death. Silent, from feelings which choked all speech, and which none might venture to describe, she was at length obliged to depart; and it was only when he gave up her cold and quivering frame to the care of his unwearied friend, that he said,-" Farewell, my own dearest Agnesfor ever!" I do not desire to set forth the harrowing details of the execution-the preparation on the scaffold-the assembled multitude or the unshrinking deportment of the sufferer. It was over. Life was extinct in the breast of the gifted being, who, throughout his brief existence, had discharged its duties kindly and nobly, and whose innocence was almost universally believed in the teeth of overwhelming proof; and many went from the sad spectacle to their homes, deploring the cruelty and defects of a law, which judged such a man worthy of death. The minister, who had only left the afflicted to afford the last succour and consolation to the dying, desired to avoid all publicity in conveying the body to the house of mourning. It was deposited, by his directions, in strict privacy-in a room near to the place of execution; whence he meant to accompany it to the residence of the afflicted family, as soon as the dusk of the evening should conceal the procession from the gaze of the idle and curious. At the appointed hour, a few friends who had known him from childhood, and whose strong love and trust were unshaken by the trial and sentence, attended to bring home the dead. But the shell, which had contained the remains, was empty. The body was not to be found. Nothing remained but the linen cloth which had been thrown over it, and which still covered the place where it had lain; and the men and the minister stood looking at each other in petrified amazement. Their subsequent search, conducted with the utmost keenness and activity, failed to elicit any thing leading to a discovery. Mr. Vincent tasked his best jud~ ment and feelings, to prevent the bereaved family from coming to the knowledge of this misfortune, for the present; and endeavoured to gain time for the further prosecution of an enquiry, in which he was not destined to be successful. At no great distance from the place of execution, was the abode of Mr. Tesimond, a gentleman not less eminent for generosity and benevolence, than for an ardent pursuit of knowledge in his profession, which was that of a surgeon. We leave it for our readers to determine by which of these he was moved; when, by a rapid and dexterous manœuvre, he caused the body of James Frankland to be conveyed to his dissecting room, with a celerity and secresy, that set all scrutiny at defiance. It was not until an hour past midnight, that he ascended his private staircase, and, taking the key from his pocket, cautiously opened the door, and entered the apartment where he had locked up the body of the man who had been executed the day before, and whose unaccountable disappearance had caused such astonishment. It was now his turn to be astonished. The sack, which had contained the body, lay empty on the floor, and he stood surveying it in mute surprise, and perhaps other feelings not altogether agreeable. A slight noise behind him made him turn his head, and he saw the figure of a man entirely naked; it rose from a chair on which it had been sitting, and advanced towards him. He had firm nerves, and was the reverse of a timid man; but his heart sank, and his knees trembled for a moment-it was but a moment; for the being proved itself corporeal, by addressing him in incoherent language, evidently under impressions of strong delusion and fearful excitement. The man prayed for mercy,—said he suffered death unjustly in the world he had left, and finally dropped on his knee, in the fervency of his supplication. The whole truth now flashed like lightning on the mind of Mr. Tesimond, he saw, in an instant, that it was one of those cases of resuscitation, of which so few are upon record; and knew that it must have been owing either to the imperfect fastening of the noose, or to the body having been cut down prematurely. He determined, however, that innocent or guilty, the victim of the law should not be hung a second time. To all intents and purposes, he had once suffered death; and evidently imagined himself to be translated to the world of spirits. While he is concealed in the house of Mr. Tesimond, until retirement, kindness, and judicious treatment, gradually restore his bodily and intellectual health, we return to his family. Mr. Vincent was sitting by the mother, some hours after the remains of her son were missing, painfully conscious that he should not be able, much longer, to keep the circumstance from coming to her knowledge; when he was summoned away by a written message. Apparently the business was very urging, for he arose, in considerable perturbation, and hastily left the house. In about an hour and a half, he returned ! and dismissing every body but the widow and her daughter, he was closetted alone with them a long time. What passed at that conference was not known; but the mother of James Frankland afterwards manifested the most entire resignation, under the heavy affliction she had sustained; and the dim eyes of Agnes began to be lighted up with somewhat of their former brightness; it was even said that she was overheard humming the air of an old ballard, that James had been fond of hearing her sing, but I cannot vouch for the truth of this. The family continued to inhabit the same neighbourhood for a few years, and then suddenly quitted it; without telling their neighbours whither they went. More than twenty years had elapsed since this event, and it was almost universally forgotten, when some affairs, of great interest to his fortunes, called Mr. Tesimond to Amsterdam. He was pausing to bestow an intent survey on the Stadthouse, when he was accosted by a middle-aged person, of gentlemanly dress and bearing, in terms of the most eager and cordial delight. He was astonished-was entirely at a loss-and might have remained so; but the stranger called him his preserver-his best friend under heaven; and fairly led him away, vi-et-armis, to a large and handsome house, where he introduced him to his wife-to his mother, now very aged; and sent for his sister, who was married to a wealthy citizen, to help to enjoy what he called the happiest hour of his life. "You see me," he said, " opulent, respectable, and with as little to disturb me as generally falls to the lot of humanity. And may the Giver of all Good, repay to you and yours, a thousand fold, the happiness of which you have been the instrument, in preserving the life of James Frankland!" 66 HUMAN LIFE. BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. HUMAN life is like a river Its brightness lasts not on for ever— And those whose currents are the slightest, Rolls dark and solemn to the grave. REBECCA. BY L. E. LANDON. How beautiful, buoyant, and glad is morning! The first sunshine on the leaves; the first wind, laden with the first breath of the flowers-that deep sigh with which they seem to waken from sleep; the first dew, untouched even by the light foot of the early hare; the first chirping of the rousing birds, as if eager to begin song and flight: all is redolent of the strength given by rest, and the joy of conscious life. Rebecca Clinton, though pale with the long vigil of an anxious night-such as is spent by a sick bed-side-felt the revigorating influence. She opened the lattice of her little chamber, and it shook from the rose-tree, with which it was overgrown, a shower of dew-drops and leaves. So close that it must have been hidden amid the foliage of a huge old horse-chesnut tree, though not a leaf stirred, a cuckoo was singing-the only bird whose chant was yet complete. Rebecca leant listening to the soft but mournful reiteration, with the tears fast rushing into her eyes. Sound peculiarly appeals to memory. On awakening from her brief but heavy slumber, she had almost unconsciously thrown open the window; the fresh air, the clear atmosphere, gave for a moment their own joyfulness to her spirits but that song broke the spell. She turned away, and, with the common exaggeration of much sorrow, reproached the bright and unsympathising morning; while the two sad and still repeated notes seemed the very echo of her thoughts. At length she rose, and with a light step sought the adjacent apartment. Hung with old, worm-eaten tapestry, and massy curtains that excluded the light, a floor dark S |