sovereign during his absence in Palestine; and having, as it seems, unfortunately discovered the secret of Adelaide's attachment, was so transported with passion, that he insisted upon her marrying the Lord Gilsland, one of her admirers, or instantly assuming the veil, which latter alternative she unhesitatingly decided upon. (The manuscript now becomes legible, and remains so until the conclusion).

The morning was ushered in with the ringing of the convent bells. The abbess and the nuns were early assembled in the chapel, and the abbot of St. Oswyth's, arrayed in his robes, had taken his station at the altar. As the victim of paternal anger was led in, pale and inanimate, the pealing notes of the organ reverberated through the fretted aisle, and the full choir burst forth in that sublime chaunt, "Miserere." While she advanced, or rather was supported, to the altar, where she was to pronounce those vows which were for ever to separate her from the world, and to sever each earthly tie, a deadly whiteness overspread her lovely countenance; and the image of the noble Reginald, flashing on her bewildered mind, completely overpowered her selfpossession, and she sunk fainting in the arms of her attendants. When she recovered, the music had ceased, the priest stood with his book in readiness to commence. He had already pronounced the opening benediction,when the clattering of hoofs was distinctly heard; the sound became louder and louder; it was now evidently close to the convent. The priest, slowly closing the book, directed looks of amazement and enquiry to the abbess, whose countenance plainly indicated that she felt equal, if not greater astonishment than himself. All was still for a minute, when the convent bell rang violently, and soon after the clank of armour was heard in the passage leading to the chapel. As the door flew open, a knight clad in sable armour, followed by his attendants, hastily entered; he advanced to the altar, and, raising his vizor, cast his penetrating glance on the trembling Adelaide, who, uttering a piercing shriek fell senseless in his arms.

All stood aghast with terror and amazement, until the

abbot, recovering his self-possession, solemnly demanded, Who art thou, sacrilegious knight, who thus intrudest in this sacred place?" "I am Reginald, lord Glenalvon," answered the knight. "This maiden is my betrothed. I claim her as my bride, and no power on earth shall rend her from these arms." "Cease thy vaunting," calmly answered the priest, "the Holy Church will soon convince thee that thou art but weak and powerless, when opposed to her infallible decrees. How canst thou claim the maid, thou that art the hereditary foe of her house? It was but yesterday sevennight that the noble Lord Ruthven consigned his daughter to our care and instruction, that she might dedicate herself to the service of God and our lady.' The Lord Ruthven," retorted the youth, "is dead, I regret to say: oppressed by a guilty conscience, he has fallen by his own hand. The vows are not yet pronounced, and Adelaide Ruthven is mistress of her own fate. Tell me, dearest! speak, Adelaide," cried he, bending anxiously over her lovely features, as she was slowly reviving; “will you now assume the veil ?" Never, oh never, whilst you are with me, Reginald !" "Daughter," said the priest, in an altered tone, "the church receives not reluctant sacrifices-thou art free." Then motioning with his hand, all withdrew, and he was left alone with the happy pair. Reginald now related, that, upon his landing, his honoured friend, Lord Fitz Eustace, had acquainted him with Adelaide's condition; and, also, that Lord Ruthven, hearing of Richard's return, had fallen by his own hand, after an ineffectual attempt to escape beyond the seas. The death of her father, although he had treated her in so unnatural a manner, greatly affected Adelaide. Soothed, at length, by the kindness and attention of her lover, she agreed to remain in the convent until the time of mourning for her parent had expired. The abbot, who, under his austerity, concealed a feeling and humane disposition, gave them his blessing, and undertook to remove all obstacles opposed to their union. When the prescribed period had elapsed, their nuptials were solemnized with all the pomp and splendor becoming their exalted rank; and thus, the feuds which

had so long distracted the borders, were happily terminated by the union of the sole remaining representatives of Ruthven and Glenalvon.

G. S.

LAPLAND.

Ye blest and heavenly nymphs, to whom belong
The sweet, the full clear melody of song-
Daughters of Jove! ye bright celestial choir!
And thou, sweet mistress of the vocal lyre—
Oh! hear my suppliant prayer; inspire my breast,
Descend in rich bedecking fancy drest,

Sing the ice-clad land, drear Laponia's clime,
Where Nature wild, yet awfully sublime,
Unfetter'd reigns; where bright eternal snow
Dreads not the fiery sun's enliv'ning glow-
Where icy mounds, aspiring to the skies,
In tall array magnificently rise;

The dome, the minaret, the lofty spire,
When rising Phoebus darts his glitt'ring fire,
To wondering eyes their varied hues unfold,
Of hyacinthine purple, and of gold;

The violet's tint, the sweet pale blush of day,
Blended in one soft beautiful array,

Reflect from ice to ice their gleaming light,

And strike with dazzling awe th' astonished sight.
A land, whose hard and unproductive soil
Denies all increase to the labourer's toil;
Nor flocks, nor joyful herds, the eye surveys,
No glowing landscape meets th' admiring gaze-
But, desolate and drear, chill winter reigns;
Darkness and vapours shroud the gloomy plains.
Pierc'd by the blast, o'erspent with empty toil,
Still Lapland's son prefers his barren soil
To richer climes than ever fancy drew-

To India's golden realms, or thine, Peru!

G. S.

A SCENE IN THE CRICKET FIELD.

Their books laid by, exulting, sportive, gay,
The schoolboys haste to spend two hours in play;
And see, already, forth from out the rest,
All standing round, they careful choose the best.
Cricket their game: each takes his stated place;
Silence reigns queen; joy sits on ev'ry face.
Clear'd for their sports, behold the verdant green
An active, lively, and imposing scene:
Quick flies the ball-it passes swift as thought;
In vain its speed-'tis surely fearless caught.
The batsmen wait-the umpires check delay;
The fieldsmen hear, and, pleas'd, re-echo play!"
Each at his post, with light and willing heart,
Performs, with credit, his appointed part.
See Sy there, in perfect posture, stand
Graceful and free: forth from his steady hand
The ball has past; it rose to take the bail;
Cautious the play-point,-slip,-your efforts fail!
Once more, 'tis "play!" how true he eyes the ball!
They bowl in vain; his wicket will not fall.

If wide, how strong he plays; if true, with care;
Foes long would strive, if S- were with him there.
Again well bowl'd! Go, Th-b-d! quick! go two!
How well hit off! point stops it-one must do !
Be quick! from B-n the ball will sharply come!
A noted scout-when batting, quite " at home."
All safe: but Purefoy keeps his wicket well;
Whose feats, or in or out, our foes can tell.
Few youths, like him, have bowl'd so well before :
Well hit, by K-! it must, at least, be four:
No, Edmund has it; nought by him can pass:

His rank, as player, is no common class.
Bowl steady now! for K- a leg-ball plays

With strength and judgment; well he merits praise!
Sharp hit, indeed! See yonder active scout

That covers point: 'tis W-s; good catch!-he's out!

Again 'tis gone; 'tis sure beyond the mead;
No! M--n's there; superior catch indeed!
You'll see him bat anon, cool, steady, free,
His bat has, more than once, been victory.
John, L— —d, Albin, E— tt, R-e and N—n,
Forbid me thus to sing of every one;

And well our Longstop claims a tribute due:
They all are good, and fetch their notches too.
Think me not sanguine, nor inclined to praise
Where not in truth deserv'd: there have been days
When Salisbury's Club, nor members thence alone,
Were forc'd, reluctant, their defeat to own:
Dorset full well our deeds in cricket knows,
And Oxford scholars rank'd among our foes.
An hour, save five short minutes, strove they well;
Three runs to gain; five stubborn wickets fell.
I own my bosom glows as thus I sing

Sweet deeds as these : may time, revolving, bring
Days such again, that we may have to tell,
The Radcliffe Club can do their duty well;
And may we all, to whom that name applies,
Exert the utmost skill that in us lies;
It may be our's, e'en 'midst the first in fame,
To read, perchance some Radcliffean's name,
Who ranks the surest batsman of his day,
And bears from Ward himself the palm away.
Who can stand by, and watch their eager strife-
Eager as though contending life for life-
Can see their quickness, their intense desire
As reason cool; their very souls on fire,—
But sees evinc'd in this enlivening play,
The undaunted hero of a future day?
Who, in defence of his dear country's right,
Shall stand conspicuous in the murd'rous fight,
Shall foremost lead to 'tempt the dangerous breach;
Whose joy shall be, that on the hostile beach
His foot was planted first; at glory's call,
Shall be the first to scale the guarded wall;
Shall force the gate, maintain the narrow pass,
The vessel board, or wade the deep morass;