the constant beating of a drum,-the music of a pandean pipe,-repeated shouts, and occasional reports of firearms, all pretty clearly indicating that Rinesager was that evening the scene of festivity, and consequently no resting-place for a weary traveller. I resolved therefore to quarter with the Minister, and having found an old man whose infirmities kept him seated at the door of his hut, to point out the way, I proceeded to the lowly habitation of the reverend pastor. He had gone to the church to perform the marriage ceremony; so that the occasion of the rejoicings was sufficiently explained; and, guided by the sound of the rustic music, I soon reached the church-yard, where I found all the village assembled,-some, as "wedding guests," and others hoping to come in for a share of the libations which upon such occasions are liberally dealt out. It was not without the necessity of partaking in this hospitality that I was able to reach the porch; and a louder roll of the drum, more piercing notes from the pipe, and a more deafening shout from the villagers, announced the general satisfaction at this proof of good-will from a stranger. The interior of the building was almost as crowded as the area outside; but I contrived to make my way to the altar, where stood the bride and bridegroom and their respective relatives,-and before them, the minister whose good offices I intended to claim. The ceremony had already begun,-and I was more occupied in endeavouring to obtain a glimpse of the bride's countenance, than in listening to the questions and responses, when my attention was arrested by hearing the minister say, "Has any unholy promise been the means of bringing you and this maiden together?"-a question quite unintelligible to me, and of which I resolved to ask an explanation.

Soon after, the ceremony ended; the bride, wearing her gilded crown,* passed through the avenue that was made for her, followed by the sturdy Hedemarke to whom she belonged; and the church being cleared of its visitors, I turned to the Minister and introduced myself as a stranger and a traveller, two characters, that in Norway claim the instant exercise of hospitality. We left the church together, each carrying a basket containing provisions, the

Throughout Scandinavia it is the custom

for every bride to stand atthe altar with a gilded crown-meant as a symbol of chastity,

marriage fees in this country being paid in kind; and were soon seated in the good man's parlour, with a table before us spread with the simple fare of the country.

"The religious part of the marriage ceremony with you is of course the same as with us," said I, "but there was one question put by you that sounded oddly in my ears, I mean, when you asked whether any UNHOLY PROMISE had brought the bride and the bridegroom together."-"It might well seem strange to you," replied the Minister, smiling; "it is a remnant of an old superstition, which, however, yet retains so much power over the minds of these simple mountaineers, that no maiden in this part of Hedemarkens would consider herself safe in entering into a matrimonial engagement, unless the Minister put the question which you heard. Upon my naturally expressing some curiosity to know the origin of so singular an addition to the marriage ceremony, "I have it in my power," said the Minister, "to satisfy your curiosity. I regret I cannot present you with the original copy of the legend, but I will willingly transcribe it for you; and you will then carry back to your country a Scandinavian relic, which I believe is altogether unknown beyond the boundaries of this narrow district." So saying, my hospitable entertainer left the room for a few moments, and returned with the object of his search. "You perceive," said he, "that care is required in handling this paper; it is already almost in tatters, nor indeed is this wonderful, since, judging by the antiquity of the hand-writing, I should guess it to have been the work of some one who has been in his grave these two hundred years." "I am afraid," said I, "even to touch so venerable and so frail a relic, and will therefore postpone the gratification of my curiosity until you have fulfilled your kind promise."And while I admired the prospects from the window, and looked over a copy of the Edda, my kind host transcribed the manuscript, of which the following is a literal translation.

"Who, in the valley of Hummer,— who, on the Lourer mountains, so fair as Una!-Her hair was like the golden light that bathes the Reen Field ere the sun sinks behind it; her eyes were soft as the gentle stars that sleep in the waters of the Miosen Soe,-Una the beloved-Una the good. The lake rests tranquil in the bosom of the hills, they

shelter its infancy, and look down upon its repose, and so rested Una in the valley of Hammer. She was the daughter of Eldred, but she was the child of all; and she was long fenced round by the prayers of the good. The young men of the valley and the young men of the mountains strove for a smile from Una, for her smile was like the tender light of the blessed moon when it peers above the hill-tops: but Una smiled upon none, and least of all upon Uric.

It is the still hour when innocence rests, and when the guilty are abroad. Why is it, oh night, that on thy calm and fair dominion wickedness intrudes? Why is thy peacefulness disturbed by the tread of the unholy? Una sleeps in peace but Uric is abroad. Night is around him; but the moon mounts up the sky and will soon look down upon his path.

Uric walks in silence. Beneath sleeps the Miosen Soe,-beyond, the mountains stand in their dim and solemn greatness: the woods are dim and solemn too, and silent as the hills.

"Now," said Uric in his heart, for he was afraid to break the stillness of night, "Una shall be mine: I see the ruin's dim outline before me;" and he hastened on his way,-and reached the rugged mound, and saw the dark walls above him, and the moonbeams falling through the rents, and upon the shapeless rocks and the old and dwarfish trees that were scattered here and there.

Uric toils up the mound,—and now he stands within the ruin. The broad shadow of the wall falls darkly across the silent court, but beyond the shadow the moonshine lies white upon the tall weeds, and the matted grass, and the hoary dandelion--and Uric stands within the shadow of the wall.

Why is the stillness of the ruin broken by the beating of Uric's heart? Behold! a tall shade crosses the moonlight; and Uric remembers his dream and wherefore he standeth there.

Like the whisper of the night wind, the name of Uric fell upon the expecting ear.

"I am here," said Uric.

And again, like the shiver of the forest, came these words to the ear of Uric," Una may be thine-but the price must be paid."

Now when Uric heard these words, his heart beat no more with fear, but for joy, and he said-"what price?be it the body, or be it the soul, it shall

be paid ;" and again he listened for the voiceless words of the unseen-and when they came, they fell chill upon the heart of Uric-for the price of Una was her first-born.

""Tis an unholy compact," said Uric, "but be it a compact.”

No sooner had Uric spoken these words, than a tall shadow crossed the moon's light,-and he knew that he was alone. And he passed from the shade where he stood, into the fair moonshine, where it lay white upon the matted grass; and soon the dark walls rose behind him, and the dwarfish and branchless trees stood around like crooked old men; and he hastened on his way, while the night-wind, as it crept over the surface of the lake, or gently stirred the leaves of the forest, whispered in the ear of Uric, "Thy firstborn!"

Who can tell the dreams of Uric?Were they of the dark ruin, and the white moonshine,-and the tall shadow that swept across it? Were they of the fair Una,-of her golden hair, and her star-like eyes and her blessed smile? Were they of an innocent babe, and its infant caress? Who can tell!

Fair broke the morning upon the couch of Uric. Who on such a morning would remember the visions of the night!

Ere yet the sun had drank the dew, Una had arisen, and with her braided hair and morning smile, she looked out upon the calm lake and the misty mountains:-" and wherefore," said she, "cometh Uric this way?"

Úric sitteth in Una's bower; her spindle is in her hand-but she plies it not; nor listens she to the distant waterfall or the tinkling bells of the straying herds,-her ear drinks softer tones than the sound of falling waters, and sweeter words than the silvertongued music of the hills.

Una sitteth in her summer bower,but she sitteth alone,-the birds alone are her companions, and the sweet flowers that turn to her their scented coronals; her cheek is tinged with the rosy hue of eve, and the star that loveth the sun twinkles through the foilage; and now she hears the distant waterfall and the tinkling bells, but her heart tells her that there are sweeter and more welcome sounds than these. The rosy tint has left her cheek-the star has set, and the moon climbs up the sky,-but Una yet sitteth in her bower. It is the bridal morning of Una. Eldred, the father of the beloved, the

Fast fall the tears of Uric,-and sad is his punishment,-for he loveth his child; yet well he knoweth, that if that midnight moon be not the witness of the offering, the compact is brokenand he doth himself become the forfeit. Midnight waits within the silent court of the ruin white are the matted grass and the tall weeds, but no one standeth within the shadow of the wall. Midnight is come and passed-and the unholy promise is broken.

Long were the evening hours in the home of Una; the sun sunk in the forest-and the mountains grew dim,and the moon arose and bathed them in light; but Uric came not-neither came her blue-eyed boy. And Una fell upon her knees and prayed; and even as the accents of prayer murmured upon her lips, her uplifted eyes closed-and her head gently dropped upon her clasped hands. And Una knew in a vision the charm that for ten years had bound her to Uric, and the unholy promise. And Una awoke-and midnight was passed; and a mother's love was deep in her heart,-but the love she had borne to Uric was no more.

Fly, Una!-speed to thy blue-eyed boy; yonder is the rugged moundsee! beneath the fair moonbeams lieth thy child unhurt; take him to thy bosom, for he is chill,-and the chill of fear is at his heart.

"Mother," said the blue-eyed boy, "whose was the tall shadow that glided by my father's side as he left me?" And Una shuddered; and closer she clasped her child to her bosom.

SONNET, FROM CAMOENS.

BY THE REV. J. P. WOOD.

"O cysne quando sente sei chegada.” The dying swan, who feels that now no more The western sun, that sinks with golden gleam Beneath the blue and level tide serene, To him shall gladness, light, and life restore, Lifts up his voice along the lonely shore To mourn each favourite haunt and islet green; While strains, than all the past that sweeter seem,

His lost delights and ebbing life deplore: Thus,-from my love since deepening sorrows spring,

And, Lady wake in thee but rigours new,—
O'er life's fair joys my heart yet lingering,
Though near and sad my coming fate I view,
In toues of softer harmony I sing
Thy broken faith, and my affection true.

Having no room for further extract, we bid adieu for the present to this very elegant volume, which we shall take a favourable opportunity of re

It was in the autumn of 17-, that I left Italy, in company with my daughter, the last child of that family of brave and fair ones who had made my fireside so joyous, when I returned home from the voyages which my calling of merchant obliged me frequently to take. My two boys had fallen gloriously on the field of battle; and of my girls, two had already perished by an insidious disease; to avoid which, beneath the bright skies and gentler airs of the south, I was now again, for the sake of the remaining one, about to become a wanderer.

We left our now desolate home with feelings we dared not acknowledge to each other, and only spoke of the future. My child seemed to be possessed with an insatiable yearning to rest in some quiet retreat near Rome or Naples; and, therefore, to avoid the fatigue of a long over-land journey, we embarked at Falmouth, on board a small vessel bound to Leghorn; resolv ing to reserve Switzerland, France, and the Rhine Country, till our return: and, in dwelling upon our plans, we endeavoured, as much as possible, to forget the charm which death had made in our affections in the short space of two years.

Our voyage was prosperous for many days: and, indeed, there seemed every reason to think that the step I had taken was a fortunate one; for my invalid certainly looked less pale, and her colour was less changeable than it had been since we left Hampshire. Her spirits, too, were relieved of a part of the oppression they had borne so long; and she loved to sit on the deck for hours every day, and, for the first time since our calamity, would sing me my favourite romances, and the wild airs I had brought her across the seas. There is one Hindoo tune, which, as it was my greatest favourite, she always sung

the last. I verily think that to hear it now would drive me to distraction.

Towards the evening of the day when we passed Marseilles, the sky darkened, the sun set behind a huge bank of heavy clouds, and the wind began to arise, and to sweep the waters with a loud moaning swell, which died fitfully into silence, again to awaken with a wilder and sadder tone. I had so often crossed the sea, and been an attentive observer of the signs of the heavens, that I foresaw a storm was approaching; and I persuaded Helen to retire to our miserable little cabin earlier than usual,while I watched, with an anxious heart, the gathering of the clouds and the fading of the day-light. The captain was a silent, and somewhat rude man, (we had only chosen his vessel to avoid a delay which, my daughter's physicians had assured me,might be fraught with peril); and the crew were mostly Maltese and Spaniards, a people who, on the seas, are proverbially timid and insubordinate. It was, however, too late to think of these things: the gale presently increased till I could hardly keep my feet; the sails were all close reefed, and we scudded along with a fearful speed. There was neither moon nor star that night; and the only light I could discern was the foam of the waters, which boiled, like a mighty cauldron, on every side.

The crew were now all thoroughly terrified, and incapable of comprehending or executing the captain's orders. They rummaged their sea-chests for the images of saints long forgotten, and knelt to them, weeping like children, and praying, and vowing costly offerings to their shrines, if they might be delivered from their peril, while the storm increased every instant.

It was about midnight that the man at the helm gave a loud cry, which I shall remember to my dying day, the cry of "Land!" It was even too true: we had mistaken our course, and were fast approaching an iron-bound and rocky shore. Dreadful was now the uproar on deck: shrieks, and oaths, and confessions of crimes long concealed, were heard even above the fiercest wrath of the storm. At length the captain ordered the boats out; and while the men prepared to obey his commands, I hurried below to prepare my daughter for the worst. I had been several times that evening in her cabin, and marvelled at, while I admired, the calm selfpossessed courage she maintained, amid so much calculated to terrify a woman's

spirit. I now found her dressed, and on her knees, though that attitude was scarce possible from the deep pitching of our crazy vessel. She arose, and, without a word or expression of fear, suffered me to wrap her in my cloak, and to support her up to the deck.

By this time the boats were loweredand only just in time. With a shock, like the rending of the eternal hills, the vessel struck upon a rock; and the terrified mariners crowded into the boats, frail and leaky though they were, with the selfish eagerness of fear. I waited but an instant ere I committed my child to these, our only insecure chance of life; for the vessel had sprung a leak, and was fast filling: and while I yet paused, there came an immense wave, which broke over the vessel and boats with the roar of a cataract. It subsided ;—but I never saw our companions more.

There was now little time to deliberate: the shore seemed not very far, (indeed, I had certainly seen a light in that direction,) and the vessel was rapidly filling. I emptied, therefore, in haste, two of the largest sea-chests I could find, and, binding them together by the handles with a rope, lowered them from the vessel's side. It was our only hope of life; and, almost without a word spoken, my child placed herself by my side, though, owing to the pitching of the vessel, this was a work of difficulty; and we committed ourselves to the waves. From this moment I remember nothing.

When I returned to consciousness, I found myself lying, in an old ruinous shed, upon some straw. Helen was beside me; saved indeed, but so bruised and exhausted that, as she lay there, with the water streaming from her garments and her long loose hair, it was an instant ere my dizzy senses could believe that she yet lived. A lamp was placed beside her on the clay floor, and a dark loose mantle, which wore signs that some human being had been there. I spoke to her,-I bent over her,—and supported her unresisting head upon my knee. "Father," said she, softly, "I think I am dying."

"O God! and is there no help!"

"I know not," she said feebly, "and yet, since I have been here, I have seen twice an old man, who has looked upon me through the door, and who left this lamp here." That instant a thought struck me that there must be habitations near, and I resolved to seek shel