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metto, which cast a broad red gleam over the walls of the cave, and reveal the myriads of glittering stalactites which depend from the roof. These searchers into futurity, like Æneas with the golden bough, descend. The less explorative youths who prefer the society of the fair maidens whose looks and words beseech them "not to run such a risk," seek out some sheltered walk, where, amid groves of orange and pomegranate, their spirits harmonize with such a scene.

The locale of the dinner-table is invariably fixed under a tree, which has acquired as much celebrity in Bermuda as Picton's at Waterloo, or Shakspeare's mulberry at Stratford. It is called Moore's Calabash Tree, and is the spot which tradition has assigned to the poet, when he wore the chains of the fair Nea, during his sojourn in the island in the earlier part of his life. It is the only classical haunt of which the Bermudas can boast, for no memorials are left of Waller; and independent of the recollections attached to it, the beauty of the scenery is very great. Imagine a narrow glade-a miniature of the happy valley of Rasselas-about two hundred yards long, of soft elastic greensward, surrounded by rich thickets of orange and lemon trees, coffee-plants, &c., sheltered from the western sun by high rocks, overgrown with beautiful creepers. and at the extremity a solitary, widespreading calabash-tree, under whose branches preparations for the fête are made. Close beside the tree, under an overarching rock is a clear blue pool of salt water, which rises and falls with the external tide, and in which the azure and golden scales of the angel-fish gleam brightly through the wave.

-O Fons,-splendidior vitro
Dulci digne mero, non sine floribus.

In this marine fountain we cool our wine. After the repast has been discussed, those whose voices are "chimed in the concord of sweet sounds" are generally put in requisition, and the lays of the bard whose fame and good qualities are here so happily remembered, form an agreeable prelude to the dance which concludes the festivities of the day. By the mellow light of "the sweetest of moons" we once more launch on the bosom of the deep, and while the

boats glide gently along, occasionally assisted by the labouring oar, which dashes sparks of fire around our course, a strain of melody harmonizing with the calm beauty of the night, forms the happiest accompaniment that can be conceived. At length the moonlight is seen to gleam on the white roofs of the town of St. George's, the dark outline of the garrison hill is then visible, and the sounds of music as we get nearer announce that the soirées of the niggerstheir "dignity hops"-have begun. The amusements of the pic-nic are not considered over till the party has enjoyed a similar finale, and morning often breaks in before the revellers have broken up.

We have been long enough on the other side of the Atlantic; revenons à nos moutons; let us recal the occurrences of a pic-nic à la Française. We have collected a round dozen of votaries, English and French, male and female. Whither shall we proceed?-to Versailles-Saint Cloud-le Bois de Vincennes-St. Germains-or Charenton?➡ to none of these: we have decided upon

-Dear Montmorency, you know So famous for cherries and Jean Jacques

Rousseau.

character that we should all travel togeFor a pic-nic expedition, it is more in ther; consequently, a gondol is hired for the occasion. It is a light open carriage as long as a waggon, with an awning and

curtains, furnished with rows of benches

for three persons on each, and capable of containing twelve or fourteen. Certain baskets of comestibles claim a place in the vehicle; their contents procured from Madame Chevet in the Palais Royal may probably enumerate such viands as the following: Imprimis, a "páté de Chartres,"-item, "un jambon de Mayence,”—item, “dindon farci aux truffes,” -item, un homard," "-item, "fromage de Roquefort," &c. &c., also a few bottles of

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Beaume to dilute, or mayhap, Chambertin, which you know's the pet tipple of Nap.

All other edibles or necessaries can be procured on the spot. A bonne bouche, however, awaits us beyond the barrier in the shape of half-a-dozen of Champagne. This is the arrangement of the prudent old Frenchman who caters the wine; on

the provincial side of the barrier there is a celebrated marchand de vin―moreover, it is cheaper, having paid no octroi. We start de bonne heure-the day is magnificent all are in high spirits, and in a short time we have Mont Martro and the barrier St. Denis behind us, having secured our vinous reinforcement. There is nothing to attract the eye along the uniform avenue which extends for two leagues in this direction, till we cross the bridge of the canal de l'Ourcq, and enter St. Denis. Here we stop to see the cathedral; the tomb of Dagobert, with the grotesque bas-reliefs that are sculptured on it, is the first to meet the eye; as we approach towards the altar, we see on either hand the more famous monuments of Louis XII., Francis I., Henry II., and Henry III. Fortunately there is no mass performing, and we are enabled to see the vaults; what ranges of crowned effigies! from Chilperci, Clovis, and Fredegonde to Louis XVI. and Madame Elizabeth! But we have only time for a cursory view; we reascend from the vaults, give one glance at the bier which contains the remains of the last deceased monarch, not yet entombed, till his successor arrives, and then off we are hurried to pursue the journey. At the extremity of the town we quit the high road, and turning to the left, take that which leads to Montmorency. The road now loses its monotonous uniformity, and the country looks pretty, improving as we approach the place of our destination. Arrived at the village, the first spot we visit is of course the hermitage of Jean Jacques, the subsequent abode of Grétry. Of course, also, where "us youth" do congregate, there is some sentimentality, especially amongst the damsels; indeed on this occasion, connected with their literary hero, even Frenchmen can be sentimental. We approach the sequestered cottage at the end of a long deep lane, impracticable for carriage, and are admitted by the garden-gate. Here we see a small garden neatly laid out, and in the centre of a grass-plot a large white rose-tree, planted by Jean Jacques, the subject of his

song,

Je l'ai planté, je l'ai vu naître

Ce beau rosier.

are able to exclaim "Voilà la perounche!" which grows in profusion round the bed of the rose-tree. The garden is of very limited extent;-a small shrubbery, through which narrow serpentine walks communicate themselves; a pond, crowned by a bust of Grétry—a little trickling cascade, an inscription, and a sunny walk through orange-trees, and prominent at the extremity of which is a bust of Rousseau-voilà tout! We are severally introduced into a small rooin, where stands an old-fashioned spinet, on which Grétry used to compose. Those who can play strike a few notes in honour of the composer, and perhaps a plaintive voice murmurs the strain," Celui que sut toucher mon cœur." We acknowledge the power of departed genius-cambric handkerchiefs are put in requisition-a rose-bud or a leaf of the "sublime perriwinkle" is picked by each fair hand, and we leave the hermitage for the rendezvous which bears the poet's name, quoting the Nouvelle Eloise, each youth of the party conceiving himself a St. Preux, every maiden a Julie. Before we proceed to the forest, it is settled that we shall first pay a visit to the Lake and Baths of Enghien. The emblems of patience, typified by donkies, are made subservient and off we scamper. Here we soon parcourrons les beaux jardins, peep into the fine baths, descend to the retreat of the nymph of the god who keeps the sacred spring, taste sparingly of the mineral wave ourselves while we recommend its flavour to our unsuspecting friends; then returning to upper air, in defiance of the prohibition written on a board in large characters, forbidding more than six to enter the boat belonging to the baths at the same time, we all embark at once amidst much timidity, fun, and laughter. Heavily "the boatie rows," the craft itself is not superlative, and its freight is unusual; but we glide along smoothly enough, nor do the "ladyes howle and crie," as did those whom Syr Lukyn saw; on the contrary, they are right merry. We skim by the little aits of reeds, pause for a moment at the Marine Pavilion in the centre of the lake-to see nothingand then, gratified by this last feat, we prepare for

A desperate dash down the falls of Niagara

and the season being propitious, we also The rapids are near, but the danger is

to come; we crouch down in the boat, which is impelled through the little arch of an ornamental bridge, and with many an exclamation of "Oh ciel!"—"Mon Dieu!" "Calmez-vous!"-" Soyez-tranquille!"-a little fear, but more mirth. We pass under this Ponte dei Sespiri, scare some wild ducks on the lake by the cries of still wilder geese, and then return to our palfreys and rejoin those whose sentiment was too fresh to harmonize with our obstreperous spirits. We now set out en masse for the forest; -each lady mounted like Dulcinea, and their knights afoot, to guide the rein, impel the courser, and perform all the thousand little adjustments and assistances which are so often required and so willingly attended to. A ride of about two leagues, moving at a footpace, brings us in the course of a couple of hours to the Château de la Chasse, a famous rendezvous for pic-nics. It was formerly a hunting-seat of the Duc de Bourbon, but now merely an abode for some old servants. Their dairy and garden supply us with butter, new potatoes, &c.; our caterer displays the banquet on a table ready placed beneath some fine spreading trees, and appetized by our exertions, we proceed to do justice to the condiments of Madame Chevet. The first onset of the knives and forks has ceased to clash-the angry war against the embattled walls of the páté has subsided into a subdued but steady movement -the "dindon farci" delicious, though cold, has already "had incision," silence and good appetite at

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length go hand in hand, when on a sudden is pronounced the magical word Champagne!" To untwist the wire, propel the cork with a report like a pistol-verser-sabler-circulate the nectareous fluid, the process is but the work of a moment; unlike the Massico oblivioso, champagne has the faculty of unlocking, not only tongues, but wits and memories. The feast is at its height; bright eyes sparkle brighter! gay repartees and lon mots are rife; again the vin mousseur is paraded in conjunction with the homard and the salade, thus realizing Lord Byron's celebrated line,

A lobster-salad and Champagne and chat. not chat only-ye gods!—but talk, such as Frenchmen utter at all times, and Englishmen, perhaps, only once in the lifetime! The tables are cleared

Lords, to the dance-a ball!—a ball! Y-a-t-il de la musique ?-it is at hand. La contre danse-la valse-la galoppe, succeed in gay succession.

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liar with enterprise and danger. He was belted in a buff jerkin and hose, with a knife and broadsword at his girdle, a bow at his back, and in his hand a lance, of that extraordinary length used by the marchmen of Liddlesdale and Annan. The low black horse which he rode, might have appeared unequal to his weight, but he bore him through the moss like a deer, springing from heap to heap in the sloughs, and tracking the broken hag,' as if familiar with every pot and heath-bush which concealed the treacherous morass.

The rider continued to wind through the hollows till he came within a bow-shot of the castle, when suddenly he turned short, to an old thorn, near the skirt of a decayed moor thicket, and dismounting from his horse, leaned his back to the tree and watched the castle with deep attention. He had not been long, when the donjon clock struck vespers, and, as the last heavy stroke died away, the rider started, and listened to the wind, till, suddenly, a company of men-at-arms appeared at the skirt of the wood, and as they halted under the trees, even by the failing twilight, could be recognised, in the tall dark knight who rode at their head, the lofty stature and pale countenance of the celebrated adherent of Robert de Bruis, THE BLACK DOUGLASS.

The pricker had already mounted his horse, and as he advanced hastily from the thorn, Lord James challenged in a low voice

"What ho! who comes?

"Henric Hunter," replied the rider. "Good cheer-what tidings?" said the Douglass, impatiently.

"Knight Guillaume came in at sunset," answered the trooper, "and none in his company but an English minstrel; they have made the greatest cheer for their shroving, that ever I heard tell of a border house, and the rather, as I suppose, that on the yester even they brought in Alice Grey.'

The horsemen started up in their saddles

"What, the forester's daughter?"

"The Flower of Ettrick!" exclaimed Lord James.

"Nae doubt," answered the rider. "There were twenty lances in her keeping, when she came over Bilbery brae, and how they won her safely out of silver wood, is what I cannot tell you."

"What does this mean?" said Lord James.

"As I suppose to be the 'Beale Isonde' to their Joyous Garde,'” replied the trooper.

Lord James mused, and eager questions went among the riders; not one of whom but had heard some verse on the celebrated border beauty, for whom more March lances had been broken, and Valentine rhymes marred, than for any lady of "coat armories" between Tweed and Solway.

"Where is Simon L'Isle?" said Lord James, suddenly.

"Behind with the ladder," replied one of the men. "The sowmert is ill of foot in the moss."

As he spoke, the knight of Leadhouse came hastily up, attended by a boy leading a sumpter-horse, spattered and mired to the girths with the black bog.

"Now is the time," said the knight. "If there be not any pious men at their mass-as I suppose there are none-the whole garnison shall be at their shroving in the hall."

The Douglass gave word to the men, and, hastily dismounting, they bridled their horses to the trees, while the groom unbraced a pack from the sumpter-horse, and shook out a ladder of ropes, and a heap of black friars' coats. The riders hastily drew the wide hoods and gowns over their bassinets and hauberks, and Leadhouse guiding the way, they stooped to their hands and knees, and crept out through the bushes, towards the castle.

They had almost reached the edge of the dry moat, when two sentinels approached upon the rampart. The night was so still, that the ambush could hear them speak over the battlement, and suddenly they stopped, and leaning on the

I think (for I have not the book at hand) it is Walt. Heming, who mentions the lances of the Galloway men, who were at the battle of Falkirk in 1298, as two Scottish ells longer than those generally used by the Scots; i. e., nearly 16 feet long. The longest lance in Europe of the present day, the Polish never exceeded eleven; the French and English are only nine.

† Sumpter, or batt-horse.

wall, in a few moments one of the men distinguished the dark uncertain shapes of the friars' gowns among the scrogg-bushes; but taking them for black cattle

"Gramercy!" said he, "Neighbor Fernieshaw is minded to let his beastial keep shrovetide, that he leaves them abroad on the field to-night."

"It behoves them make good cheer," replied his fellow, "for an' the 'Black Douglass' come at them, they shall keep strait lent to-morrow."

They gave no more regard to the disguised troopers, and, in a few moments, the low clink of their arms moved along the rampart. The breathless soldiers started up, and hurrying to the brink of the moat, glided down the bank, and concealed themselves under the bushes at the bottom. De L'Isle crept forward alone, and holding by the jutting stones and overhanging boughs, in a few moments climbed the rock, and gained the foot of the rampart. The night was now so dark that the soldiers could scarce discern his dark shadow as he stopped and rested against the gray wall; but immediately they heard him draw up the rope-ladder through the bushes, and saw his black gown go slowly up the rampart. For a moment he rested on a buttress, again glided upward, and was lost amidst the ivy. There was a short intense pause ; but again he appeared at the battlement, and for an instant hung like a bird to the machicoule, and they heard the hooks of the ladder check in the creneille.

"Up!" whispered Lord James; and followed by his men, scaled the rock in eager silence; but they had scarce gained the foot of the wall, when one of the sentinels suddenly turned the angle of the barzan above. Whether or not he discovered Leadhouse, who crouched in the creneille, or whether he mistook him for one of the ward, but he advanced without challenge within a sword's length, when suddenly the knight sprang up, and striking him over the gorget with his dagger, threw him over the wall. For an instant, he stood and held his breath-but there was only a quick rush through the leaves, and a heavy fall in the moat.

At that moment Lord James leaped over the battlement

"Is all safe?" said he.

"All now!" replied De L'Isle ; "hark, yonder sound-"

The chime of a harp, and voices of

boisterous merriment came loud from the court

"Ay! they are all at the shroving," said Lord James; and as the soldiers crowded over on the 66 rampart, Follow me!" said he, "and spare nothing that wears a red cross."

They hurried along the wall, and down the steps, and across the first and second court, to the great hall. The tall windows were blazing with light, and as they approached, the sound of harps, pipes, and bounding feet, rung through the deep gate. In the midst of the clapping reel, the cry -St. Bride for Douglass, burst over the pipes, and the black phantom troop of men-at-arms rushed into the hall. The music was drowned in the universal shriek, and a terrific confusion of shouts, groans, the clash of weapons, blows and falling men, filled the hall with horror and darkness. For several minutes the desperate carnage was maintained with unabated fury. The English fought without crying quarter or ransom, and the two-handed swords of the Scottish men-at-arms swept down the half-armed revellers, and shred limbs, tapers, cups, and trenchers, over the board and settles, till suddenly Lord James held up his hand on the high dais, and cried, "Quarter, quarter!" horse-boy drew breath, and looked round. There was none left but the black figures of his companions, and the dark heaps which lay among the expiring torches and seats.

The

The infuriated assailants stopped their hands, and wiped their bloody swords, and gathered up round their leader, and after a short search for the Castelain, gave order to show him all the grace due to a knight, if he was yet alive. One party of the menat-arms hastened out to secure the gate and donjon, while the rest applied their rude leech-craft to the wounded, and drew the trembling women from their hidingplaces. While they were all busily occupied, the great standard, which hung in a corner of the hall, shook without being touched, and presently the skirt was slowly lifted and the gleam of a dark stern eye looked out from under the fold. There was none near, the door was unguardedand suddenly the Castelain, Guillaume de Fermos, rushed out and fled for the court. A burst of shouts followed through the hall, and just as he reached the threshold, an arrow struck the back of his green kirtle, but he gave only a sharp spring, and making his way out to the court, gained

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