The boy took the rush and went half whimpering from the hall, and it was more than a quarter of an hour before he returned with message that) the earl waited in his closet. Norman caught up the lamp, and hastened through the long dark passages, till he came to the antechamber. Maurice stepped softly before, and, lifting the arras, the esquire entered the earl's closet. A dim night-lamp stood on the table, and shed a faint light through the high chamber. The earl lay upon a couch supported by the countess; and as Norman approached, he suddenly started back. Her once beautiful, happy, cherub countenance, of almost infantine loveliness, was sad and fixed, and fallen to a shadow; the full, soft, velvet shape that used to give its perfect mould to every turn of her kirtle, scarce gave the sharp outline of a limb to the loose empty folds of the silk that was carelessly clasped to her waist. The pale light that fell across her forehead was cold and white as on a marble brow, and her large blue eyes once so bright with sunny light, were dimmed, and sunk, and heavy with grief and watching. At the sound of Norman's step she looked up, and slightly bent her head. The esquire paused and looked upon the earl as his white deathly face rested still and passive upon her arm. "How has my good lord rested," said the youth. The countess shuddered. "A fearful! fearful night!" she said-" at midnight-but it passed away all at once, and now he is but feeble and exhausted.' Norman suddenly cast back his cloak, and dashing the phantom wax upon the floor, trampled it under the heels of his heavy boots, till he crushed it in pieces. The countess shrieked, and clung to the earl; for at every stroke of Norman's foot he started, writhed as in the death throe, and grasped the velvet pall like a dying man; till suddenly, as the esquire scattered the wax in shapeless morsels, he sprung up from the couch-firm, hale, stout, as on the morning of the bridal-day. For a moment the countess trembled, and clung to the couch, and gazed upon him, while he stared upon the air, and stretched his arm, and clenched his hand as if he tried its grasp, till suddenly he fell upon his knees, and, touching the oratory table with his forehead, exclaimed, "Benedictum sit nomen Domini!" The countess started up with a wild, incredulous look of doubt and joy; and the earl clasped her in his arms. Suddenly he held her back, and gazed eagerly upon her pale, wasted features. "Alas!" said he, "there is no spell on you!"and holding her to his breast, he bent over her as if he was still but the poor, weak, broken changeling. The countess lay weeping, silent, breathless, in his arms; but suddenly he started up and glanced round the room. Norman followed his eye till it caught the giant sword that stood against the wall, and springing forward, he drew it from the scabbard and held it to his master. The earl took it in his hand and stepped into the middle of the chamber, and stretched out the long, trembling, mighty blade like a cloth wand. A burst of tearful joy came to Norman's eyes; and as the knight waved, and poised, and shook the fearful weapon, the bright, stern, terrible battle-light came into his face, and his breast seemed to swell, and his stature grow taller and taller. "Soli Deo gloria!" he exclaimed; "Soli Deo gloria! I am once more a man!" * The bright blue glorious morning shone like the first day of the world; not a fleck spotted the clear vault of heaven, nor a breath stirred the dewy leaves. The pale glory of the rising sun glistened through the still smokes of the early city like a silvery veil, and the vast towering masses of the castle, and the long gray ridges of the town topped by its dim crown, rose dark and proud and quiet out of the bright mist. The park of Holyrood was filled by the deep dense crowd of five thousand men at arms,† and a mixed multitude which stood a sea of heads round the barriers, and high on Arthur's Seat showed variegated groups of plaids, bonnets, and kirtles elustering like swallows upon the gray craigs. A profound stillness Phantom, of old, was applied to any thing wasted-thus, blighted corn was called phantom-corn. At the great duel in England in the time of Richard II., between the Dukes of Norfolk and Hereford, the field was kept by ten thousand men in arms.-Hall. ̧ reigned upon the press, but a constant fluctuating motion wavered upon its skirt as the hindward crowded and jostled to get a sight of the lists. The splendid pageantry of armorial pomp seemed to have risen by magic in the night. The high barriers, covered with scarlet cloth, were closed at all avenues, and glittered with the glaves and lances of the marischal's guard, which kept the range. The lofty gallery prepared for the court and the peers fluttered bright with ensigns, bannerols, and pennons, and was filled with a bright glimmering pageant of jewelled coronets, ermined gowns, and robes of estate, in the midst of which sat the king and queen, surrounded by all the beauty and chivalry of Fair Scotland. The constable and marischal, attended by the lord lion and the heralds in their tabards, stood within the burrière d'armes, railed in below, and at either end of the list was a velvet chair for the appellant and the champion. Midway of the range, the countess sat in a chair covered with black, and behind, over the lists, appeared the tall white stake and the summit of the pyre,* prepared for her execution, should her cause be lost. Her face was deadly pale, but calm and composed, and as she sat, her white, still hands rested on the chair, her eyes fixed in the air, the ruff could not be seen to throb on her neck, nor the white sendal rise and fall upon her bosom. There was such a pause, you might have heard the linnet sing in the plane-tree of Holyrood. All at once a trumpet sounded beyond the range, and the heavy tramp of a horse approached the list. The ma rischal advanced to the barrier and gave the challenge. "Sir William Douglass, of Eaglestour, good knight and true," answered a voice, " come to demand the blood of his brother at the false traitress, Isabella Stuart, Countess of Moray!" The barrier was instantly set open, and the knight rode into the range, alighted from his horse, and sat down in the chair at the upper end of the list. The eyes of all the spectators turned upon him; but the countess sat calm and still, and never changed her look. In a few moments the trumpets sounded at the four quarters of the list, and the heralds proclaimed, "O yez! O yez! O yez! Sir John Randolph! Sir John Randolph! Sir John Randolph! Earl of Moray! come to the journée which you have enterprized before the king, the constable, and the earl marischal!" At the last appel, a trumpet answered beyond the crowd, and as a horse stopped, the marischal challenged at the gate, the deep voice of the earl answered through the bars, "John of Tarnaway, Earl of Moray, come to do my devoir against William of Eaglestour, traitor to God and my lady!" The gate opened, and the earl, completely armed, his visor closed, and his lance in his hand, rode into the lists. He dismounted at the range end, unclosed his helmet, and walked to the harrière d'armes, and immediately a priest advanced with a missal and crucifix, and the appellant was conducted to his antagonist. There was a deep, fearful, breathless pause, while the monk held up the cross, and the white stern combatants took each other by the Burning, in the latter centuries confined to the punishment of heresy and witchcraft, was originally a general pain for capital offences. In the famous cause of Jaques le Gris and John de Carogne, in France, the wife of the former was to have been burned, had she been condemned of the charge of false witness against the life and honour of the tenant of the quarrel.-Froissart. In the Romance of King Arthur, Queen Guinever was at the peril of being burned for the poisoning of Sir Patryce, and her infidelity to King Arthur; and the same punishment is frequently mentioned in the old ballads and metrical romances even for less crimes than murder and adultery. It will appear the less remarkable when we remember that by the 23d of Henry VIII. the punishment of boiling was enacted against poisoning, and in that year, Stow mentions that a cook was boiled in Smithfield for poisoning sixteen persons. At the same period drowning was a common execution, particularly for females; hence the term pit and gallows, in the feudal lordships, which had a pit for the drowning and a gallows for the hanging of capital offenders. The last drowning conviction executed in Great Britain was in the year 1671. The convict was an old woman guilty of theft; she was drowned in the Loch of Spinie, near Elgin, under sentence of the baron's court of Gordonstown.-Baron Bailie's Book of Gordonstown. right-hand, and laid the left upon the rood and the book. The constable stood up-" By the faith which you give in your right-hand! and by all which you hold in your left! your cause is good and true. You have no witchcraft nor advantage; and shall do each his devoir to the death. So God you help and all Saints!" The stern pale warriors held each hard by the gauntlet and swore the oath. -Immediately the trumpets sounded— the heralds proclaimed the combat— "GOD DEFEND THE RIGHT!" cried the marischal; and the knights were conducted towards their chairs. The earl advanced to the countess, and kneeling to his knee, kissed her hand.— "Madam, and my dear lady!" said he, in your quarrel, and upon your word, I have put my life in adventure: ye know if my cause is good and true." The countess laid her white still hand upon his shoulder-"Sir! my dear lord! it is clear and true as the light that shines upon you; and in HIS light, and HIS help, fight surely! and the might of our Lady and His mercy be with you!" The earl rose lightly up and kissed her on the lips, and closed his helmet, and blessed himself, and went into the field. There was a deep pause while the marischal measured the lances, and the combatants sat confronting each other, their hands upon their swords, and their black barred faces fixed towards each other. The marischal delivered his spear to the appellant, and the lieutenant to the champion; and the knights mounted their horses, and advanced into the range. For a breathless, fearful moment the heralds stood up. The knights sat still in the saddle, with their lances erect. The constable held up his staff, and cried, "Laissez les aller! Laissez les aller! Laissez les aller! et fait leur devoir!" The trumpets sounded-the lances went down, and the horses sprung forward like a whirlwind. A moment the countess saw-heard -only a terrific flying shadow-a hurling rush, and all went down in one clash and thunder.-For an instant she sat fixed, blind, dizzy. The earl stood alone upon the field-the horses wel VOL. III. tering in their trappings, and the appellant stretched on his back, his barred face turned up to the sky, and above a yard of the splintered lance standing in his helmet. In an instant the esquires and marshalmen gathered about, and strove to draw the staff and raise the helm, but it would not move; and after a momentáry pause, the heralds advanced with the death-hurdle. As they were busy to lift him from the ground, his band suddenly closed upon the arm of his esquire. "Send for the priest !" said his deep voice out of the helmet. "Send for the priest! I am not dead!". The men started back with horror, his breath went and came strong through the bars of the casque, and the marischal made an instant sign to obey his demand. In a few moments a white monk pressed through the crowd; the marischal drew aside his men, and the priest, kneeling beside the dying man, lifted his head, and raised the cross and bent down his ear as he spoke through his visor. The tears came down the faces even of the knights; and the king struck his hands together." So God me save!" said he, "as never I saw such noble end! and when I pass out of this life, I pray HIM send me to be shrieved in my helm!" For a long while the monk bent over the dying man, and held the cross and signed his brow; but at last he laid his armed head on the ground and made a sign, and the marischal advanced with the heralds. "It is done!" said the knight, "draw the spear from my face, and let me die!" -The men looked at the marischal, but he paused, and none touched the staff. "Nay, fear not!" said the fallen man. "Is there any knight here? Let him do a knight service and draw the wood, and lift my helm, that I may die in the light!" A flush of tears and colour came into the face of the marischal, and stepping forward, he set his foot on the casque of the dying man and drew with all his force, and suddenly the shattered bloody shaft flew out through the aventail. Sir William raised himself on his arm. "Bring Isabella Stuart!" said he.There was a strange doubtful pause: but the esquires raised off the helm, and discovered his white, fearful, death-cold P it was for him. The white women put the false witness in your closet. Forget-pardon-pray for me!" A sudden pang came through his face-his hand clenched upon the priest. Noble Ladye! Sancta Maria! Ora pro me!" he exclaimed, and fell back into the arms of the monk. The countess leaned down, pale trembling, fainting, upon the breast of the queen. King David lifted her gently and laid her on the bosom of her husband. The trumpets sounded--the heralds proclaimed her name victor, and true Ladye! and the shout of the crowd rose up out of the field like thunder, and rolled over the gray craigs till it went up into the still high heaven that rejoiced above her! I MEET THEE. FALSE one! I meet thee, Thy hand on the lute; And of all who are near thee, Oh! well may they listen, Amid the proud throng. How false is that smile! S.S. Σ. A DAY AT MY WINDOW, "C'est une chose étrange qu'on imprime les gens, malgré eux." I LIVE in an old-fashioned furnished hotel in one of the streets which communicate direct with the Boulevards on one hand, and the Rue de la Paix on the other; it is consequently a great thoroughfare, and subject of course to great variety. I will endeavour to give an idea of some of the occurrences which pass daily before my eyes, by instancing those which I observed one day when accident confined me entirely to the house. My apartment looks upon the street, and the hotel being a corner one, I have an uninterrupted view in every direction. I am therefore tolerably au fait at what is going on in my neighbourhood. The principal subject for speculation is the hotel opposite ;a very large one, very high, and tenanted from the entresol to the cinquième by persons of every description. To describe them we must follow the giant's advice at the opening of Count Hamilton's fairy tale," Mais, bélier mon ami, commencez par le commence ment."-We begin, therefore-as the builders did-by the rez-de-chaussée, which as it is at the corner of the street is of course tenanted by an épicier-at least one half of it-the other half is embellished by one of those temples of chance, a lottery office; these in Paris, unlike the visits of angels, are neither few nor far between. I should have observed that a small aperture in the window of the épicier is almost as attractive as the "dernier tirage" of his neighbour, it is the "petite poste aux lettres,"-never idle any where, and least of all in Paris. my knowledge of the locale, acquired by long residence, is more than a mere bird's-eye view, I shall enter the various apartments as I ascend in order to describe them completely, though the events I narrate are necessarily confined to what I see. In the entresol then, where the jalousies are closed only at night, that the scanty portion of daylight may suffer no diminution, are constantly seen two pretty modistes, sisters, whose bright dark eyes and glowing complexions denote them originally "du midi," though now Parisian. They are belles even in this gay city whose inha As Les Précieuses Ridicules de Molière. bitants are from all parts, and betray none of that gaucherie which marks the difference between a "femme de province," and her who is "née Parisienne." Their taste appears as recherché as their beauty, by the numbers of the fair sex who throng to their apartmentand their mode of life seems a happy one, for they are always gay, whether singing the chansonnettes of their native spot, or eulogizing the merits of a new coeffure. The antipodes of French gaiety enliven the premier, the next step to which we ascend. An English family(I saw them arrive, bien crotté, only three days since), come to see the lions in the wholesale manner which marks the "Jean Booll" character abroad.This party is rather a numerous one. Imprimis: a fat old gentleman with a rubicund visage, an ample stomach, and that latitude of garment which denotes either the squire of acres or the equally substantial man of 'change. Then follow his helpmate-evidently a city of London importation, and two fair daughters coiffées à l'Anglaise (" têtenoyée," as I heard a French artist one day call it)—at least on their arrival ;— the chrysalis has since become a butterfly. A son, verging on the happy brink 'twixt youth and manhood, a period in English boys so replete with peace and ease;-two maids, not yet designated "femmes-de-chambre," and a factotum in frogs and gold lace, from Meurice's establishment in Calais, complete the ensemble. On the second étage is another family party; it consists of three persons; a deputé from the Garonne, his wife, and an unmarried daughter. He of course is a decoré-a liberal, and an orator. These are the characteristics of three parts of the chamber;-the ribbon is the reward of Napoleonism, the political bias of the school in which he has been nurtured, and the gift of "tongue," that which distinguishes every Frenchman alike, and comes to them as reading and writing did to Dogberry, "by nature." Madame la Deputée is still good-looking though no longer young;-she is old enough to remember how well Josephine |