moment, I saw at the other side of the platform, a man belonging to one of the insurance companies, who made a sign to me to give him assistance. Casting my eyes upward to the floor above, and believing there was no immediate danger of its falling, I ran to the ladder on the other side, and was scarcely mounted on it before a mass of mason work fell upon us. I know not how I escaped being kilied; the ladder was broken in splinters; a whirlwind of smoke, ashes and flame encircled me, and I was lost-I could not find the place I had left. I became bewildered; I attempted to run; a rush of flame stopped me. Then I was just about to be crushed by a falling beam, for it rained fire around me, when I felt my footing give way, and my ears were greeted by the sonorous sound of surrounding metal. I had fallen into the large copper boiler. Well, thought I, when my first fears vanished, after all I am in greater safety here than above, amid falling timbers and surrounding flame. And without making any calculations how I was to extricate myself from my prison when the fire was extinguished, I settled myself as well as possible in my strange abode, 'to bide my time.'

After this I could hear nothing but the falling of timbers and bricks, which seemed to strike, rebound and descend again in rapid succession. It was like a world rolling on above my head. I thought at one time the boiler was going to be crushed. but the surrounding mason-work protected it. A considerable quantity of rubbish fell into the boiler through the opening. To this rubbish, it will be seen, I owe my life. An enormous beam fell upon the upper part of it: the copper gave way without breaking, so that there was a great bruise inside.

In the midst of the noise, which the concavity of my metal prison rendered perhaps more terrible by its reverberation, I believed myself for ever lost. I tried to climb up the sides of the boiler. Vain effort! They were smooth as glass. My prison was at least fourteen feet in diameter, and almost as high. It was a cage, from which escape seemed impossible. I began to estimate my chances of getting out, when the whole of the old wall fell, and the greater part of the wreck fell around my prison.

snow.

Despair now seized upon me as I gazed upon the roaring furnace above me. Burning cinders fell about me like a fiery I stood close against the sides of my prison-house, to avoid the fire-brands. Expecting death every instant, I instinctively shut my eyes and cast down my head, and in my terror gradually shrunk upon my knees, awaiting the blow which was to crush me. I was recalled from this state of agony by the glare of bursting flames, which having now free vent, shot up as from a volcano, lighting up my copper house till it shone like gold itself. Although the fire roared in the wind, my poor ears rang through my head, and that which passed above, around, within me, no one can conceive, no pen describe.

After some time, all this confusion began to be calm, and I bethought me once more how to escape. To climb along the copper sides was out of the question. I made then a kind of rope out of my clothes, and, fixing a brick at one end, I threw it out of the opening in the belief it wonld catch into some point over the edge of the opening, to enable me to mount by it. Vain hope! the edge of the opening was on a level with the mason-work surrounding it. I cried aloud in the hope of being heard. No answer came. I rapped with a brick against the resounding walls of my prison; but the noise, which at any other time would have waked half the town, was drowned in the superior noise without-of the thousands in the crowd, of the dying and the workmen.

contact with the copper sides of the boiler: the mercury raised with such rapidity that I feared the tube would burst. Then I remained some time in a state of stupor. My courage abandoned me, I confess it, when the thought crossed me of the torments for which I was reserved when the copper attained a red heat, which I had reason to fear would be the case. The thermometer was at 45° Reaumer; but I knew the experience of Fordyce and Banks had proved that the living fibre can, for a limited time, withstand a heat of twice that power without decomposing. A ray of hope came to reanimate me, when I thought of the many examples my own studies had furnished me. I recalled the instance of the young girl of Lorochefoulcault, who entered an oven at a heat of 1420. According to Sonnerat, there are fish which live in water at 65°, in the springs of the Manillas. I endeavored to recollect the names of the plants of which the same author speaks, in the Island of Laçon, the roots of which are imbedded in water of the temperature of 79°.

I endeavored then to resign myself with patience till the extinguishment of the fire. Then the idea struck me that perhaps I might be heard by calling through the spout by which the boiler was emptied-a pipe large enough to admit a man's arm. This hole was in the bottom of the boiler. I stooped down to put my mouth to the orifice. My hands were covered with wet gloves, so that it was not till I put my lips to the metal that I discovered a frightful truth: the copper was so hot that I could not touch it! I could not think of my horrid situation without shuddering. I jumped up hastily; I made incredible efforts to climb-to leap out. I might as well have tried to scale the heavens! I cried, I bawled out for help till I was hoarse. The hissing of the flames alone answered my ejaculations. I seated myself upon the heap of rubbish, resigning myself to the thought that I was about, literally, to be proven in a furnace of brass seven times heated.' I put my hand to my forehead; it was covered with a cold sweat. I took from my pocket my little thermometer, I had to regulate the bath of my patient. It stood at 40°. I placed the ballin

At length I tried to convince myself that the copper was heated from the fire above, which would soon diminish, and, as 'I hoped, the boiler would then cool. But, alas! the continued rising of the mercury dissipated that feeble hope. I then sat about calculating at what temperature the metal must arrive before the air around me should become heated to 120°, which, I thought, I might support without death. But my head became confused, so that I could not follow up my inquiries. These efforts, however, served to preserve my pres ence of mind. I could even take notes, and made the following memorandum, a kind of scientific will, written in view of an evident death. The following I threw out of the boiler, attached to a brick:

"I am Dr. M, of

street. Whoever finds this paper, let him come to the boiler, in the new building, where I am burning to death. Bring a ladder with you." "Half-past twelve! Quick! Hasten!" (This and two others I had thrown out in the same manner.)

"My will is in the left hand drawer of my book-case. I wish George N-to have my papers. Those which relate to the affair of S, I wish burned up. My wet clothes produce around me a cloud of steam. Thermometer at 52°. “26 minutes before one. The air is suffocating. I am wet with perspiration. I will write as long as I can." "15' before one. Therm. 55°." Therm. 60°."

"13' before one.

"10' before one.

Therm. 66°. My clothes are now dry

as tinder-they are stiff to the touch." "5' past one. Therm 77°. I have taken off my two coats, which I hold above my head. The outer gives to the inner air an agitation which makes the heat insupportable."

and

"g' past one. Therm. 810. My watch burns-I have taken it out of my fob. My pencil becomes very hot yet my body is still cool. The theory of, on the radiation of heat, must be false."

"13' past one.

Therm. 90°. 16' past one.

Therm 920.

I have taken off every thing except my boots. I am not able to sustain a contact with any thing whatever. The air I exhale from my lungs appears cooler than that I inhale." My watch is stopped, from the expansion of the metal. Therm. 990."

"The flames above me are almost expended. Light begins to fail me. The edges of the boiler are becoming red hot.Oh, my God! Water would boil where I am now writing. Were it not for the rubbish, the clothes would burn under my feet. I have taken off my boots: the iron on the heels would scorch the cloth of my coat."

"104°. I am going to be roasted alive. My last thoughts are for my wife and poor children. O, God! have pity on me and them. Give to them the strength which fails in me. An ox would roast here."

"110 degrees. My hands are covered with blisters. Parts of the boiler are red hot. The perspiration running off me, is drying up my insides. Great God! how long is this to last! I shall soon be all withered up. Heaven grant I may die before I touch the burning metal! Oh, my dear ****"

111 degrees. I can no longer hold the thermometer-it has fallen and is broken. Whoever finds this memorandum is requested to carry it to Mr. street. I resign my affairs-his discre- -the heat incre-the smell of the burning metal will suffocate me. The heat increases still. My bowels seem- -oh, horrid thirst-my breathgoing-I am covered- -blis. Good God, what have I done? Pity me-pity me for the love of Christ. I dieI pardon my enemies-forgive me, heaven!"

Feeling myself about to sink, I hastened to wrap my pocketbook in my handkerchief with a handful of small stones and I collected all my strength, for the purpose of throwing it out of my fiery prison. The rapid motion of my arm through the air had the same effect as if I had plunged it into boiling water. Now, for the first time, my senses seemed to fail, and a faintness came over me, which made me hope I was going to die without falling against the red hot copper. But these symptoms disappeared, and left me a prey to all the intensity of agony. My face, neck, and shoulders were covered with blisters. I felt that decomposition by fire had commenced in my legs. The fluids of my body seemed absorbed and exhaled by cutaneous and pulmonary respiration. I believe firmly, that it was this want of fluid that prevented my skin from being converted into one immense blister. The word torture is too weak to express what I suffered. In this horrible state of agony, my eyes fell upon the veins of my arms, which were swelled by the want of circulation. The flames died away and left me in darkness-that frightful darkness which rendered visible the dreadful brightness of the burning copper, which, on the side of the outlet, approached to white heat!

A dreadful thought came over my mind-a thought inspired by the devil, and distilled in the fires of hell. The fresh wind of the night brought again over the boiler the dying flames. A momentary light showed me the half-burned clothes upon which I had been standing. I seized my pantaloons-I rummaged the pockets-I found some pieces of money, the heat of which had burned the muslin. But it was not money I wanted-it was my knife. I found it, and half opened it. The blade burned my fingers. I cast it from me, crying, 'My God, deliver me from temptation!"

My prayer was granted. I heard voices above me-some one approached;-they came to my assistance. I was saved! Six weeks afterward began to be able to leave my bed.

WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

A BALLAD.

RY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

It was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the Skipper had ta'en his little daughtér, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom sweet as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May,

The Skipper he stood beside the helm,
With his pipe in his mouth,

And watch'd how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old Sailor,
Had sail'd the Spanish Main,

I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.

Last night, the moon had a golden ring,

And to-night no moon we see!

The Skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laugh'd he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the North-east;

The snow fell hissing in the brine,

And the billows froth'd like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain,

The vessel in its strength;

She shudder'd and paus'd, like a frighted steed, Then leap'd her cable's length.

Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,
And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale,
That ever wind did blow.

He wrapp'd her warm in his seaman's coat
Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.

O father! I hear the church-bells ring,
O say, what may it be?
'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!
And he steer'd for the open sea.

O father! I hear the sound of guns,
O say, what may it be!
Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea!

O father! I see a gleaming light,
O say, what may it be!

But the father answer'd never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.

Lash'd to the helm, all stiff and stark,

With his face to the skies,

The lantern gleam'd through the gleaming snow On his fix'd and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That savéd she might be;

And she thought of Christ, who still'd the wave On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept,

Toward the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between

A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf,

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,

And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Look'd soft as carded wool,

But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheath'd in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
Ho! ho! the breakers roar'd!

At day-break, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,

To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lash'd close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;

And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow!

Christ save us all from a death like this
On the reef of Norman's Woe!

COMING OUT....BY JOHN NEAL.

99

Do you know that you are standing on the very spot where I made my first appearance at a ball! I was about as gawky a fellow, with one exception- I beg your pardon, our Joe, as ever you saw on two legs. I came hither, feeling, I never knew how I could hardly get my breath-wholly ignorant of ceremony, and fresh from the back woods. Let me describe my dress. It was a plain citizen's coat, originally of a bright claret color, made for my grand-father-never worn except on great occasions-never altered-going down from father to son for a Sunday garb. It was too large by a mile for mewith broad pocket-flaps, wide skirts and cuffs-upon which were four great buttons, like so many flowered clock-faces-I never shall forget it-as many more on each flap-a rolling collar and a row of pewter plates all the way up and down o'one side. My waiscoat was of a deep crimson stuff. Instead of breeches, I wore a pair of tight worsted pantaloons, wove like stockings. I was bandy-legged by nature, and knock-kneed-with ancles and joints like a horse. My feet were not over large; but in the vanity of youth, I had jumped them into a pair of peaked-toed shoes, that were much too small for me. Besides, either they or my feet were not mates

297090B

-for one of them I never had fairly on the whole night through. They pinched my toes till I was ready to yell with edin; and, owing to their very genteel construction (got them at York) they pressed upon the leading instep nerve; may I be hanged if I don't feel it now whenever I attempt to move the great toe of that foot. I had been walking all that dayand after a while my two feet looked to me like a pair of bloated toes in leather harness. I was terribly agitated; and all the blood in my body of course, had settled in my feet, as the place farthest from the tumult. Zounds, how they ached! To crown all, I had on a pair of white thread stockings, made for my mother-which I had borrowed without leave, and torn across the ankle. There were neither strings nor buttons to keep them down-so that I had to double them aslant over my shin-bone, and to pin them awry over the rent in the stocking; which, after all was arranged, I found to be on the wrong side out I was afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe; for at every step I expected the pin to fly out-and my pantaloons to fly up, like a crisped eel skin, or birch-bark by a hot fire. I dared not sit down for several other reasons. I had on a pair of purple sheep-skin gloves too-not very beautiful nor delicate. On any other occasion I could have jumped into them. But once where I must keep them on, or die outright with vexation-for my hands were large, red and fleshy-do you think the devilish things would go on!-not they!-though I tugged and tugged as I would at a pair of boots, till I split one out and tore the other open.

Ah, if you 'd a seen me! our Joe. My face burnt like a furnace-my gloves adhered in fragments to my flesh, discoloring it ruefully-and being discolored in turn with sweat. In wiping my face I had left one broadside of it completely darkened with discharged color. But I did not know it then, for was very anxious to appear agreeable, and was made happy Iore than once to see how very pleasantly every body looked when I fell into conversation, or smiled to the folks near me. I had a brown bandanna handkerchief, too; but, before I had held it a quarter of an hour in my hand, so frequent had been the application to my hot and burning face, it had turned quite another color-almost black-and hung out smoking with moisture. My great hands were breaking through my gloves at every sob of my heart; they would n't stay in my pockets a moment, although I did my best to keep them there, and was ready to give up the ghost with vexation; for if I had purposely sought to make myself ridiculous I could not have managed-a-a-but you do n't hear one word I am saying.

MONCONTOUR.*.... A SONG OF THE HUGUENOTS.

BY T. B. MACAULEY.

Oh! weep for Moncontour. Oh! weep for the hour
When the children of darkness and evil had power;
When the horsemen of Valois triumphantly trod
On the bosoms that bled for their rights and their God.

Oh! weep for Moncontour. Oh weep for the slain
Who for faith and for freedom lay slaughtered in vain.
Oh! weep for the living, who linger to bear
The renegade's shame, or the exile's despair.

One look, one last look, to the cots and the towers,
To the rows of our vines, and the beds of our flowers,
To the church where the bones of our fathers decayed,
Where we fondly had deemed that our own should be laid.

Alas! we must leave thee, dear desolate home,
To the spearmen of Uri, the shavelings of Rome,
To the serpent of Florence, the vulture of Spain,
To the pride of Anjou, and the guile of Lorraine.

Farewell to thy fountain, farewell to thy shades,
To the song of thy youths, and the dance of thy maids.
To the breath of thy garden, the hum of thy bees,
And the long waving line of the blue Pyrenees.

PELAYO AND THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER.

BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

It is the common lamentation of Spanish historiographers that, for an obscure and melancholy space of time immediately succeeding the conquest of their country by the Moslems, its history is a mere wilderness of dubious facts, groundless fables, and rash exaggerations. Learned men, in cells and cloisters, have worn out their lives in vainly endeavoring to connect incongruous events, and to account for startling improbabilities, recorded of this period. The worthy Jesuit, Padre Abarca, declares that, for more than forty years, during which he had been employed in theological controversion, he had never found any so obscure and inexplicable as those which rise out of this portion of Spanish history, and that the only fruit of an indefatigable, prolix, and even prodigious study of the subject, was a melancholy and mortifying state of indecision.*

During this apocryphal period flourished PELAYO, the deliverer of Spain, whose name, like that of William Wallace, will ever be linked with the glory of his country, but linked, in like manner, by a bond in which fact and fiction are inextricably interwoven.

The quaint old chronicle of the Moor Rasis, which, though wild and fanciful in the extreme, is frequently drawn upon for early facts by Spanish historians, professes to give the birth, parentage, and whole course of fortune of Pelayo, without the least doubt or hesitation. It makes him a son of the Duke of Cantabria, and descended, both by father and mother's side, from the Gothic kings of Spain. I shall pass over the romantic story of his childhood, and shall content myself with a scene of his youth, which was passed in a castle among the Pyrenees, under the eye of his widowed and noble-minded mother, who caused him to be instructed in every thing befitting a cavalier of gentle birth. While the sons of the nobility were revelling amid the pleasures of a licentious court, and sunk in that vicious and effeminate indulgence which led to the perdition of unhappy Spain, the youthful Pelayo, in his rugged mountain school, was steeled to all kinds of hardy exercises. A great part of his time was spent in hunting the bears, the wild boars, and the wolves, with which the Pyrenees abounded; and so purely and chastely was he brought up, by his good lady mother, that, if the ancient chronicle from which I draw my facts may be relied on, he had attained his oneand-twentieth year, without having once sighed for woman!

Nor were his hardy contests confined to the wild beasts of the forest. Occasionally he had to contend with adversaries of a more formidable character. The skirts and defiles of these border mountains were often infested by marauders from the Gallic plains of Gascony. The Gascons, says an old chronicler, were a people who used smooth words when expedient, but force when they had power, and were ready to lay their hands on every thing they met. Though poor, they were proud; for there was not one who did not plume himself on being a hidalgo, or the son of somebody.

At the head of a band of these needy hidalgos of Gascony, was one Arnaud, a broken-down cavalier. He and four of his followers were well armed and mounted; the rest were a set of scamper-grounds on foot, furnished with darts and javelins. They were the terror of the border; here to-day and gone tomorrow; sometimes in one pass, sometimes in another. They would make sudden inroads into Spain, scour the roads, plunder the country, and were over the mountains and far away, before a force could be collected to pursue them.

Now it happened one day, that a wealthy burgher of Bordeaux, who was a merchant, trading with Biscay, set out on a journey for that province. As he intended to sojourn there for a season, he took with him his wife, who was a goodly dame, and his daughter, a gentle damsel, of marriageable age, and exceeding fair to look upon. He was attended by atrusty clerk from his comptoir, and a man servant; while another servant led a hackney, laden with bags of money, with which he intended to purchase merchandise.

When the Gascons heard of this wealthy merchant and his convoy passing through the mountains, they thanked their stars, for they considered all peaceful men of traffic as lawful spoil, sent by Providence for the benefit of hidalgos like themselves, of valor and gentle blood, who lived by the sword.Placing themselves in ambush, in a lonely defile, by which the travellers had to pass, they silently awaited their coming. In a little while they beheld them approaching. The merchant was a fair, portly man, in a buff surcoat and velvet cap. His PADRE PEDRO ABARCA. Anules de Aragon, Anti Regno, § 2

looks bespoke the good cheer of his native city, and he was mounted on a stately, well-fed steed, while his wife and daughter paced gently on palfreys by his side.

The travellers had advanced some distance in the defile, when the Bandoleros rushed forth and assailed them. The merchant, though but little used to the exercise of arms, and unwieldy in his form, yet made valiant defence, having his wife and daughter and money-bags at hazard. He was wounded in two places, and overpowered; one of his servants was slain, the other took to flight.

The freebooters then began to ransack for spoil, but were disappointed at not finding the wealth they had expected. Putting their swords to the breast of the trembling merchant, they demanded where he had concealed his treasure, and learned from him of the hackney that was following, laden with money. Overjoyed at this intelligence, they bound their captives to trees, and awaited the arrival of the golden spoil. On this same day, Pelayo was out with his huntsmen among the mountains, and had taken his stand on a rock, at a narrow pass, to await the sallying forth of a wild boar. Close by him was a page, conducting a horse, and at the saddle-bow hung his armor, for he always prepared for fight among these border mountains. While thus posted, the servant of the merchant came flying from the robbers. On beholding Pelayo, he fell on his knees, and implored his life, for he supposed him to be one of the band. It was some time before he could be relieved from his terror, and made to tell his story. When Pelayo heard of the robbers, he concluded they were the crew of Gascon hidalgos, upon the scamper. Taking his armor from the page, he put on his helmet, slung his buckler round his neck, took lance in hand, and mounting his steed, compelled the trembling servant to guide him to the scene of action. At the same time he ordered the page to seek his huntsmen, and summon them to his assistance.

When the robbers saw Pelayo advancing through the forest, with a single attendant on foot, and beheld his rich armor sparkling in the sun, they thought a new prize had fallen into their hands, and Arnaud and two of his companions, mounting their horses, advanced to meet him. As they approached, Pelayo stationed himself in a narrow pass between two rocks, where he could only be assailed in front, and bracing his buckler, and lowering his lance, awaited their coming.

"Who and what are ye," cried he," and what seek ye in this land?"

"We are huntsmen," replied Arnaud, “and lo! our game runs into our toils!"

"By my faith," replied Pelayo," thou wilt find the game more readily roused than taken: have at thee for a villain!"

So saying, he put spurs to his horse, and ran full speed upon him. The Gascon, not expecting so sudden an attach from a single horseman, was taken by surprise. He hastily couched his lance, but it merely glanced on the shield of Pelayo, who sent his own through the middle of his breast, and threw him out of his saddle to the earth. One of the other robbers made at Pelayo, and wounded him slightly in the side, but received a blow from the sword of the latter, which cleft his scull-cap, and sank into his brain. His companion, seeing him fall, put spurs to his steed, and galloped off through the forest.

Beholding several other robbers on foot coming up, Pelayo returned to his station between the rocks, where he was assailed by them all at once. He received two of their darts on his buckler, a javelin razed his cuirass, and glancing down, wounded his horse. Pelayo then rushed forth, and struck one of the robbers dead: the others, beholding several huntsmen advancing, took to flight, but were pursued, and several of them taken.

The good merchant of Bordeaux and his family beheld this scene with trembling and amazement, for never had they looked upon such feats of arms. They considered Don Pelayo as a leader of some rival band of robbers; and when the bonds were loosed by which they were tied to the trees, they fell at his feet and implored mercy. The females were soonest undeceived, especially the daughter; for the damsel was struck with the noble countenance and gentle demeanor of Pelayo, and said to herself: Surely nothing evil can dwell in so goodly and gracious a form."

66

this was a new and wild scene to the astonished merchant ; nor were his fears abated, when he saw his servant approaching with the hackney, laden with money-bags; "for of a certainty," said he to himself, "this will be too tempting a spoil for these wild hunters of the mountains."

Pelayo, however, took no more notice of the gold than if it had been so much dross; at which the honest burgher marvelled exceedingly. He ordered that the wounds of the merchant should be dressed, and his own examined. On taking off his cuirass, his wound was found to be but slight; but his men were so exasperated at seeing his blood, that they would have put the captive robbers to instant death, had he not forbidden them to do them any harm.

The huntsmen now made a great fire at the foot of a tree, and bringing a boar which they had killed, cut off portions and roasted them, or broiled them on the coals. Then drawing forth loaves of bread from their wallets, they devoured' their food half raw, with the hungry relish of huntsmen and mountaineers. The merchant, his wife, and daughter, looked at all this, and wondered, for they had never beheld so savage a repast.

Pelayo then inquired of them if they did not desire to eat : they were too much in awe of him to decline, though they felt a loathing at the thought of partaking of this hunter's fare; but he ordered a linen cloth to be spread under the shade of a great oak, on the grassy margin of a clear running stream; and to their astonishment, they were served, not with the flesh of the boar, but with dainty cheer, such as the merchant had scarcely hoped to find out of the walls of his native city of Bordeaux.

The good burgher was of a community renowned for gastronomic prowess: his fears having subsided, his appetite was now awakened, and he addressed himself manfully to the viands that were set before him. His daughter, however, could not eat: her eyes were ever and anon stealing to gaze on Pelayo, whom she regarded with gratitude for his protection, and admiration for his valor; and now that he had laid aside his helmet, and she beheld his lofty countenance, glowing with manly beauty, she thought him something more than mortal. The heart of the gentle donzella, says the ancient chronicler, was kind and yielding; and had Pelayo thought fit to ask the greatest boon that love and beauty could bestow-doubtless meaning her fair hand-she could not have had the cruelty to say him nay. Pelayo, however, had no such thoughts: the love of woman had never yet entered his heart; and though he regarded the damsel as the fairest maiden he had ever beheld, her beauty caused no perturbation in his breast.

When the repast was over, Pelayo offered to conduct the merchant and his family through the defiles of the mountains, lest they should be molested by any of the scattered band of robbers. The bodies of the slain marauders were buried, and the corpse of the servant was laid upon one of the horses captured in the battle, Having formed their cavalcade, they pursued their way slowly up one of the steep and winding passes of the Pyrenees.

Toward sunset, they arrrived at the dwelling of a holy hermit. It was hewn out of the living rock: there was a cross over the door, and before it was a great spreading oak, with a sweet spring of water at its foot. The body of the faithful servant who had fallen in the defence of his lord, was buried close by the wall of this sacred retreat, and the hermit_promised to perform masses for the repose of his soul. Then Pelayo obtained from the holy father consent that the merchant's wife and daughter should pass the night within his cell; and the hermit made beds of moss for them, and gave them his benediction; but the damsel found little rest, so much were her thoughts occupied by the youthful champion who had rescued her from death or dishonor.

Pelayo, however, was visited by no such wandering of the mind, but, wrapping himself in his mantle, splept soundly by the fountain under the tree. At midnight, when every thing was buried in deep repose, he was awakened from his sleep, and beheld the hermit before him, with the beams of the moon shining upon his silver hair and beard.

"This is no time," said the latter, "to be sleeping; arise and listen to my words, and hear of the great work for which thou art chosen!"

Then l'elayo arose and seated himself on a rock, and the hermit continued his discourse.

the beasts of the forest, or the eagles of the mountain. The thorn and bramble will spring up where now are seen the corn-field, the vine, and the olive, and hungry wolves will roam in place of peaceful flocks and herds. But thou, my son! tarry not thou to see these things, for thou canst not prevent them. Depart on a pilgrimage to the sepulchre of our blessed Lord in Palestine; purify thyself by prayer; enrol thyself in the order of chivalry, and prepare for the great work of the redemption of thy country; for to thee it will be given to raise it from the depth of its affliction."

Pelayo would have inquired farther into the evils thus foretold, but the hermit rebuked his curiosity.

"Seek not to know more," said he, "than heaven is pleased to reveal. Clouds and darkness cover its designs, and prophecy is never permitted to lift up, but in part, the veil that rests upon the future."

The hermit ceased to speak, and Pelayo laid himself down again to take repose, but sleep was a stranger to his eyes.

When the first rays of the rising sun shone upon the tops of the mountains, the travellers assembled round the fountain beneath the tree, and made their morning's repast. Then, having received the benediction of the hermit, they departed in the freshness of the day, and descended along the hollow defiles leading into the interior of Spain. The good merchant was refreshed by sleep, and by his morning's meal; and when he beheld his wife and daughter thus secure by his side, and the hackney laden with his treasure close behind him, his heart was light in his bosom, and he carrolled a chanson as he went, and the woodlands echoed to his song. But Pelayo rode in silence, for he revolved in his mind the portentous words of the hermit; and the daughter of the merchant ever and anon stole looks at him full of tenderness and admiration, and deep sighs betrayed the agitation of her bosom.

At length they came to the foot of the mountains, where the forests and the rocks terminated, and an open and secure country lay before the travellers. Here they halted, for their

ids were widely different. When they came to part, the merchant and his wife were loud in thanks and benedictions, and the good berger would fain have given Pelayo the largest of his sacks of gold; but the young man put it aside with a mile. "Silver and gold," said he, "need I not, but if I have deserved aught at thy hands, give me thy prayers, for the prayers of a good man are above all price.'

In the mean time, the daughter had spoken never a word. At length she raised her eyes, which were filled with tears, and looked timidly at Peylao, and her bosom throbbed; and after a violent struggle between strong affection and virgin modesty, her heart relieved itself by words.

"Senior," said she, "I know that I am unworthy of the notice of so noble a cavalier; but suffer me to place this ring upon a finger of that hand which has so bravely rescued us from death; and when you regard it, you may consider it as a memorial of your own valor, and not of one who is too humble to be remembered by you."

With these words, she drew a ring from her finger, and put it upon the finger of Pelayo; and having done this, she blushed and trembled at her own boldness, and stood as one abashed, with her eyes cast down upon the earth.

Pelayo was moved at the words of the simple maiden, and at the touch of her fair hand, and at her beauty, as she stood thus trembling and in tears before him; but as yet he knew nothing of woman, and his heart was free from the snares of love. Amiga," (friend,) said he, "I accept thy present, and will wear it in remembrance of thy goodness:" so saying, he kissed her on the cheek.

66

The damsel was cheered by these words, and hoped that she had awakened some tenderness in his bosom; but it was no such thing, says the grave old chronicler, for his heart was devoted to higher and more sacred matters: yet certain it is, that he always guarded well that ring.

When they parted, Pelayo remained with his huntsmen on a cliff, watching that no evil befal them until they were far beyond the skirts of the mountain; and the damsel often turned to look at him, until she could no longer discern him, for the distance, and the tears that dimned her eyes.

And, for that he had accepted her ring, says the ancient chronicler, she considered herself wedded to him in her heart, and would never marry; nor could she be brought to look with eyes of affection upon any other man; but, for the true ove which she bore Pelayo, she lived and died a virgin. And she composed a book which treated of love and chivalry, and the temptations of this mortal life; and one part discoursed of celestial matters, and it was called 'The Contemplations of

Love;' because, at the time she wrote it, she thought of Pelayo, and of his having accepted her jewel, and called her by the gentle appellation of Amiga.' And often thinking of him in tender sadness, and of her never having heheld him more, she would take the book, and would read it as if in his stead: and while she repeated the words of love which it contained, she would endeavor to fancy them uttered by Pelayo, and that he stood before her.

NEW-ENGLAND.

New-England! dear New-England!
My birth place proud and free;
A traitor's curse be on my head,
When I am false to thee!
While rolls the bright Connecticut,
In silver to the sea-
While old Wachusett rears its head,
I will remember thee!

By every recollection dear,

By friendship's hallowed tie,
By scenes engraven on the heart,
By love that cannot die;
And by the sweet, the farewell kiss
Of dearest Rosalie,
New-England-dear New-England!
I will remember thee!

I may not climb thy misty hills,
At purple eve or morn,
Nor bind among thy laughing girls,
The yellow sheaves of corn.
I may not tread the crags that bear
The thunder of the sea,
But by the bright autumnal sky,
I will remember thee!

Though in the far and sunny south,
The eyes of love may shine,
And music at the revel charm,

And beauty pour the wine,
I will not listen to the harp,
Nor join the revelry,
But in the fountain plunge my cup,

And drink a health to thee!

And when from weary wanderings,
At length I hasten back,
How blithely will I tread again,

The old familiar track ;'
And if my Rosalie be true,

(And false she cannot be,) New-England! in thy mountain streams, I'll drink again to thee!

STORY OF MARTIN GUERRE.

FROM THE 'CAUSES CELEBRES.'

Martin Guerre, a native of Biscay, was married in the month of January, 1539, to Bertrande de Rols, with whom he lived for many succeeding years at the village of Artigues, in the diocese of Rieux, in Upper Languedoc. The condition of Martin Guerre was that of a small farmer, and the property possessed by him and his wife was very considerable for people of their rank in life. Married at a very early age, they were not blessed with children until the tenth year of their union, when a son was born, to whom was given the name of Sanxi Guerre. Shortly after this event, Martin Guerre had the misfortune to quarrel with his wife's father or uncle, and in consequence took the resolution of leaving Artigues for a time. He seems to have found a wandering life agreeable to his disposition, as he never showed himself again at his home for many long years, nor were any tidings of him received all the while by his family.

This unjustifiable conduct of a husband and father led to strange consequences. Upward of eight years after Martin Guerre's absence, a man presented himself at Artigues, declared himself to be Martin Guerre, and was at once recognised as such by the four sisters of the absentee, by his uncle, by the parents and relatives of his wife, and by the wife herself. Not the slightest suspicion of imposture was entertained by any one, as the self-named Martin Guerre was found