they were was lighted only by a window near the ceiling, and was more than fifteen feet from the floor. "You have but," said the prisoner, "to put your chair upon the altar which we can place near the wall; you will then ascend on the chair, and I will mount upon your shoulders, from which I can gain the window." In an instant the criminal was beyond the reach of the law. The priest remained tranquilly seated in the chair, having restored the altar to its place. Some hours after the flight, the hangman, impatient at the long prayers of the priest, who, he thought, might have put half a dozen souls on the road to heaven in less time, knocked at the door. Not seeing the prisoner, he demanded what had become of him. "He must be an angel of light," said the priest, "for, on the faith of a priest, he went out by that window. I saw it with my own eyes." The hangman was in a maze. Having closely questioned the priest, he demanded if he was in earnest. On his replying in the affirmative, he ran to warn the judges. They hastened to the chapel, examined the chair, the window, the height from the floor, and saw no other means of escape than that stated by the priest. Their brains were perplexed. But they could not preserve their gravity at the sang froid of the good father, while describing the flight of the angel, as he styled him, through the window-and the prayer he was tempted to make to him, as he vanished, to take him along with him to the skies. Be this as it may, the Church was too powerful in those days to question the word of the priest, who assumed to himself the merit of converting a sinner into an angel in an hour. Twenty years afterwards, the priest was lost in the woods of Ardennes. The night came on; he was without food or place of rest. Wild beasts were prowling around. Step by step, weak and desponding, he still wandered farther in the mazes of the woods. His frame sunk exhausted with hunger, fatigue, and terror. He commended his soul to the care of heaven, and laid him down to die. He had lain there some hours, when the light of a lantern shone on his face. It was held by a peasant, who examined his features attentively. He aided him to rise. With his sinewy arm he bore the exhausted form of the priest to a neat farm-house, delightfully situated in a fertile plain on the skirts of the woods. The priest was nursed with care and restored to life, and warmly thanked his benefactor. On his recovering sufficiently to eat, the table was spread for the new guest. A fine capon was cooked and nicely dressed, and every luxury the farm afforded set before him. A female, neatly attired, with eight little ones surrounded the table. "Father," exclaimed the peasant apart to him, after they had finished their repast, "a wife, children, farm-all of these blessings, I owe to you. You saved my life when I was condemned to die on the scaffold; I have, in turn, saved yours. I have redeemed my pledge made to you. When I was a wandering beggar I came to this house, where by industry and honest dealing, I soon won the confidence of the father of my wife, who, on his death, left us this farm. I have prospered ever since in my affairs. My wife has been a real blessing to me, and my children, with their ruddy faces and their sweet smiles, remind me cach day, as I return from my daily toil, of what I owe to heaven and to you." The priest, whose conscience had often smote him for the fraud he had practised on the magistrate, and the danger of letting a robber loose to depredate on the public highway, was set at case. He embraced the peasant, and thanked his God that he had been the means of reclaiming a guilty soul, and of raising a condemned felon to the dignity of an honest man. EXPANSIBILITY OF WATER.-One pint of water converted into steam fills a space of nearly two thousand pints, and raises the piston of a steam engine with the force of many thousand pounds. It may afterwards be condensed and reappear as a pint of water. MY MOTHER'S BIBLE. THIS Book is all that's left me now! Here is our family tree; My Mother's hands the Bible clasp'd; Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear; And speak of what these pages said, My father read this Holy Book How calm was my poor mother's look, When she God's word did hear. Her lovely face-I see it yet! What thrilling memories come! I see that little group as met Thou truest friend man ever knew, Where all were false I found thee true, My counsellor and guide. The mines of earth no treasures give, That with this Volume vie; It teaches me the way to live, And tells me how to die. RUINS OF ROSLIN CASTLE AND CHAPEL. ROSLIN is the name of a small village, in the parish of Lasswade, in the county of Mid-Lothian, and is about seven miles south from Edinburgh. The scenery in the neighbourhood is magnificent. The Castle stands on a high rock, rising from the bank of the North Esk. The river dashes over its rocky bed along-side of the base of the Castle. On the other side of the Castle, there is a deep glen, which is beautifully wooded. A narrow stone bridge which crosses the glen leads to the gateway of the Castle. The Castle is now in ruins, but in the centre of its site stands a building of comparatively modern erection. We do not know by whom the Castle was built; but it must have been erected many hundred years since, for in the year 1455, Sir William Hamilton was confined here, in consequence of his having been engaged in acts of treason. In the year 1554 the Castle was set on fire by the English troops, under the command of the Earl of Hereford. It was afterwards restored; and was again taken by the parliamentary forces under the command of General Monk in the year 1650. Roslin Chapel was built on the summit of a high hill, a short distance from the Castle. It was erected by William Saint Clair, Earl of Caithness and Orkney. It was commenced in the year 1446. An old writer says, that when William Saint Clair saw age creeping on him, he began to consider how he had spent his past time, and how to spend that which was to come. Therefore that he might not seem unthankful to God, for the benefits received, he resolved to build a house for God's service of most curious workmanship, and employed a great number of artificers, some of whom were brought from foreign lands. To provide accommodation for them, he built the town, or village, of Roslin. The Chapel is 69 feet long inside the walls, 34 feet broad, and 40 feet high. This building still bears evidence of its original magnificence. The interior is divided by two rows of columns into a nave, or centre part, and two aisles. The arches are greatly enriched with carved work; as is also almost every other part of the building. The founder did not live to see the Church completed, but it was finished by his son. In a vault beneath the Chapel were buried ten barons, in their coats of armour. There is in the Chapel, a tomb of a Sir William Saint Clair, with a representation of him in armour and a greyhound at his feet; on the capital of one of the columns are the figures of a deer and a boy; the tomb and the figures are supposed to refer to the following story. Robert Bruce, King of Scotland, when hunting, on Pentland hills, near Roslin, had often started a white deer, which every time outran his hounds. The monarch one day asked his nobles, whether any of them thought that they had dogs which could outrun the deer? At first they were all silent, being fearful of offending the King, by saying, they thought their dogs could run faster than the king's. At length Sir William Saint Clair unceremoniously said, he would wager his head that his two favourite dogs "Hold" and "Help," would kill the deer before it could cross the March-bourn. The king accepted his rash offer, and agreed to give Sir William the Pentland Hills if his dogs killed the deer, but that his head should be forfeited if they did not. |