before the gaze and murmur that passed before him. A thrill of grief, wonder, and admiration past through every heart which had so lately seen his crowned head, riding through that street, in all the light and glory of victory and the cross; and at each pause of the choir, a deep " Amen !" answered from the crowd. As the procession came to the high cross, the chant ceased, the train stopped, and the heralds lifted their hands and cried, "Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! so should it be done to all knights, traitors to orphelines and maidens."*

A deep death-pause rested upon the crowd, and no voice answered back again; the heavy tramp went on, the chant rose up, and the procession past on towards the cathedral.

The long lines of monks vanished like shadows within the deep arch of the great portal, till the white gliding figures re-appeared in the light of the still choir, and the cowls, and gowns, and glittering glaives poured through the dim aisles, till the choir and nave was filled with the dark crowd. The church was hung with black, and lighted as for a soul-inass; and as the torches and the penitent advanced to the altar, the voices of the unseen choir, and the still peal of the organ, went up over his head, as if the saints and the seraphims mourned over him in heaven. Raymond wrapped his face in his mantle, and knelt upon the stone, and bowed his head upon the footstool of the altar, till the priest raised him, and set him on the "seige douloureux," in the sight of all the people.

The service of the penitents was performed, the monks extinguished their torches at the foot of the shrine, and the heralds advanced to the altar. Sir Raymond stood up and turued to the people, and the pursuivants took off his white gown, and displayed his knightly habit and belt of estate. There was a terrible pause, and not a breath passed in the chapel. The heralds advanced to the Earl, and broke his sword over his head, and hewed the spurs from his heels, and rent the fur from his tabard; and immediately his shield and crest were spurned from the church door; the trumpets sounded on the steps, and the heralds cried,-"Raymond de Toulouse! Raymond de Toulouse! Ray

Every knight by his oath was particularly sworn to succour and defend all maidens, orphelines, and desolate ladies;" hence treason

against any, in such character, was the highest act of villany and infamy in a chevalier.

mond de Toulouse! traitor to God and his lady, and mansworn of his knighthood; traitor knight, so is thy name cast out from true knights, and so I cast thy shame in thy teeth, and defy thee in the name of God, the defender of the orpheline and desolate!"

The people stood cold and still, and hushed as death; and the blood went out of the Earl's lips, till they were white as his kirtle. The heralds sat down, but Raymond stood still and vacaut, his arms hanging to his side, and his eyes fixed upon the air.

The bishop rose ont of his chair, and took the book in his hand; for a noment he stood and looked upon the knight.

"In the garden of God, one little white rose grew amidst the flowers, very fair, and pure, and bright, the sweetest among the blossoms; the sun loved to shine upon it by day, and the moon by night; and the dew and the rain watered it in the heat, and the breeze kissed it in the morning, and said, God bless thee, and He did bless it, till it was the fairest of the earthand the trees bent over to keep it from the wind, and the birds sung to it at noon, and the angels of God looked down upon it, and blessed his name that had made it lovely.

"God gave thee the flower, and the forest to keep and watch, and defend from all wrong; and he gave thee the oak, and the palm, the fair fields, and the still, green wood, and all that walked therein-and if this had not been enough he would have given thee

more.

the cross on his brow, and bid him rise. Raymond stood up and the prelate kissed him on the cheek, and belted him with a new sword; and the heralds braced clean spurs upon his heels, and put a crest of a new device upon his head, and cried, "God make thee a new and valiant knight, and keep these arms to his service, to aid the widow, orpheline, and every one distressed and desolate, and maintain the right against all men who may live and die!" Immediately the trumpets sounded, and the pursuivants proclaimed him, lord, earl, and knight; the furred mantle of state was cast over his shoulders, and he came out among his people Raymond de Toulouse.

To be concluded in our next.

SONNET.

And is it thus-and must it ever be

That all we love the most must pass away.That all we have loved, shall be as the day, Forgotten, when no more the Sun we see! The giant oak bends unto Time's decree

The tender blossom withers from the spray, The green of summer turns to winter greyAnd oh, ye joys of spring-tide, where are ye! Gone, and for ever gone:-and so shall die

All that the mind delights in or reveres, In the cold dust of Memory they shall lie To be awaked no more by sighs or tears. Alas! thou can'st not live, most beauteous Love,

On the rude earth, or-die in heaven above. New Mon.

TOM CRINGLE'S DESCRIPTION OF THE YELLOW FEVER IN JAMAICA.*

Two carts, each drawn by a mule, and driven by a negro, approached the tree where we were perched. A solitary serjeant accompanied them, and they appeared, when a bow-shot distant, to be loaded with white deal boxes.

I paid little attention to them until they drove under the tree. "I say, Snowdrop," said the non-commissioned officer," where be them black rascals, them pioneers,-where is the fateague party, my Lily-white, who ought to have had the trench dug by

this time!"

"Dere now," grumbled the negro, "dere now-easy ting to deal wid white gentleman, but devil cannot satisfy dem worsted sash." Then aloud "Me no know, sir-me can't tell

* We extract the above from Blackwood's Magazine of the present month.

no for me business to dig hole-I only carry what you fill him up wid ;" and the vampire, looking over his shoulder, cast his eye towards his load, and grinned until his white teeth glanced from

ear to ear.

66

Now," said the Irish serjeant, "I could brain you, but it is not worth while!"-I question if he could, however, knowing as I did the thickness of their skulls.-" Ah! here they come," and a dozen half-drunken-more than half-naked, bloated, villanous-looking blackamoors, with shovels and pickaxes on their shoulders, came along the road, laughing and singing most lustily. They passed beneath where we sat, and, when about a stonecast beyond, they all jumped into a trench or pit, which I had not noticed before, about twenty feet long, by eight wide. It was already nearly six feet deep, but it seemed they had instructions to sink it further, for they first plied their pick-axes, and then began to shovel out the earth. When they had completed their labour, the serjeant who had been superintending their operations, returned to where the carts were still standing beneath the tree. One of them had six coffins in it, with the name of the tenant of each, and number of his company, marked in red chalk on the smallest end!

"I say, Snowdrop," said the serjeant, "how do you come to have only five bodies, when Cucumbershin there has six ?"

"To be sure I hab no more as five, and weight enough too. You no see Corporal Bumblechops dere? knows how big he was.'

You

"Well, but where is Serjeant Heavystern? why did you not fetch him away with the others?"

The negro answered doggedly,"Massa Serjeant, you should remember dem no die of consumption-cough you call him-nor fever and ague, nor any ting dat waste dem-for tree day gone -no more-all were mount guard, tout and fat; so as for Serjeant Heavystern, him left in de dead-house at de hospital."

"I guessed as much, you dingy tief," said the serjeant, "but I will break your bones, if you don't give me a sufficing rason, why you left him." And he approached Snowdrop. with his cane raised in act to strike.

whereby he broke his stick, "althongh, as I anticipated, without much hurting his man-but the serjeant instantly saw his error, and with a piece of the baton he gave Snowdrop a tap on the shin-bone, that set him pirouetting on one leg, with the other in his hand, like a teetotum.

"Why, sir, did you not bring as many as Cucumbershin, sir ?"

"Becaase"-screamed Snowdrop, in great wrath, now all alive and kicking from the smart-" becaase Cucumbershin is loaded with light infantry, sir, and all mine are grenadier, Massa Serjeant-dat dem good reason surely."

the

"No, it is not, sir; go back and fetch Heavystern immediately, or by powers but I will” "Massa Serjeant, you must be mad -Dr. Plaget-you won't yeerie-but him say, five grenadier-especially wid Corporal Bumblechops for one-is good load-ay, wery tif load-equal to seven tallion company (battalion, I presume), and more better load, great deal, den six light infantry-beside him say, tell Serjeant Pivot to send you back at five in de afternoon wid four more coffin, by which time he would have anoder load, and in trute the load was ready prepare in de dead-house before I come away, only dem were not well cold just yet.”

TRANSLATION OF A GREEK FRAG MENT FROM SIMONIDES.

Around the helpless wandering bark
The gathering tempest howl'd,
And swelling o'er the ocean dark
The whitening billows roll'd.

The fair one fear'd; she turn'd her eyes-
Her eyes with anguish fill'd—

To where her sleeping infant lies,

She look'd, and clasp'd the child.
What griefs oppress this wearied breast!
Yet nought oppresses thine;
No sorrows break thy placid rest-
Ah! were these slumbers mine!

Here e'en denied one scanty beam
The gloomy night to cheer,

Yet soft thou sleep'st, nor do'st thou dream
Of tempests raging near.

O lovely babe! around thy brow,
Unharm'd the curlets play;

Nor all the angry blasts that blow
Can draw one sigh from thee,

Yet didst thou know how deep I mourn,
Thou'dst bend thine infant ear,
Thy little heart would sighs return,
Thine eyes an answering tear.

O sink, ye stormy winds, to rest!
Be still thou troubled deep!

O sleep, ye sorrows, in my breast,
And let me cease to weep!

Sleep, sleep, my child, and may thine eyes

These sorrows never see!
On thee may brighter fortunes rise
Than ever shone on me!
Almighty Jove! to whom alone
The way of fate belongs.
O spare, O spare this little one,
To wreak his mother's wrongs!

PERSONAL APPEARANCE AND CHARACTER OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

IN stature, Sir Walter Scott was upwards of six feet, bulky in the upper part of the body, but never inclining in the least to what is called corpulency. His right limb was shrunk from an early period of boyhood, and required to be supported by a staff, which he carried close to the toes, the heel turning a little inwards. The other limb was perfectly sound, but the foot was too long to bring it within the description of handsome. The chest, arms, and shoulders, were those of a strong man ; but the frame, in its general movements, must have been much enfeebled by his lameness, which was such as to give an ungainly, though not inactive appearance, to the figure. The most remarkable part of Sir Walter's person was his head, which was so very tall and cylindrical, as to be quite unique. The measurement of the part below the eyes, was full an inch and a half less than that above, which, both upon the old and the new systems of Phrenology must be held as a striking mark of the intellectuality of his character. In early life, the hair was of a sandy pale colour but it was changed by his illness in 1819 to a light grey, and latterly had become rather thin. Tlie eyebrows, of the same hue, were so shaggy and prominent, that when he was reading or writing at a table, they completely shrouded the eyes beneath. The eyes were grey, and somewhat small, surrounded by numerous diverging lines, and possessing the extraordinary property of shutting as much from below as from above, when their possessor was excited by a ludicrous idea. The nose was the least elegant feature, though its effect in a front view was by no means unpleasing. The cheeks were firm and close; and the chin small and undistinguished. The mouth was straight in its general shape, and the lips rather thin. Between the nose and mouth was a considerable space, intersected by a hollow, which gave an air of firmness to the visage. When walking alone, Sir Walter generally

kept his eyes bent upon the ground, and had a somewhat abstracted and even repulsive aspect. But when animated by conversation, his countenance became full of pleasant expression. He may be said to have had three principal kinds of aspects:-First, when totally unexcited, the face was heavy, with sometimes an appearance of vacancy, arising from a habit of drawing the under lip far into his mouth, as if to facilitate breathing. Second, when stirred with some lively thought, the face broke into an agreeable smile, and the eyes twinkled with a peculiarly droll expression, the result of that ele vation of the lower eye-lids, which had been just noticed. In no portrait is this aspect caught so happily, as in that painted near the close of his life, by Mr. Watson Gordon, (and of which a remarkably good engraving, by Hosburgh of Edinburgh, is prefixed to the revised edition of his novels,) no other painter, apparently, having detected the extraordinary muscular movement which occasions the expression. The third aspect of Sir Walter Scott was one of a solemn kind, always assumed when he talked of any thing which he respected, or for which his good sense informed him that a solemn expression was appropriate. For example, if he had occasion to recite but a single verse of romantic ballad poetry, or if he were informed of any unfortunate occurrence, in the least degree concerning the individual addressing him, his visage alter. ed in a moment to an expression of deep veneration, or of grave sympathy. The general tone of his mind, however, being decidedly cheerful, the humorous aspect was that in which he most frequently appeared. It remains only to be mentioned, in an account of his personal peculiarities, that his voice was slightly affected by the indistinctness which is so general in the county of Northumberland, in pronouncing the letter r, and that this was more observable when he spoke in a solemn manner, than on other occasions.

It is by far the greatest glory of Sir Walter Scott, that he shone equally as a good and virtuous man, as he did in the capacity of the first fictitious writer of the age. His behaviour through life was marked by undeviating integrity and purity; insomuch, that no scandalous whisper was ever yet circulated against him. The traditionary recollection of his early life is burdened with no stain of any sort. His character as a husband and a father is altogether

irreproachable. Indeed, in no single relation of life does it appear that he ever incurred the least blame. His good sense, and good feeling united, appear to have guided him aright through all the difficulties and temptations of life; and, even as a politician, though blamed by many for his exclusive sympathy in the cause of established rule, he was always acknowledged to be too benevolent and too unobtrusive to call for severe censure.— Along with the most perfect uprightness of conduct, he was characterised by extraordinary simplicity of manners. He was invariably gracious and kind, and it was impossible ever to detect in his conversation a symptom of his grounding the slightest title to consideration upon his literary fame, or of his even being conscious of it. Of all men living, the most modest, as likewise the greatest and most virtuous, was Sir Walter Scott.

Chambers' Edin. Jour.

ON A PALLID BEAUTY. For the Olio.

I oft have thought that beauty drew
From liveliness its keenest dart;
And that the blush of roseate hue
Had most the power to move the heart.
But now I know the rose may yield,
And in the lily fade away,
Still Love possess an ampler field
And reign with more unbounded sway.
The soft, the delicate, the meek

Obtain an interest deeper felt:
The almost pallid languid cheek,
The eye that almost seems to melt.
To these I'll add the taper shape,
The sylph-like form half divine ;
Ah! who can from their power escape
Whose heart can feel and bleed like mine?
J. W. M-Y.

Kirby Street.

THE FORGER. Contiuued from page 149.

WHEN Serjeant had mounted the ladder, which was too short to admit of his reaching the window, further than his chest, he beheld Desfield, in the low, deep, and dark garret, seated before a strong blast forge, with an expression which seemed to be between composure and fortitude. He was surrounded by shallow tin trays, divided into compartiments of about the size of a bank note. From each of these compartments he was taking small parcels of forged notes, between a pair of tongs, with which he held them on the top of the fire until the strong draft consumed them, and they were then replaced by others. The object of the

serjeant in firing, was not to hit Desfield, but to intimidate him, and knock the funnel or iron chimney pipe of the forge to pieces, and thus prevent his further destruction of the paper.

As soon as Desfield opened the door, the police officer sprung upon him. Desfield indignantly struck his arms from his neck and grappled him by the throat. The passage was dark; a fierce but short struggle ensued, and both were heard to fall through a trap into some cellar. A trooper flashed his pistol across the opening, and by the light was seen the officer on his back, with Desfield keeping one knee in the pit of his stomach, and his thumbs pressed in front of his throat. Four of the soldiers fearlessly dropped into this cellar, and after a short struggle, numbers prevailed, and the criminal was secured. A light was brought, and the swollen protruding tongue, the purple face, and eyes bursting from their sockets, presented a shocking spectacle, and told too plainly that the delay in the rescue, even of a few seconds, would have been fatal to the policeman. restored with difficulty.

He was

Handcuffs were placed on the criminal, and a strict search of the premises took place. Even the funnel of the stove was taken down, on the idea that some of the notes, imperfectly consumed, might have lodged in the soot. Desfield laughed sardonically, and taunted his persecutors, as each effort proved abortive.

The search was over-it had been totally fruitless; but whilst they were lashing the arms of Desfield, to convey him on horseback to the county jail, the serjeant stood grinding his teeth with rage, at the manner in which he had been mutilated, foiled, and laughed to scorn by his prisoner.

"For a fellow to go through all the Spanish compaigns, and wear the Waterloo medal, and at last to lose his arm and be laid up a pensioner for life, from such a cursed thief-taking skirmish as this! The devil take all who would employ the king's troops in such dirty service. Let's be off with the prisoner." As the serjeant fiercely spoke the overflowings of his rage, he gave a furious kick at a bit of the iron funnel that lay in the door-way. It fell to pieces by the blow, and from a joint or elbow, tumbled out several bits of paper, partially burnt, or only singed. The triumphant and flushed countenance of Desfield turned ghastly pale.

He burst from his keepers, to seize the fragments. He evinced his ferocious nature, and fought desperately for that on which his life depended; but he was handcuffed, and his efforts were therefore in vain.

As they were taking him to the jail of , they met the wife and daughter returning home. This affectionate and unhappy girl evinced the deepest affliction, and implored that she might be allowed to follow her beloved father. "Child," said the stern Desfield, "my fate is fixed: but I have but one unhappy feeling-it is for you. You alone can make the short time I have to live either happy, or extremely wretched. Bear your own lot with your father's fortitude; think not of me-be happy, and I am happy. The blood about me is that of my captors. Wife, bring me clean linen to-night. I must see you at the jail. Sweet child, remember the education I have given you; be happy till we meet.'

Desfield spoke with a commanding firmness, in order to produce the effect he wished. But when they had made him proceed, the father filled his heart -the struggle was in vain; and the long gathering drop rolled down his cheek, and was followed by a gush of tears. The troopers jeered him for crying like a woman. It was the only point in which he was more manly and better than themselves.

Except this one point, the most stoic mastery of the mind over the feelings never forsook him. He was convicted principally upon the evidence of the notes rescued from the furnace.

The last interview with his family was extraordinary. The wife reproached him for bringing her to poverty. "I always told you what would come of it," said the selfish woman; you have got what you deserve." It was not thus with the young and beautiful Emily.

"and

She called upon her own kind father-her fond and good father." She hung upon his neck, fell on her knees, and clasping his legs bathed them with her tears, poured forth in the agony of her broken heart. The piteous wailings of her young affections were succeeded by the sobs and gaspings of her exhausted senses; and when she found they had removed her from him in her state of insensibility, she went off into the frenzy of maniac grief.

Desfield had pressed her to his heart with a fondness and despair truly agonizing. With his stoic heroism, he