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from second-band. If their prejudices are wrought upon they are an easy conquest : they think not for themselves, they do not make experience the standard of their anticipations. The evils they have suffered from inattention and hatred to truth would, upon reflection, induce, nay constrain then to venerate and follow it. But such is the thoughtless character of the multitude, that yesterday is to them in the sepulchre of oblivion, to-day is a period of inexperience, and to-morrow is beyond the limits of their comprebension. Falsehood is clothed by ignorance, adorned by superstition, and perpetuated by inveterate dislike to personal inquiry.

If it should be asked who is sufficient to stem or weaken the torrent of moral irregularity? We may reply, that next to a sense of the value of truth is the industry and example of the schoolmaster. To him a sacred charge is committed--the improveinent of the youthful mind. His labours are to determine its future importance. He has not only to give instruction and to sanctify precept by practice; but he should make virtue be believed for its own sake, and he should consider that in unfolding the qualities, and enlarging the capacities of his pupils, his talents and virtues will be hallowed in their remembrance and actions. If such views were entertained by instructors universally ; what a magnificent change would be the consequence ? 'A revolution such as the world has never witnessed would be attained—a happiness, such as it has not experienced, would be disseminated through all its ramifications, and the Augustine age, instead of being passed, would only be commencing.

ness in gentlemen marching into church, without uncovering, till seated in their pews. The second is that of strangers going early to churches where they have no sittings, and, without ceremony, pre-occupying the seats of the regular hearers,

I must own that these miseries are chiefly committed by our own sex. Females, in general, deport themselves with more propriety in church. Permit me one other observation. Our southern neighbour: shew us an excellent example of that decorous gravity that should be exhibited in a religious assembly. In our fear of paying respect to sacred edifices, as they have been called, and of being thought guilty of a superstitious veneration for a collection of stone and lime, we have, perhaps, run to the other extreme of forgetting those decencies of behaviour that are due to one another in our public religious assemblages, and that reverential feeling and demeanour that become those wbo profess to be peculiarly in the presence of the Almighty.-I am, Sir, your obedient servant,


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The following epistle we willingly insert, from the conviction that the annoyances complained of exist to a very great extent not only here, but throughout Scotland, and that if the writer's hints were taken, the services of the Scottish sanctuary would be more in character with the solemnity of that pure faith which is professed.

To the Editor of The Day. “ Keep thy foot when thou goest into the House of God."

Three leaves are left on the topmost bough

of the ancient tree by the old church wall; Dim, dim, in the pale and fickering glow,

And patiently waiting their time to fall.
On a sudden arises the last Autuinn's gust,
And they lie side by side in the cold sallow dust.
They lie by the lofty and holy door,

Of a Christian church, close, close by it laid,
Like a group of sinners soul-struck and sore,

Of the door of eternal death afraid ;
Who kneel till the blessing of peace be spoken,
Then rise with a spirit contrite and broken.
But the door is shut, and the angry wind

Peels the bare boughs of the ancient tree; 0, Mercy Divine ! with speed descend,

And open the door to the shivering three. See how the cold sallow dust o'er thein lies; Bid them from sackcloth and ashes arise ! The first is my father-0, Mercy Divine !

Open the door of the blest narrow way; The next is a weak little sister of mine,

0, do not let her in hopelessness pray! Shed the pare freshening drops of thy rain o'er us three, And raise us with meek lowly spirits to thee !



SIR,—Your Saturday's papers have been very acceptable to a large portion of your readers. There is a peculiar propriety in bearing the attention away from the engrossing cares of the week, to the coming enjoyments of the sanctuary, and of announcing, in the ears of your readers, that “the Sabbath draweth nigh."

In this letter I intend to make a few animadversions on seve. ral small annoyances which fret and disturb those who wish to profit by their attendance in the House of God, and to which it perhaps does not befit the dignity of the pulpit so well to advert.

The first class of annoyances I would notice, is that which arises from your noisy entrants. Such individuals march up the aisles of the church with as much vigour as if they were on the pavé, thumping most lustily with their heels, while their feet “ discourse sweet music.” And then what a slamming of doors and upsetting of uinbrellas and hats! It is like a small hurricane before these individuals are quietly seated.

Another class of annoyances arises from what may be called the grunters. These persons are destitute of all ear for harmony, but yet sing they will, though it should be an octave below the air. If they would sing bass I would excuse them, but the hoarse groans of such persons are quite insufferable. Let such be advised to muse His praise !

Nearly allied to this class, is that of the nose blowers. It is only in church that this gift is to be heard exercised to perfection. You bave seen a rude fellow drawing a mighty inspiration, elevating the shoulders, leaving up the breast, and sending forth a volume of sound that makes the walls re-echo. Surely, a little feeling for the comfort of others, might prevent this in most cases.

Another description of grievances arises from your coughers. Far be it from me to forbid, to the invalid, the enjoyment of God's house, or to desire such to stay back for any frivolous reason. But I am sure that you must often have observed people there who ought to bave been in bed, and who, wbile they received little benefit themselves from the services, prevented many around them from profiting by them. I may add, on this head, that many, wbo have slight colds, might greatly modify and suppress their coughs, if they were properly alive to the comfort of their neighbours. In this, as well as all the preceding causes of complajot, the rule should be, to make it a part of our religion not to disturb the religion of others.

There are a few other grievances of the same sort, of them I shall name only two. The first is, the want of ordinary polite.

We are sorry that we cannot insert the communication of our friend “ Marcius." Poorly as we think of the Owenites, we do not suppose they are quite so bad as he would represent them, We feel obliged by his kindness, but it will readily occur to bim that we must be somewhat select in the papers wbich we admit into “ The Day.” He would do well to re-consider, and re-write.

The Article entitled “ The Colosseum,” will appear on Monday.

Several other Articles, also in type, stand over till next week.

In order to insure this Publication being on the Breakfast Table every morning, it is requested that intending Subscribers will leave their names and addresses at the Publisher's.


PORTRAITS. - I prefer portraits, really interesting, not only to landscape painting, but to history. A landscape is, we will say, an exquisite distribution of wood and water, and buildings, It is excellent--we pass on, and it leaves not one trace in the memory. In historical painting there may be sublime deception--but it not only always falls short of the idea, but is always false ; that is, has the greatest blemish incidental to bistory. It is commonly false in the costume ; generally in the portraits; always in the grouping and attitudes, which the painter, if not present, cannot possibly delineate as they really were. Call it fabulous painting, and I have no objection. But a real portrait we know is truth itself': and it calls up so many collateral ideas, as to fill an intelligent mind more than any other species. - Walpole.

my desire.


there they all lie, (pointing to a grassy knoll below a rock,) ex

cept the two whom you saw ; 'the Lord giveth, and the Lord. While the wanderer threads his weary way, or the shepherd pur

taketh away.'

While be said this the tears stole silently down sues his daily track along the steep sides of the lofty mountain of

his rugged cheeks; but, instantly aware of his emotion, he dashed Ben Sahimore, in Mull, he there may see a dark blue wreath of

them off, and exclaimed, “ Nature will out !" Poor fellow ! there smoke curling over the crags and rocks which encompass the sum

was something mysterious in his manner, and I was determined mit; and as he, at length, reaches and surmounts these natural

to try and sift it. I therefore asked the reason of his having a barriers, he finds himself treading on a smooth amphitheatre of

military musket and sword ? On hearing which, his face asglossy grass. Upon closer inspection he will perceive a cave in

sumed a dark expression ; and, tearing open his thread-bare coat, the rocks on the south side. Within that cave is the abode of the

he said, “ Bebold !” On turning round I observed with astonSmuggler.

ishment, medals and marks of military service, and said, “ You It was in the summer of the year 18, that being in that part

were a soldier—you have been in battle ?" Yes ;' be answered of the island on a tour, and hearing of the secluded abode of the

in a loud hoarse voice, “ I have borne the brunt of many a battle, Smuggler, I instantly formed a strong wish to visit it. Having;

and gained to myself honours such as these ; (pointing to two with some difficulty, procured a guide, I proceeded to accomplish

medals which he wore;) but by one rash act I blasted my reputa

tion and my fortune? I am a DESERTEN !"--He had no sooner It was a lovely morning. The light mist was just beginning

pronounced the word, than he sunk back on the ground speechto disappear in graceful wreaths over the tops of the mountains.

less. I instantly dashed a jug of water in his face, and poured a The sea was so calm and still, that the neighbouring hills and

little whisky into his mouth, upon which he recovered. Fearing rocks were reflected on its bosom as if in a mirror ; while, ever

to touch upon the subject again, I took a small Bible out of my and anon, its surface was disturbed by the heavy roll of the por

pocket, and read a chapter of it aloud, by which he seemed to be poise in pursuit of his prey, or the bound of the delicate trout as

greatly composed. When I had finished, I observed him eye the it nimbly sprung into the air. As we journeyed on our way, we

book most wistfully; and, asking him if he had a copy of the word were enlivened by the cheering call of the partridge, and the lively

of God, I was astonished when he answered in the negative. I song of the lark, mingled with the fierce roaring of the rapid

then asked him if he would use one if I gave it to him; and, upon stream wbich tumbled foaming down a rocky channel; and, upon

his promising to do so, I put that from which I was reading into nearing the summit of the hill, we heard the loud whir of the

his hands; and offering up a prayer to the Almighty, that he heath-fowl, and the triumphant crow of the grouse, as they sever

would sanctify his spirit, and cause him to understand what he ally flew harmlessly away from 'us. After a pleasant succession

read, I took my departure, promising, at his urgent request, that of changes in the scenery, we reached the rocks, and the High

I would return soon and see him. lander who was with me baving pointed out the way, we climbed

I had a melancholy walk home; for I could not help thinking these natural obstacles, and quickly stood beside the home of the

of the unfortunate outlaw whom I had found without the means Smuggler.

of religious consolation. For the space of a week my thoughts I saw before me a middle-sized man advanced in years, whose

were continually running upon him ; till, putting my promise in hair and beard were apparently blanched with exposure to the

execution, I set off on a second visit. In the course of three weather. He was sitting at a fire, on which was a large pot and hours I had almost reached bis habitation, and was climbing up boiler, whilst two children lay sleeping on the smooth turf be

the rocks which surrounded the cave, when my ears were struck side him. Near them was a dog of the old Highland deer-hound with the sound of children wailing. I quickened my steps, and, breed, wbose rest we had disturbed, and who now sprung up and

bounding over the remaining rocks, I leaped on the turf, and saluted us with a fearful growl. “ Down, Kilbuck," was the old

hurried to the cavern. But, alas ! on my way I observed the fire man's expression, while he rose and greeted us with a hospitable black and deserted. 'I saw the old hound whining and howling salutation. Upon this, Donald, the guide, stepped forward and

at the entrance of the cave, and, rushing in, the first thing that spoke to him in Gælic, which had a very successful effect; for the

presented itself to my sight was the two children crying at the old man immediately addressed me, and said, Sir, you are wel.

side of one of the heather-beds, upon which, to my sorrow, I come to what poor cheer my home can afford you." I thanked

found the old man- _dead! There he lay in the sleep of death ; him in return, and having told the guide to produce the provisions and, oh! never will I forget the poor children who screamed out I had brought with me, I proceeded to look about till the repast

to me when I approached, “ Daddy'll no waken !" I went up was ready. The spot on which I stood was a small round plot of

to the body, and found, to my unspeakable satisfaction, the Bible luxuriant turf, surrounded on all sides with steep but not lofty

lying open on his breast. I knelt down, and offered up a saprocks; and, as I was admiring this curious scene, the old man came

plication to the Lord to protect the poor helpless orphans before me. up to me and said, pointing to an opening in the rock, “ This, Sir,

I then took a note of the few things in the dwelling, and taking is my dwelling.” At his invitation, I entered by a small aper- the children with me, followed by old Kilbuck, the hound, I proture, and found myself in a spacious cave—the work of nature, ceeded homewards. It is needless to add that the children were but adorned with much neatness and comfort. In one corner taken care of, and that the remains of the old man were decently were placed two humble couches of dried heather and an old chair, interred in the parish churchyard, where a green mound marks together with two wooden stools; and a few barrels lay scattered his lonely grave. along the ground, whilst round the walls hung some culinary utensils, and a bright musket and sword. On seeing me gazing on the last-mentioned articles, the old man grew restless, and an

HIGH WATER AT THE BROOMIELAW. nounced breakfast to be ready. We then repaired to the turf,

where, on a clean white napkin, were spread some cold meat and
bread which I bad brought along with me, with the addition of

Saturday, 10 40

11 14

Monday, como 40 14 0 40 a little of the old man's goat-milk cheese, and a jug of his home

Tuesday, comel 3 123 brewed usquebaugh. Out of these materials we made a very good

Wednesday, umowoman I 41 1 58 meal; and, when it was finished, the children and my guide removed

Thursday, aminowan2 13 2 28 the rempants and retired, leaving the old man alone with myself. Thinking this a good opportunity of learning a little of his bistory, I was going to make some inquiry, when be stopped me,

GLASGOW: Published every Morning, Sunday ex: and said with a sigh, “ This day completes my fifteenth year of

cepted, by John WYLIE, at the British and Foreign rctirement, an exile from the world.” “ Unhappy man !" I ex

Library, 97, Argyle Street, Glasgow : STILLIES claimed, “what can bave induced you to take such a step?" "Tis

BROTHERS, Librarians, High Street, and Thos. a long story,” he replied, "and it would but weary a stranger.”

STEVENSON, Edinburgh: DAVID DICK, Bookseller, " But who are these children—your companions ?" I asked.-

Paisley : John Hislop, Greenock; and J. GLASS, “ Have you no wife, or no child, to comfort and take care of you

Bookseller, Roulsuy.-And Printed by Johx in your old age ?” “I bad both,” he answered ; but there

GRAHAM, Melville Place.

h. in.

h. m.






form of his sister, with an air of surprize and indigna(From an Unpublished Romance of the 17th Century. )

tion, but when he caught the gaze of her cold and

brilliant eye, he saw that there lurked under the unAfter the repast which had been provided for the natural calmness which sat upon her fine and exprestravellers bad been concluded, the good father, accom- sive features, indications of that high resolve, and fixety panied by Lady Lyll, proceeded to the aged knight's of purposes, which are seldom found in connexion apartment, and Eleanor and her brother were left in with the gentler emotions of the heart. the large ball, to communicate with each other, and to . “When I left thee, Eleanor,” said he, “thou wert a confer on the events which had occurred at Upper | shy and distrustful child, but now thy tongue wags Newton, during the years of Allan's absence.

with more speed than a dancing dervice's legs. Where “ Didst thou not say, Eleanor, that

my poor father

didst thou pick up all this superfluous wisdom; and had had an interview with Cuthbert Allison, on the canst thou find nothing better to welcome thy brother eve preceding his illness ?"

to the home of his fathers, than the oracular raving of “ I did say as much, dear brother, and it seems to me, a sybil ?" that the barking of that heretical car was one cause of “ Nay, Sir Knight, be not offended if my wisdom his malady. That man and his daughter, somehow should exceed thine own a little. There has been a or other, exert a strange influence over the destinies lack of wit in the family of late, and, I fear me, thou of the members of the house, though I am not seer wilt scarcely add to the amount of it. Perchance, howenough to discover why it should be so.”

ever, thou wouldst find some relief from thy sister's “ Thou'rt no fatalist," I see said Allan, somewhat petulance, in a passage of the Romance of Real Life. discomposed by the remark, and the manner which ac- If so, the western turret may afford thee the means; companied its utterance—“thou'rt no fatalist, Eleanor, for, I take it, that by the lively imagination of a youthor thou might'st resolve this seeming paradox, with ful aspirant for errant glory, a bind's daughter at her an example of the inevitable concatenation of incidents knitting, may be readily converted into an imprisoned which the holders of this belief discover, in the moral princess, of peerless beauty"-and, casting a look of government of the universe. But what could this unmingled scorn and defiance at her astonished brother, visit relate to, think'st thou, Eleanor ?"

she glided out of the apartment. “ I know what it related to, right well, and though “ Thour't an imp of mischief, by all the saints in it may be in some measure, a breach of confidence, I heaven," exclaimed Allan aloud,“ but I will be at the will put thee in possession of the truth. It would seem bottom of the mystery ;" and, with the impetuosity of as if my father bad entertained but a poor opinion of youth, he darted forth in the direction of the tower your wisdom, in the choice of a wife; for the object of where Rose Allison sat, meditating on the strange the interview was to persuade the old churl to carry events of her life, and alternately condemning her own proposals of marriage, between thee and the daughter imprudence in fostering a hopeless passion, and her of Sir John Ogilvie of Pitscoggie, in the north."

lover's tardiness in not making his appearance. She had “ Eleanor, thy wit is sharp, but I would not have become weary of her solitary occupation, and, ere rethee, for many reasons, take advantage of thy brother's tiring to rest

, had placed herself close by the small iguorance of recent domestic occurrences. More de. table on which the lamp stood, and was surveying, for pends on thine honesty, in this particular, than thou the thousandth time, the miniature which was suspendart aware of."

ed from her neck, when the door was abruptly opened, “Grammercy, young Sir, thou’rt the very imperson- and before the precious gift could be consigned to its ation of suspicion. Honesty, forsooth! who gave thee resting place, Allan stood in her presence. Nothing right to question my veracity, an' it please thee tu could exceed the surprise of both parties, for Rose, vouchsafe an answer?"

whatever her rebellious heart might have whispered, “ Eleanor, dear Eleanor ! be calm for heaven's sake. did not expect a clandestine visit from Allan, while Thoa'rt the only friend, save my poor mother, whom he, in his return, had as little hope of finding Rose in I have in this land of feuds and factions, and I confess any part of the castle, though he had considered it to thee, that I would fain make thee my confidante, in right to thread out the mysterious insinuations of his inore things than thou wottest of; but, for mercy's sister. This, however, was not the moment for explansake, be calm, and take not offence at an unguarded ation. A look of joy, not unmingled with surpriseword.”

a faint scream, and the rapid play of contending colours " Then it would become thee, Master Allan, to be over her beautiful face, were the only indications which more cautious of speech ; for, though an untravelled Rose exhibited, of her consciousness of Allan's presence. maiden,'I brook not rudeness from any one, much less It was not the season for speech, and none was exchangfrom a young kuight, who should be the very mirror ed. For an instant, she stood confounded, and the of chivalric courtesy. As to confidence, Sir, thou'rt next, they were locked in each other's arms. the best judge of the extent thou shouldst go in that The bliss of that moment in which a lover, after matter with every one, not even excepting thy sister, the absence of years, presses the object of his affection who may know or suspect more of thy proceedings to his heart, can never be recalled. It stands alone, in than thou wouldst be willing to believe. Besides, there the ocean of living emotions, by which man is surround· be some things in this said world, of which a wise ed, as the one which is extatic, faultless, pure! It may woman would choose to remain ignorant.”

be the subject of memory, but it never can be felt again. There was in the ungracious reply, both in manner Life may present occasions for joy, more lasting in its and matter, that which pierced Allan to the heart's impressions, and more durable in its character; but a core. For a moment he looked on the diminutive | joy so sinless and disinterested—so much removed from

tarry here.”

« But

the grossness of material sensation, can only be experi- “ Pardon me, sweet Rose. An' thou plottest a runenced once, and that once, for the brief space

of a trap

away marriage with the heir of Upper Newton, or an sitory moment !

unclerical liaison with the said gentle youth, I know Blushing deeply, as she disengaged herself from of no one who hath a deeper interest in becoming achis embraces, and, after suffering the martyrdom of an quainted with these facts than my poor self. Perhundred kisses, Rose said,

chance I may be of more service to you both than ye “ What wouldst thou here, Allan ? Travel maketh wot of—that is, always providing that ye deport youryoung men over bold. I expected ye not so uncere- selves with propriety." moniously. How knew ye I was in the castle ?"

“ Allan, Allan," cried the unhappy Rose, in an agony “Of that, dearest and fairest, anon. Answer me of grief, and supporting her tottering and trembling one question—how comes my love to be here, cooped frame, by seizing on his arm, as she writhed under the up like a bird in a cage.

Where's thy father!" unfeeling sneers, and unchaste insinuations, of his sis« These, Allan, are questions which I cannot answer. ter," for heaven's sake, protect me against the cold After years of estrangement, my father and the knight vengeance of that unfeeling woman. Thou know'st on a sudden became friends, and, on the morrow after that I deserve not these taunts, and I trust to thy sense the reconciliation, he departed on a mission to the of justice and honour, to see me righted, even in her north, on the knight's account, and, until he return, I estiination.' But let me go forth even now, alone,

my father's cabin will shelter me from the elements ; “Knowest thou aught, dearest Rose, of the purport and I would rather trust to the merciless ruffians who of thy father's journey ?”

invade the dwellings of the poor, than abide in this “ I am in utter ignorance on that head. My father, house one minute longer. For mercy's sake, Allan, as thou art aware, is somewhat chary of his confidence, dear Allan, lead me forth of the Barbican--thou canst and I cared not to inquire particularly."

accomplish this

no one will deny thy right of com“ Then, 'tis true, by all the saints, wbat Eleanor mand here, now-and, once on the highway, I will told me," exclaimed Allan, with great emotion.

soon reach the Broom. To-morrow, I will send a they shall find, though all the fiends of hell conspired maid for


valuables." against my peace, that they will not succeed.”

« Not to-night, Rose, not to-night, that were un- Hush, hush, for mercy's sake, thy voice will re- seemly at this late hour," answered her tormentor, sound through these ancient galleries like a trumpet, as she surveyed the scene with a look of calm and thou wilt alarm the household; for the very walls of stern contempt. But, an' thou wilt go, take care of this building, methinks, have ears."

that pretty ornament which hangs from thy neck. It “ Thou'rt right, dear, lovely and unsuspecting one ; might prove a temptation to a needy knight of St. but, listen to me. I have, on this, the first night of my Nicholas, who might have more sympathy with its acarrival, detected an infamous conspiracy against my tual value, as a piece of curious workmanship, than with happiness, and consequently against thine. For the thy sorrow at losing it.” present, I forbear saying more : meanwhile, be thou But the poor girl to whom this speech was addressprudent, my love, and take care that thou avoid my ed, heard it not. Intelligence and voluntary motion sister. She loves thee not, Rose."

had both suffered a temporary suspension; and she layo “ I cry thee, mercy, sweet brother,” exclaimed this in the arms of her lover, totally unconscious of what provoking personage, as she entered the apartment, was passing around her. Distracted with fear, as he with a look of great unconcern, and in time to witness gazed on the beautiful and inanimate form which he a parting salute, between the lover and his mistress supported, and maddened beyond toleration, at the cold “I cry thee, mercy. Thou’rt not over civil, methinks, to and infeminine insolence of his sister, Allan lost all instil these unkind suspicions into Mistress Rose's ears.

self-command, and exclaimed, in a voice of thunder, The young lady must know that I have now, or soon

“ By the eternal God, who lives above us, sister, an' will bave much occasion to love, reverence, and possibly thou departest not from my presence, I will fling thee even to fear her. If I have intruded, the object of my

from the castle walls, and make food of thee for the mission must be my excuse. Thine absence, brother,

fowls of the air, thou imp of cruelty and malice." has been remarked, and, as Father Hamilton will do Startled by the loudness of his voice, and a little domestic service, thou wert well to join the family

discomposed by the sternness of his look, Eleanor party. Perhaps mistress will accompany thee." stepped a pace or two back, but, instantly recovering The concealed sneer, with which these remarks

ber courage, she rejoined were accompanied, would have provoked Allan to an

Truly, brother, that were no great feat of man

hood. Methinks thou mightest commence thy knightly intemperate reply, had not Rose, whose confusion was drowned in her indignation, sharply answered,

career with a more dignified act than an offer of vio

lence against thy sister. But I have done mine of “Madam, so long as I remain here, the invited

fice, young man, and will leave thee to thy folly." guest of thine honoured mother, so long do I expect Such restoratives as his imperfect knowledge sugand demand from you, that thou wilt recognise the

gested were, instantly, on bis sister's departure, used sanctity of my chamber. Thou hast no warrant to enter

by Allan for Rose's recovery. He laid her gently on here unbidden, and as to the worship, thou mightst

the couch, sprinkled water over her pale face, and, bave known, ere this, that the prejudices, if thou wilt,

kneeling by her bed side, with both her hands clasped of my religious belief, must prevent me from joining in his, he anxiously watched the sign of returning thy family circle, even in the sacred ordinance of

animation. By degrees her breathing became audible, prayer."

her eyes were opened, and her hands withdrawn from “ 'Fore heaven, Rose, thou doest me injustice. I did the embrace of her lover. .but come to call my brother, which, after so long an Starting from the couch, she gazed wildly around, absence thou, at least, shouldst feel to be natural enough. with a look which indicated a partial disturbance of As to the right which thou hast to thine own apart- reason, and a solemnity of visage which seemed to ment, I call it not in question, but I was not to know, proclaim the existence of some deep and overwhelmthat, in venturing into thy presence, I was about to dis- ing emotion. Her dishevelled hair, streaming in disturb a gentle passage of love."

orderly folds around her person, and her eyes glisten“How came ye to seek your brother here, young ing with unwonted and unnatural fire, which contrast. lady? Thou hadst no warrant for supposing he should ed fearfully with the alabaster paleness of her coun. . be in this apartment; but, if, as it would seem, thou tenance, she stood before her astonished and terri. didst suspect it, thou mightst have been superior to fied lover, the picture of unearthly passion. the vulgar curiosity of prying into that which no ways “Sir, knight,” said she, “this folly must have an concerns thee."

end: Silence, Sir, not a word. I will listen to


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remonstrances-my resolution is taken—this folly must have an end. Your band, Sir; I will right the matters myself."

Allan extended his hand. She seized it with a firm gripe, and, dragging the astonished youth after her, she threaded' the dark and narrow passage with certainty and speed, and, ere he had time to conjecture whither she was leading him, they were in the presence of Lady Lyll, Father Hamilton, and Eleanor, all of whom stared in amazement as she approached,

“Gracious Heaven, Rose," exclaimed the Lady, what be this, Rose ?"

“ Patience, Madam, and thou shalt hear. Approach, Sir. Take that hand, Lady, and receive the homage of thy son. Thou art justly entitled to it-mine is unworthy of being profferred. It seems, Madam, that I have waylaid the affections of the youth, at least so saith thy proud, stern daughter. If it be so, I renounce them from this time henceforward; for, I would rather sleep in the bosom of the poorest peasant in the land as the partner of his heart, than have it thought by any being, great or small, that I was capable of being the leman of the proudest man in it. Madam, I cry thee silence. I owe thee much, but I will not be interrupted. Receive thy son at my hands, and with him this (holding out the miniature) which thou wert once pleased to call a bauble. I thought it something better, and wore it, for many years, next my heart. Keep it, Lady, for my sake, and when I die, an' thou wilt, lay it in the tomb by any side. From this house I go forth to-night, ay, to-night; and oh! dearest, dearest Lady, when some fairer and better-born dame is bound to thy son by the holy chains of matrimony, may God grant, for thy sake and for her, that be gets a heart as loyal to virtue, and as true to love, as that which, in the pride of family, is now torn to pieces in cruel mockery and scorn."

She now advanced towards Eleanor Lyll, who would have retired on her approach, but she seized her firmly by the arm, and dragged the terrified girl into the middle of the apartment.

“ I must have speech with thee, young lady," said she. « Dost thou see what thou hast done ? But, listen to me; the true and honourable spirit of woman -that which may be compared to nothing else on this earth-dwells not with thee. Thy stony and cold heart is a stranger to the softer and purer aspirations of thy sex. Nature erred when she made thee what thou art; but, mark me, young lady; ere many suns revolve over thy head, thou mayest reap the reward of this night's work. In silence and in sadness, and in the land of strangers, remember Rose Allison, the broken-hearted companion of thy youth. May God forgive thee, for I never can.”

Řeally alarmed, and trembling under the gaze of that eye which, but a short while before, she could have averted with a look of proud defiance, Eleanor Lyll replied

“ Dear Rose, forgive me. I did but jest."

“ Jest, didst thou say !" cried Rose, her voice screeching with passion, and her whole frame agitated with the most vehement emotion, “ jest, didst thou say, thou traitress to the best feelings of womanhood ! Jest with the pure and holy love of a maiden- that never-dying passion of a true woman's soul—then, I Joath and scorn thee as the vicious and infamous votary of art, not of nature of that which is impure and worthless, not of that which is pure and lovely!” and, so saying, she flung Eleanor from her, and, approaching Lady Lyll, who had looked upon the whole scene with stupifying amazement, she had just begun to address her Ladyship, when her hitherto pale face became flashed and distorted, and the burst of temporary madness with which she had been seized, and the effects of which they had just witnessed, issued in a violent convulsion, which left her disfigured and senseless where she fell.


Kolosseum, Riesenschatten
Von der Vorwelt Machtfoloss!
Liegst du da in Tods - Ermatten,
Selber noch im Sterben gross ?
Und damit verhöhnt, zerschlagen,
Du den Martertod erwarbst,
Musstest du das Kreuz noch tragen,
An dem, Herrliche! du starbst.

Thut es weg diess heil'ge Zeichen!
Alle Welt gehört ja dir !
Ub'rall, nur bey diesen Leichen,

Ub'rall stehe, nur nicht hier!
Thou, Colosseum! Giant power !

Colossal shade of mighty Eld.
Still mighty art thou in the hour

Of death-approaching pangs beheld.
Torn down--despised as useless dross-

Thou'st won, indeed, a martyr's death;
But why must thou still bear the Cross

On which thou spend’st thy dying breath!
Hence, with the sacred token-hence

The world is thine and there appear-
Throughout the earth thy peace dispense--

But stand not-Badge of Mercy--here ! What a strange combination of incongruous ideas strikes the mind of the astonished traveller, when, after wandering through the now deserted Forum, he sees before him the most wonderful monument of human art. The mouldering hapd of invidious time seems to have made little impression on that part of its walls which is seen from the Temple of Venus and Rome.f

As he gazes on the splendid ruin with eyes which seem incredulous that ever such a work could emanate from mortal hands-it seems to invite the mind to serious contemplation on its eventful history--reared at first by the oppressed Israelites; it heard many a mourning captive's sigh, as their hard and barbarous task-masters, to lighten the tedious hours of labour, day after day, aggravated their load of agony, saying “Sing us a Song of Zion."

Nor were these the only mournful sounds that were haard within its massy walls-for when assembled Rome, with anxious expectation, watched the furious gladiators braving death to gain a wreath of withering laurels; the piercing shriek of death, struck with chilly borror the breasts of those whose loud applause made mighty Rome resound the victor's praise. Still the time-worn walls appear to echo forth the warrior's dying sigh, as the gentle breeze floats through the winding corridors.

But these barbarous sounds have long been unheard within this venerable pile—that arena which oft drank in the blond of the hapless victim, who gasping in death's cold embrace, bas now become, if we may trust the well-told tale of many an aged monk --the quiet resting place of saints who met their death triumphant in the Cause Divine.

Such thoughts “crowd fast into the mind's creative eye” when the wanderer first visits the Colosseum, which Popish bigotry has now consecrated by the erection of a penitential cross in its centre, and of a small chapel, where a greasy Cappucino is stationed to receive from the truly faithful, “ Elimosine per gli aniini nel purgatorio." No dense crowd comes pouring through its now deserted portals, but, now and then, is heard the hum of prayer, as some toil-worn pilgrim tells his beads o'er a martyr's graveor the montonous tone of some zealous monk, who, ignorant as those he addresses, enforces fasting and penance as the only means of obtaining a happy exit from the tortures of purgatory.

But, if you would see the Colosseum in all its grandear--free from those appalling spectacles of blinded superstition, which must distress every thinking beart,

« Go, visit it by pale moonlight." There no obtrusive sound nor spectacle can break the trains of thought which rush unforbidden on the mind. It appears double the size by night, that it does by day, and as the cold moon-beam streaming through the arches, rests on some broken mass of ruin, the imagination conjures up the spirits of the unlamented dead, or hears the Jew's groan of anguish, when he thinks his captive hours were spent in raising a Mausoleum for Christian heretics.

At that still hour, the only sounds that meet his ears are still congenial to his thoughts--the nightingale from the garden of the neighbouring convent, sings a sweet lullaby o'er the shades of the just, wbile the soldier, as he treads his rounds, impatient for the blast of war which now never sounds within his ears, hums the well-known chorus,

Roma, Roma, Roma,

Roma, non è più ch'era prima. The above is extracted from an Ode on the Ruins of Rome, by the famous poet Grillparzer, who, on account of its publication, was banished from the Eternal City. It has not as yet appeared in an English garb, and the small portion of it which we have translated is all that is yet made known, to the English reader, of that sarcastic and powerful poetical diatribe.

+ Il Tempio di Venere e Roma is situated at the top of the Forum, and exactly opposite the Colosseum.

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