'You will spend the night here, however,' said she; 'and your whole life too; for the ruffian who brought you hither was employed by Lady Gwyn to entrap you.' When I heard this terrible sentence, my blood ran cold, and I began crying bitterly. 'Come, my love!' said my mother, 'and let me clasp thee to my heart once more!' 'For goodness sake!' cried I, 'spare me!' 'What!' exclaimed she, 'do you spurn my proffered embrace again?' 'Dear, no, madam,' answered I. 'But--but indeed now, you squeeze one so!' My mother made a huge stride towards me; then stood groaning and rolling her eyes. 'Help!' cried I, half frantic, 'help! help!' I was stopped by a suppressed titter of infernal laughter, as if from many demons; and on looking towards the black curtain, whence the sound came, I saw it agitated; while about twenty terrific faces appeared peeping through slits in it, and making grins of a most diabolical nature. I hid my face with my hands. ''Tis the banditti!' cried my mother. As she spoke, the door opened, a bandage was flung over my eyes, and I was borne away half senseless, in some one's arms; till at length, I found myself alone in my own chamber. Such was the detestable adventure of to-night. Oh, that I should live to meet this mother of mine! How different from the mothers that other heroines rummage out in northern turrets and ruined chapels! I am out of all patience. Liberate her I must, of course, and make a suitable provision for her too, when I get my property; but positively, never will I sleep under the same roof with--(ye powers of filial love, forgive me!) such a living mountain of human horror. Adieu. HAWKS OF HAWK-HOLLOW. _The Hawks of Hawk-Hollow; a Tradition of Pennsylvania. By the author of Calavar and the Infidel. Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard._ By _The Gladiator_, by _Calavar_, and by _The Infidel_, Dr. Bird has risen, in a comparatively short space of time, to a very enviable reputation; and we have heard it asserted that his last novel '_The Hawks of Hawk-Hollow_,' will not fail to place his name in the very first rank of American writers of fiction. Without venturing to subscribe implicitly to this latter supposition, we still think very highly of him who has written _Calavar_. Of this last mentioned work, and of the _Infidel_, we have already given our opinion, although not altogether as fully as we could have desired: and we regret that circumstances beyond our control have prevented us from noticing the _Hawks of Hawk-Hollow_ until so late a day as the present.