en, and Mrs. Eyers, who happened to be visiting in the neighborhood, was one of the first to hear the horrible story. It may well be supposed that she was in great agitation, and immediately hastened home, but, before she arrived, people had collected and surrounded the house. Mrs. Eyers immediately proposed, that all the outside shutters should be closed, the door fastened and the key holes stopped, lest Ann and her familiar should escape. This was done with the greatest expedition by some, while others went for a warrant to apprehend the girl. It was said that some were absurd enough to suppose that even Beelzebub might be laid fast hold of and brought to trial. Strict watch was kept upon the roof and the chimnies, for it was thought an easy thing for them to escape in this clandestine manner. At length the warrant arrived. Expec tation and curiosity were wound up to their highest pitch, the door was carefully opened, when, to the horror and astonishment of everybody present, not a living soul was to be seen!— The strictest investigation was made; they searched in every corner and every closet; up chimney and down cellar; no traces could be found, and, it was clear, Beelzebub had claimed his wife!

Months and years passed away, and nothing was heard of Ann Jones. Her mother could not endure the disgrace of hav ing such a son-in-law, and very soon after this discovery disappeared from New Haven. Mrs. Eyers never could be prevailed on to mention her name, and young Hall, who had been Ann's fast friend, removed to a distant part of the country.

It was not till many years after, that a worthy clergyman was traveling in Vermont, and made inquiries for a Mrs. Hall, for whom he had a letter. When he was introduced to her he was struck by former recollections.

'You don't know me?' said she, smiling.

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'Not exactly,' he replied, and yet I think I have seen you before.'

'You don't remember the little witch, Ann Jones?' said she. 'Indeed I do,' he exclaimed, starting up and taking her hand, and I have now a letter for you from our worthy friend Mrs. Eyers,'

'I had a hard time of it,' replied Ann, ' at New Haven. You know how long I was accused as a sorceress, because my hus band there, chose to fall in love with me and conduct himself as if he was bewitched; and then, too, because an excellent friend taught me Latin, and I had the wit to catch a little snat ǝtering of Dutch, I was supposed to be possessed of an avil

spirit. But the good people were not so much to blame as they might appear,' continued she, and I freely forgive them their persecution; for it must be confessed there were some suspicious appearances.'

'So I have understood,' said the clergyman, gravely.

'You did not know, then,' said she, 'that I was employed as an agent by Mrs. Eyers, and our good minister, Mr. Davenport, to carry food to a poor man who lived in a cave on West Rock?' 'No,' replied the gentleman, 'nor how you escaped from your persecutors.'

'It is a simple story,' said she, 'marvellous as it seems.Mrs. Eyers had a closet made behind one of the pannels of her kitchen, so exactly fitted and covered with kitchen utensils that no one ever suspected it was there. With this secure retreat in case of danger, the poor gentleman could sometimes quit his cave and live like a christian, and, in return for my services, he taught me many useful branches of knowledge. When the alarm was given and the shutters closed, we retreated to the closet and escaped discovery. But my friends began to think it was best for me to quit New Haven before I was hung or drowned, and so,' added she, 'I came to this spot with my husband. My mother joined me, and here we have lived for fifteen years. I have a healthy family of children, and keep up a constant correspondence with Mrs. Eyers, who has never ceased to show me kindness for the little service I did her friend.'

'May I ask,' said the clergyman, who was the gentleman you so essentially served?'

'You may,' said she, for he has now gone to his account. He is beyond the reach of friends or enemies. He sleeps under the clod of the valley. It was Goffe, the regicide judge.

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN UNLUCKY WIT.-MRS.Traill.

A woman had better be born with no more brains than a goose, than be heiress to that dangerous possession-wit. In the former case she is sure, soon or late, to find some honest gander for her mate, and, perhaps, some good uncle or aunt to make his or her will in her favor; but in the latter she is destined to die an old maid, and cut herself out of the good graces of all her friends and relations, by the sharpness of her tongue.

Having suffered all my life from the ill effects of this mischievous propensity, I would, from motives of pure philanthropy to the rising generation, entreat-advise-admonish, and implore all guardians of the young of my own sex, mothers, aunts, and governesses, to check, crush, and exterminate all tendency to mimicry, satire, repartee, sauciness, smartness, quickness; in short, all lively sallies that may grow up to form what is usually termed a witty woman. Let their young

charges be dunces-the veriest pieces of affectation that ever minced steps at a dancing-master's ball. Let them be pedants -stuff their poor brains with astronomy, geology, conchology, entomology, but let them not be wits-and, above all, do not let them imagine themselves possessed, in any way, of this most offensive weapon; for, ten to one, they will make fools of themselves through life.

While I was yet in my cradle, my mother discovered an unusual precocity about me, and a love of the ridiculous, which made me laugh ten times more than any of her other children had done at the same age; nay, she even attributed a certain comical cast that was perceptible in one eye during my childhood, to the droll way in which I used to squint up at nurse's high-crowned cap, which was at least half-a-foot higher than that of any old dame's in the village. I always thought it was turning that eye in an oblique direction to watch the movements of the pap-spoon, which, I shrewdly suspect, oftener visited the old woman's lips than the open mouth of her hungry, squalling nursling.

By the time I was three years old I was the veriest imp of mischief that ever lived; unfortunately, my freaks were laughed at, all my smart speeches duly repeated by a fond and foolish mother, and when I deserved to be whipped, I was forgiven on the score that I was so clever, and such a wit. Now I verily believe, half what is called wit in a child is folly, and if timely discouraged, the world would be spared much trouble in chastising, mortifying, and disinheriting grown up culprits of this description.

At four or five I could mimic the voice, tone, gait, and manner of every one I saw― —even a comical face in a picture-book was a study for me, and once I amused myself at a lady's house, where my mother had left me to spend the day, by molding my little face into an exact resemblance of the brass lion's head on the handle of the bell-pull, to the great amusement of all the company. For one frolic I got a sound box on the ear from my

father (it is a source of regret to me I have so few of those valuable salutations to record.)

Our landlord was a stiff old major, who wore a singlebreasted coat, flapped waistcoat, a three-cocked hat, and a big curled wig. At his quarterly visitations not a syllable must be spoken, but, ranged on our four-legged mahogany stools, my sisters and myself must sit as mute as mice, not a giggle must be heard, not a whisper, while politics (I remember it was Pitt and Fox time,) were discussed between my father and the old major.

Oh, it was dullness of the most refined order, to keep our tongues still, our hands in our lap, and our ears open.

I had somehow managed to secrete the clean-picked drumstick of a goose from the dinner-table one Michaelmas-day, to make what we called an apple-scoop. Well, I looked at my dry bone, and I glanced at the wig. The major was in the act of describing a chevaux-de-frise-I thought what an admirable one I could make of his wig. Unseen, unheard, I cracked my bone into a hundred splinters, and, favored in my retreat from the circle by my quietly mischievous companions, I succeeded in sticking the wig as full of the white shivers of the goosebone as I have since seen a sponge-cake soaked in wine and custard, (called a hedgehog,) stuck full of blanched almonds.

Imagine the grave, withered, crab-apple face of the major, and then think of the wig and its adornments-he wore, besides, a pigtail coming from beneath the wig. I was just putting the coup de grace to his appearance, by fastening a long bit of rag to the end of this appendage-it was too much for the risible organs of my sisters-a universal burst of laughter took place -it was like the bursting of a long pent-up volcano-it rolled on in spite of the awful frown of my father, and the agitated look of the poor major, who was only partly unconscious of the ridiculous figure he cut. I shall never forget the scene, or the suppressed expression of mirth that gleamed and twinkled in my poor father's eyes, as he assisted to recompose the ruffled wig, (no easy matter,) and, in a thundering voice, demanded who had played the trick.

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"I was only making a chevaux-de-frise," I said, trying to laugh.

A thundering box on the ear, sent me reeling to the further end of the room; given, I verily believe, more out of respect to the feelings of the offended major, than from genuine displeasure against the culprit—but it would not do the dignity

of the old soldier was mortally wounded; he never entered the house again, to the great mortification of my mother, who counted his few formal visits a great honor, and was wont to boast of the major as one of her grand acquaintance.

My next freak was a more fatal one to my own interests, as, by an unlucky speech, I made an implacable enemy of a maiden aunt who occasionally visited our house, sometimes in company with a younger sister. Aunt Martha seldom inflicted her society on us for less than a month at a time, to the infinite regret of every member of the household, from the tom-cat up to my honored father.

Aunt Martha was a tall, lean, sour-faced woman of thirtytwo; her nose had a sort of pinch at the top, which was very red, and her cheeks were somewhat of the color of a red cabbage, only wrinkled a little more after the manner of a savoyleaf; moreover, to complete the pleasantness of her physiog nomy, she wore what was then in fashion, a cropped head, called 66 a Brutus;" no wonder that I should draw an unfavorable comparison between her young, pretty, good-natured, lively sister and herself-the latter I called my pretty aunt, by way of distinction.

One day a coach stopped at the door-one of my aunts was expected I eagerly ran to peep through the banisters of the hall-stairs, half-dressed as I was, and in no very low tone, asked if it were my "pretty aunt, or my ugly aunt that had come?" A withering glance from aunt Martha, as she hastily brushed past me on the stair-case, proved she had heard the question; she curled up her little red nose, and looked ten times uglier than ever. She never forgot nor forgave the insult―nay, she carried it to her grave, for in her last will and testament, the unlucky speech was recorded against me, as a sufficient reason for cutting me out of her will. Younger sisters and brothers, tom-cats, parrots, and cousins to the eight remove, being sharers of her wealth, to the exclusion of poor me, though I had been scolded, starved; whipped, and lectured into obedience to her aunty authority, till she had not, outwardly, a more dutiful niece in the whole list of brother's and sister's brats, than myself.

Experience should have taught me wisdom, but a very small portion of that valuable acquirement fell to my share.

It was my misfortune to be the god-daughter of a proud, mean, vain old woman, some very, very distant relation of my father's, who graciously condescended to bestow upon me her