392 OMER PACHA, AND THE REGENERATION OF TURKEY. their cause before the Sultan and the ministers of the Porte. The Sultan's sentiments regarding them were not less noble than his own; but his protection had for its object to neutralise the effect of foreign threats, lest by the Sultan's yielding to them, the cause of progress should be deprived of the most valuable accession of material and intellectual forces which the new-comers might confer on it. His wishes, owing especially to the intervention of the English fleet, were crowned with success, and he succeeded in taking many of them under his command. The immigration, indeed, of Italians, Hungarians, and Poles, has been no inconsiderable help to the progress of Turkey in late years. The popular sentiment hailed them, because they were the enemies of its enemies; and the accession of elements so free, so ardent and enthusiastic for the cause that drew them to exile, added an immense and rapid impetus to the reform party. They caused no little uneasiness to Russia and Austria, who in every negotiation with Turkey, even in the last question, always insisted on the banishment of the political refugees to Asia. Russia fears only civilised men, and therefore she must be met by civilisation dressed up in its full armour. Turkish civilisation would give her the greatest annoyance: not to thwart it by every possible means would be an eternal remorse; and not to succeed in crushing it in the bud would be followed by the bitterest regrets.

The internal contest has now disappeared before the external. Omer Pacha beholds united under his banner both old and young Turkey. He found himself, one day, belonging in an equal degree to the one and to the other; it was on that day when both assembled under his orders on the banks of the Danube. War, shouted forth with one voice, from all the corners of the Empire, was a thought unbiassed by party views; it was the desire of emancipation from the influence, the thraldom, the arrogant pretences, the corrupting intrigues of the foreigner.

So in the actual crisis, they march hand in hand. The sentiment of independence, the integrity of the territory, and the sanctity of the cause, join them both. The hope of the one is restoration, the hope of the other is progress, fortified and bound together in an unbreakable bond. It is fanaticism for the former, patriotism for the latter; but it is ardour, sacrifice, and self-abnegation for both.

And can the victory, not only external but internal, be any matter of doubt? When Russia shall have paid to Turkey the ransom of her hypocrisy and ambition, the civilising influence of the French and English armies, and of the men of all nations, who are hastening to defend her, will have crossed the Empire, from the Ararat to the Adriatic, and from the Danube to the Euphrates; the natural resources with which she has been blessed to such a degree by Heaven, will be developed; and all nations will hail with one accord her regeneration.

PRACTICAL JOKES.

BY MRS. MOODIE.

WAT ROBINSON.

Ha! dost thou think I fear thy spectral crew
Of ghosts and demons? All the hosts of hell,
With thee to back them, giant as thou art,
Shall never scare me from my homeward path!
The boy of Judah was a very dwarf,
Match'd with Philistia's giant; but the strength
Of mind, made perfect in the fear of God,
Gave to the shepherd boy the victory

O'er him who trusted in the arm of flesh.

S. M.

THE story I am about to tell I had from an old aunt of mine, who has long been gathered to her kindred dust. She was a woman of singular talent, and in her youth had possessed great personal beauty; at eighty years of age, her bright black eyes were undimmed, she had not lost one of her fine teeth, and her cheeks retained the bloom of the rose. What she had been in her early days might be gathered from the noble remains that time had touched so lightly, that her elastic mind seemed to bid defiance to decay. In the glory of her prime, duels had been fought for her, and wise men had vied with each other to win from her an approving smile.

If the term beautiful could be applied to an old woman, my aunt was a beauty still. The old lady was perfectly aware of the fact; and would recount with great glee the conquests and triumphs of her girlhood. These reminiscences of bygone vanity, which it would have been wise at her time of life to have buried in oblivion, I listened to with little or no interest; but her ghost stories and traditionary lore, her legends of the wild and wonderful, her long catalogue of extraordinary dreams and mysterious warnings, always afforded me the keenest delight.

Naturally of a strong and vigorous mind, my aunt did not herself believe in supernatural agencies; but they amused her, and she told these stories so well, that she never tired her auditors. It is one of these tales that I am about to relate. She had the facts from my grandfather, who was himself personally acquainted with Mr. Lethwaite, one of the actors in the drama.

About a hundred years ago, there lived in the town of Kendal, Westmoreland, a man of gigantic stature and great strength, who followed the trade of a butcher. This person, who was called Wat Robinson, was noted for his quarrelsome, ruffianly disposition, which won for him the appellation of Bully Robinson, the big butcher of Kendal. Foremost in all scenes of riot and dissipation, he was universally feared and hated.

This man was very fond of practical jokes. But his jokes were

like himself, and originated in the cruelty and malice of his mind. The pain he inflicted upon others afforded him the greatest pleasure. The grating tones of his coarse brutal laugh inflicted a deeper wound than the most bitter of his biting jests.

It is impossible for a benevolent-minded person to give any countenance to this species of amusement, for, though the joke may be harmless in itself, a kindly person will derive no entertainment from anything that calls forth angry feelings in another. There was a very lonely cross country road in the vicinity of Kendal, which formed a short cut to the beautiful lake of Windermere. The path was rocky and narrow, and seldom frequented by any but pedestrian or equestrian travellers. For some months previous to the period of which I am now writing, this road had got the character of being haunted. A hideous apparition in the form of a hairy monster, with horns and hoofs, obstructed the passage of travellers through the lane, chasing them back with dreadful bellowings and other diabolical noises.

Many persons had been frightened into fits by the spectre; and one feeble old man had lost his reason, by unexpectedly encountering the demon in one of the most lonely turnings on the rocky road.

This frightful phantom had been seen by so many respectable persons in the town and its vicinity, whose veracity, from the wellknown integrity of their characters, the most sceptical could scarcely doubt, that the public mind became greatly agitated, by the nightly recurrence of such startling facts. People were no longer laughed at for their credulity, in believing that which so many respectable witnesses declared to be true.

The Windermere ghost became the general theme of conversation; and the road was abandoned by all who were acquainted with the tale, and could reach the lake by a more public thoroughfare.

One night a large party had assembled in a small public-house in the suburbs of Kendal, to drink their ale, and discuss the news of the day. These were chiefly farmers and sheep-graziers from the moors and fells, who had disposed of the fatlings of their flocks at the market, and were returning in a body to their lonely homes among the hills. The centre of this group, and a man of no small importance among them, was the big butcher of Kendal. He had been a large purchaser; and the jolly yeomen had flung back a few shillings from the money they had received, to furnish a general treat-big Wat himself being placed in the chair, as the great man of the company.

This was an honour the burly butcher never failed to abuse. As the fumes of the ale began to ascend into his head, he grew loud and quarrelsome, engrossing all the conversation to himself, while his blustering manner and ill-natured jokes so disgusted his companions, that one by one they silently rose to depart, dreading, word or action, to rouse into active operation the mischievous sition of the man.

è guests at the "Holly-Tree" had all dropped away, until the

butcher and one young man, who had been a silent spectator of the scene, alone occupied the chimney-corner. This person, who was vastly superior in his appearance to the men who had lately filled the table, was dressed in the grey home-spun cloth of the country, and looked like a wealthy yeoman of the middle class. To Robinson he was a stranger, and that worthy continued to eye him with a sinister glance of curiosity and inquiry.

The landlord entered to throw on a fresh billet of wood, for it was winter, and the night was very cold.

"Is the moon up, Lowther?" said the yeoman, rising to his feet, and buttoning his great-coat up to the chin. "It is time I was on the road."

"Yes, Mr. Lethwaite, she has been up some time, but, sir, if I were in your place, I would never travel that road at midnight." Why, what the deuce is the matter with the road? Are you troubled with robbers in these parts?"

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"No, sir, the road is haunted."

"Haunted!" exclaimed the yeoman, bursting into a merry laugh.

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Yes, sir; haunted, and by the devil, sir! I saw him with my own eyes, and you know, sir, the old saying, seeing is believing." "Humph! and what was the devil like ?"

"Like, sir? why, nothing human. He was as hairy as a buffalo, with huge white horns, a long whisking tail, and cloven feet."

Oh, ho! the old story. I never saw the devil, and have no great wish to make his acquaintance to-night; but it is not an idle woman's tale that will prevent me from taking the nearest road home. Pray order your man to saddle my horse quickly, for I have overstayed my time already."

The landlord hastened to give the necessary orders, and Robinson, who had been listening to the yeoman, with a half sneer, now turning hastily round, addressed him abruptly, and without

ceremony,

"You wish us to think you a very brave man, Mr. Lethwaite, if that is your name."

"That is to me a matter of perfect indifference," returned Lethwaite, haughtily, and surveying the burly butcher with a stern glance; "the man who has faith in himself cares little for the opinion of others."

"No offence," said Robinson, who did not like the fiery glance of his companion's eye; "but if you are determined upon returning to Windermere by the cross road, it is the duty of a friend to warn you of your danger."

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Danger! what, the idle tale I have just heard; none but a coward would turn from his path for a gossip's fable."

"Men as brave as you can be have sallied forth at nightfall, to bid defiance, as they said, to all the powers of darkness, and have returned to this hearth at midnight as pale as the sheeted dead. There is not a man in Kendal," cried the excited butcher, striking his huge fist on the oak table, until the glass upon it chattered and rang again, "that dare travel that road to-night."

"I am sorry to think that the descendants of the bold Kendal archers can have degenerated into such a flock of geese," said the yeoman. "I have lived too long among the hills to be frightened by shadows. My horse is at the door; good night, sir."

"You are stark, staring mad," cried the butcher, placing his huge person in the doorway, "to attempt that road to-nightyou will return to the Holly-Tree' before morning, half-dead with fright."

The young man smiled incredulously. "Sir, do you disbelieve me?"

"I think

you very credulous."

"Fellow, do you take me for a coward?" cried the butcher, the red blood rushing into his bloated face. "You had better mind what you say. With one blow I could annihilate a puny chap like you."

"Real courage cannot be tested by mere animal strength," said Lethwaite calmly. "David was a dwarf to Goliah, but mental courage and the fear of God conquered his gigantic foe. I do not wish to quarrel with you, sir. You believe in ghosts;-I do not. Good night."

"Ah!" quoth the butcher, shaking his huge fist after him, "the Windermere ghost shall punish you well for your disbelief."

Lethwaite's foot was in the stirrup, when a sudden thought seemed to strike him: "I am not afraid of ghosts, Lowther; but I have some money about me: the Windermere demon may be a poor devil, whom the love of plunder may tempt to do a deed of violence. It will be as well to examine the loading of my pistols."

He returned with the landlord to the house, and both were not a little pleased to find the butcher gone. Lethwaite continued chatting some time with the landlord.

"I do not like this ghost story of yours," he said. "If such a spectre has really been seen, depend upon it that it is some deep contrivance to hide a worse danger. I wish, for the good of the community, that I may be lucky enough to fall in with the ghost."

"Ah! Mr. Lethwaite, sir, you are only tempting Providence when you talk in that careless way. The ghost is a real ghost; for, though it has frightened many, and myself among the rest, I never heard of any person being robbed. Old Dodson, the lame beggar, lost his senses; but then he was always a half-witted creature, and a man's reason is not his money. Did I not see the horrid thing myself—I, who, God forgive me! had made game of it, and those who believed in it, just as you do at this moment -I saw the monster with my own eyes; and how I escaped from it I never could tell. I ran so fast that I never felt the ground under my feet, while it pursued me with the most frightful yells. I kept my bed for a week after, and have taken good care never to tread that road by night again."

"It is strange!" said Lethwaite, musing; "some truth must be mingled with this fantastic error! What time of night does this spectre generally appear?"