grandson of the latter, Edward Thurlow, by whom the family was ennobled. He was born in 1732, and having been educated at the bar, obtained a silk gown in 1761. His rise was then gradual, but not slow. Named Solicitor-General in 1770, he became AttorneyGeneral in 1771, and Lord Chancellor in 1778. On the 3rd of June in that year he was raised to the peerage as Baron Thurlow, of Ashfield, in the county of Suffolk. On the 12th of June, 1790, he was created Baron Thurlow, of Thurlow, with remainder, in default of male issue, to his brothers and their male descendants. He died, having never been married, Sept. 12, 1806, when the original barony became extinct, while the latter barony passed to his nephew. His lordship was an extraordinary man. His acuteness was much admired on the bench, as it had been at the bar. In society the vigour of his mind frequently burst forth, in ludicrous but sometimes rather coarse images. Some of these have passed into proverbs. One we may venture to paraphrase. Being told in a very awful tone that it was rumoured an insurrection had broken out in the Isle of Man, "A storm in a punch bowl," was in substance his pithy comment.

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"I remember," says the Margravine of Anspach, "that at the time of the coalition,

when it was found so difficult to form a ministry, the late King offered to concede every point in agitation except one, which was, that Lord Thurlow should not be obliged to resign the Great Seal. Although no arguments could induce the party to relax, yet the King so firmly kept to his point, that the conference was obliged to be terminated. This great director of his sovereign's conscience was dreaded for his integrity, and for the influence which he possessed from his stern virtues.

"I have good reason to believe that the advice and friendship of this great lawyer, during the whole time of the existence of that coalition, which his Majesty so thoroughly disapproved, was the only consolation which he derived while Fox presided at the helm.

"During the troubles of the American war, when the capital exhibited scenes of outrage and violence, and when Junius by his writings had astonished and perplexed the world, the King had uniformly preserved his presence of mind; but the coalition was too much for him; his cheerfulness forsook him, and he would come from Windsor to London and back again without ever opening his lips. It was then that Thurlow was, as it were, his resting place. From his persuasions he was induced to wait for a favourable opportunity of emancipating himself from the chains which surrounded him, and not to adopt vigorous or violent expedients, which might only procrastinate his views."

In 1814, the late Lord assumed the surname of Howell, as a descendant maternally of Richard Howell, an Esquire of the body to King Henry the Fifth. He died June 4th, 1829.

Edward Howell Thurlow, the second Baron, married Miss Mary Catherine Bolton, an actress of celebrity, by whom, with other issue, he had a son, who now wears the title, and who was born November 12, 1814.

THE LOVERS OF LYONS.

(Abridged from the Story-Teller.)

THE Baron de Monthillier, the last remaining representative of an ancient and illustrious house, after serving with honour in the armies of his sovereign, had retired to superintend the education of his only daughter, the lovely Adelaide. She had been deprived, while yet an infant, of that greatest of all blessings to a youthful female the care of an accomplished mother. Talents, such as fall to the lot of a few, a disposition the most engaging, and a form the most lovely, marked the rising years of Adelaide.

The baron, his daughter, and her gouvernante, had for many years composed the only inmates of the castle. At length, in the twelfth year of Adelaide's age, a new event introduced an addition to their domestic circle.

The only sister of the baron had early in life formed an imprudent match. Her husband was by birth a Swiss. His family in Switzerland lived happily, though not splendidly.

His sister had never ceased to be an object of warm affection to the baron: but the hereditary pride of birth, and dislike of everything plebeian, were among his strongest prejudices. His sister and her husband were equally, but more rationally proud, in disdaining to solicit what they deemed unworthily denied. No intercourse, therefore, had ever been maintained between the separated relatives. In the conversation of the man she loved, and in the education of her only son, this sister, however, never found cause to regret the sacrifice of useless pomp, for real though humble happiness. But, in this life, there is no permanent felicity. Before their son, Theodore, had attained his seventh year, the kind husband and affectionate parent died.

To his widowed mother Theodore remained the only comfort, and to his education she directed all her care. Scarcely had he attained his 14th year, when his mother, who had long been in a declining state, breathed her last. Thus, at an age when it is most important to bend the incipient passions to their proper objects, and to accustom them early to control,-at an age where so much may be done towards forming the future character, was he deprived of both his guardians. These were the only reflections which disturbed the deathbed hours of his mother. "My brother," she would say, was ever generous and noble, he once loved me, and though he in some measure disowned our little circle, because I preferred happiness to splendour, he never used me unkindly: surely he will not refuse the dying request of an only, and once dear sister." She traced, with

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trembling hand, a few lines to the baron. "Theodore, my child," said she to her son, a few hours before her death, "when you have laid me by the side of your honoured father, bear this letter to France,-to your uncle, the Baron de Monthillier; and, as you have ever been obedient to me, be equally submissive to what your uncle may determine. He is noble and generous; endeavour to merit his approbation."

The Baron de Monthillier was one evening seated in the apartment where he usually spent that portion of the day with Adelaide and her aged governess, when he was informed that a stranger wished to be introduced. Theodore advanced, and presented his mother's letter. A struggle between pride and feeling seemed to agitate the mind of the baron; but the kindlier affections obtained the mastery, and he folded his nephew to his bosom.

Theodore had not long been established an inmate in the family of his new protector, when he became a general favourite. In the handsome youth the baron beheld the image of a long-lost and beloved sister: and in admiring his noble and generous disposition, he almost forgot the imaginar stigma derived from his father's plebeia birth.

Between the youthful cousins an intimacy still more close was soon established and cemented by the equality of age-by the agreement of taste-and in some measure by the similarity of their pursuits.

A warmer blush suffused the cheek of Adelaide when pressed by the lips of Theodore, in commendation of some sentiment which she had uttered, and she dared not, as hitherto, yet knew not why, return his caresses.

Theodore was the first to discover the state of his mind, and to perceive his danger. External circumstances, indeed, forced this knowledge upon him; as the flash amidst the darkness of night may disclose to the mariner the ripple on those breakers of which he slumbered in forgetfulness. War had been declared by France against Switzerland, and had continued to be carried on with that violence and cruelty which ever marks a contest between the oppressor and the oppressed, when the latter has once been roused to arms. Theodore loved his country. He began to consider it as dishonourable to forsake her in the hour of danger. What detained him in France? Alas! must he confess, even to his own heart, that Adelaide was the cause of his delay. He started at this discovery, as if an abyss had opened at his feet.

Circumstances produced a crisis sooner than was anticipated. The melancholy visible in the deportment of Theodore could not escape the observation of his cousin, whose penetration was rendere