The situation of the castle seemed to set their efforts at defiance; two attacks were defeated with great slaughter, and on the evening of the third day, which found them deliberating on the expediency of raising the siege, it was announced that a stranger desired to be admitted to their council. Permission being granted, the warden introduced a young man, clothed in plain but complete armour. with his vizor down. He apologized for retaining his helmet, alleging that he was bound by a vow, (no unusual circumstance at that time) and offered to put them in possession of the castle, provided the life of its owner might be spared. The confederates very unwillingly consented to this stipulation, and prepared for a night assault, under the direction of the stranger. The night was peculiarly favourable for the attempt; it was dark and rainy, and the wind blowing in hollow gusts from the distant mountains, kept up that mixture of uncertain sounds, in the confusion of which all other sounds are merged.

A boat, containing the stranger and eight stout followers, drifted down the river, until they came beneath that turret of Strankally, which projects over the stream. A rope was suspended from the trap-door, and by this dangerous ascent the stranger first reached the tower, and assisted by a person in the castle, with whom he appeared to have acted in concert, drew up the rest of his followers. In the mean time, the confederates assaulted the gate and castle wall; not with any hope of success, but to favour the attempt of their detachment. When

the stranger and his followers had made good their entrance, they waited for a few moments, until the shouts at the gate, and the bustle of the garrison, announced that their friends were near, then rushed from the chamber of the turret towards the gate, which they threw open, before the garrison were well

tered into the turret, whence there was
a narrow passage leading to a part of the
castle whither the assailants had not yet
penetrated; the trap-door was still open,
and as the Lord of Strankally rushed.
heedlessly on, he fell through, and was
soon overwhelmed in the waters beneath.
A few months after these events, a
stranger sought an interview with the
Abbot of the Holy Island, and was by
him admitted to take the vows, without
passing through his noviciate. He per-
servered in the practice of austerities too
powerful for human nature to support,
and soon came to the brink of dissolution.
When the hour of mortal agony drew
near, he requested to be borne into the
chapel, and placed near the tomb of the
lady Butler. His request was granted;
the monks were assembled to pray for a
departing soul; and, for the first time,
recognized in their dying brother the last
heir of the Lords of Strankally.
Lon. Univ. Mag.

THE WARLOCK'S TOWER; OR, THE
FISHER'S DREAM.

For the Olio.

The fiery sun as I went forth

Was kissing the Solway sea,
And, ere each lingering beam had died
Beneath its awfu' murmuring tide,
The moon up the heavens began to ride
In cloudless brilliancy.

But sune a dismal fog arose

And veil'd her silvery light;
The breezes loud and louder grew,
And madly shriek'd the wild curlew
Upon her eddying flight.

And straight abune the waves there seem'd
A dusky tower to rise,
Which wider yet and wider spread,
And higher soar'd, till sune its head

Pierced through the misty skies.

I look'd and look'd, and sune I saw
A host o' tapers gleam;

And music mutter'd i' the air,
And sounds I heard 'yond a' compare,
And mony an eldritch scream.
Anon adown the waters came

A muckle ghastly throng,

And thus they blether'd as they row'd
Their sulphury bark along:
"Now a' is still and a' is still,

And every mither's bairn is sleeping;
And now frae every moss and fen

The worricow and brownie's peeping.
"A' is still and a' is still,

aware of their presence; and being join- Their hollow een like torches glow'd,
ed by their friends from the outside, soon
established themselves in the great hall
and lower apartments of the castle. There
a fierce and uncertain fight was main-
tained until the dawn; for amidst the
darkness and confusion, they feared to
get entangled in the staircases and pas-
sages. Morning had scarcely appeared,
when the battle was renewed. The gar-
rison, hopeless of pardon, fought with
all the fury inspired by despair; and
every step made by the assailants was
dearly purchased. At length, they won
their way to the second story, where the
Lord of Strankally gallantly maintained
his post; but being driven back, he en-

And flowers the poisonous dews are drinkin';
And ower the tap o' yonder hill

The kelpies glassy een are blinkin'.
"Arise, Jock Tamson, shake ye're lug,
And blaw ye're bag-pipe merrily;
Arise-

The brawling crew nae mair was heard,
For Jock blew sic a peal,
As made the very waters dirl,
And gard the very shallop twirl
Like lightning o' its keel.

many a time, but never did I behold him usher his procession into the same palace twice. Sometimes sweeping and swimming and flaming, down he comes, and just as you think to see him fairly screened by the wood, or quenched in the flashing pool, forth start certain clouds like Aladdin's Genii-and lo! a pagoda, with green terrace and silver bells and crimson dra

gon crest-a new Babylon, circled by a mightier Euphrates,-towers bannered, and ramparts beaming with burgonets and bucklers,-a grotto, with deep recess and fantastic habitants, or an enormous chariot, "e'en to horror bright," canopied by rainbows and yoked by hippogryphs, brighten as they receive the descending giant. At other times, long ere he reaches the horizon, he calls up a deep blue vapour, and as though displeased with the crimes and follies he has witnessed, makes haste to curtain his glories in its dusky folds,-his eye at intervals looking redly forth in its anger, as awestruck fancy may tremblingly suppose Jehovah glared through the cloudy pillar on the aghast Egyptians.

Sometimes he comes down the blue vault, like Bozrah's awful traveller, in dyed garments and alone. Sometimes a fair lake of yellowest hue, with many a deep indented bay, fringed with feathery groves, stretches itself in the skies to intercept his progress; or Greenland icebergs, all gleamy white, alive and quivering with brightness; or Alpine solitudes rise grand and gloomy, their tufted spires and broken arches finally overshadowing his splendour.

Think of these images, and ten thousand more; associate with them the odour of closing flowers, the melody of the blackbird, the bravura of the thrush, the musical monotony of the cuckoo from faraway woods, the evershifting shriek of the corncraik, the slothful sweep of the evening wind through the dewy foliage, the brisk dashing of the lane well, and the distant lowing of the cow, with the lated peasant's song, the voices of children half sleepy half sportive, the mingled hum from the city, and the curfew bell booming from its minster tower; and thus the sun goes to his repose in the fragrant skies of June

Oh, it is pleasant with a heart at ease,

Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
To make the shifting clouds be what you please,
Or let the easily persuaded eyes
Own each quaint likeness issuing from the

mind

Of a friend's fancy, or, with head bent low, And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold, Twixt crimson banks, and then, a traveller go From mount to mount thro' Cloudland gorge ous land!

Or list'ning to the tide with closing sight,

Be that blind bard who on the Chian strand,
By those deep sounds possessed with inward
light,
Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssey

Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.
COLERIDGE.

I have often heard of the powerful and lasting impressions which certain events produce in the minds of children, but I never felt the conviction so strongly as to-day. I met in the Bowling-Green fields old widow Purden, my poor mother's mantua-maker. I had not accosted her for the last twenty years, and at the moment the whole scene and circumstances in which I last beheld her presented themselves in a clear, strong, wellarranged picture.

The fragrant atmosphere of my mother's boudoir-a small, old-fashioned multangular chamber, with the hearth in one corner, and an array of luxuries of comforts, and of toys that seemed to embarass the apartment: and then my mother herself,-than whom a fairer or a fonder never kissed away a spoiled child's tears,-returns to me in that very dress she was fitting on, with those very eyes that would have been too lustrous had they not been so very kind,—the smile that not even a wilful imp like myself could withstand,-and those tones that my heart always bounded to hear. She dispatches me from the little sanctum, where I was always a permitted, and frequently a fondled intruder.I have the dressing room, and then the dim matted gallery, narrow, long, and low, that led from its door to the huge old bannisters, polished and black with antiquity; at the head of the staircase, the tall casement whose lozenged lattice of greenish panes ushered the full stream of southern beams from the farther end of the gallery-the waving of the old gardens and orchards below, the smell of jasmine and mignionette, the glitter of the huge blue pool, half veiled by the pines, the popfars, and the willows, that fingered its margin, and the melodious clang of merry St. Mary's Belfry-all mingling sights and sounds and sweets, through the open staircase window, all rush upon my mind as grim, as fragrant, aud as musical as ever.

But never do the swelling visions either of fancy, or memory, or thought, find me in such willing mood as in those gray and solemn days-when the red oak groans to the blast above my head, and the old hall looks low'ring in the forest distance, dark as its own tradition of blood, and the rooks go clamouring among the birch-trees,the wind comes and goes, or, as in the moongilt cloudy night, when and my feet rustle among the dry leaves-and the old

Whispering faint echoes of the World's ap- empire of threads, with his short sleeves

The wisdom of the wise, and prancing of the actively employed in managing his quills.

sure of the clothier that is all a-gig for the teazels and shears of Atropos and her sisters twain.'

Now he has received his hire, and has the promise of continued employment, he is a happy man in his holiday clothes, with his apron tied sideways, and he ventures to sit with pipe and jug at the Woolpack,' till a late hour, with his wife and children, being regaled, and a few purchases of wearing apparel to suit. He is a reformer, and politics lead him out of his element. Yet he will talk and stick fast to his opinion of the parson and his taxes. If he can lay a little by, he deposits it in the club-box at the Fleece ;' and he often sighs to think that should he ever be a 'sick-list member,' his burden would be intolerable. He is an upright and deserving man ;-one that has borne the weight of want, and is susceptible of the value of plenty. He has been goaded to rebel. His starving offspring and the reproaches of his affluities, have occasioned him blame. But, void of personality, the weaver is a welcome member of society, seeing that his motto is," To weave Trust with Truth."

HENRY FUSELI.

THIS artist whose fancy revelled in the wild and wonderful, having conceived an affection for the poetry of Graywhich, however, was confined chiefly to the translations he painted The Bard, The Descent of Odin, and The Fatal Sisters. He was fond indeed of the wild mythology of the Scandinavians, and numerous traces of the impression which it had made on his mind might be pointed out in his paintings and in his sketches. His Thor battering the Serpent' was such a favourite, that he presented it to the Royal Academy as his admission gift. With quiet beauty and serene grace he knew not well how to begin: the hurrying measures, the crowding epithets, and startling imagery of the northern poetry suited the intoxicated fancy of Fuseli. Such was his love of terrific subjects, that he was known amongst his brethren by the name of Painter in ordinary to the Devil, and he smiled when some one officiously told him of this, and said, 'Ay! he has sat to me many times.' Once, at Johnson the bookseller's table, one of the guests said, 'Mr. Fuseli, I have purchased a picture of your's,'-'Have you, sir, what is the subject?'-' Subject? really I don't know.'-' That's odd; you must be a strange fellow to buy a picture without knowing the subject." I bought it,

Sir, that's enough ;-I don't know what the devil it is.'-Perhaps it is the devil,' replied Fuseli, I have often painted him.' On this, one of the company, to arrest a conversation which was growing warni, said, Fuseli, there is a member of your Academy who has strange looks-and he chooses as strange subjects as you do.'— Sir,' exclaimed the Professor, he paints nothing but thieves and murderers, and when he wants a model, he looks in the glass.'*

"On the death of Wilton the sculptor, Fuseli became Keeper of the Royal Academy-a situation which, due alike to his great merits and to his declining years, was not supposed to be unwelcome in a pecuniary point of view; it provided a pleasant residence and a respectable salary, and placed for ever above want one who, by his learning and the poetic character of his works, had done much honour to the Academy. A bye-law obliged him to resign the Professorship, which he regained on the death of Opie, and thenceforth filled both situations with honour to himself and to the institution. The enthusiasm of his nature, his foreign pronunciation, the massy vigour of his language, were not wasted on empty walls, the lecture-room was commonly full.

"He was also, on the whole, liked as Keeper. It is true that he was often satiric and severe on the students-that he defaced their drawings by corrections which, compared to their weak and trembling lines, seemed traced by a tar-mop, and that he called them tailors and bakers, and vowed that there was more genius in the claw of one of Michael Angelo's eagles than in all the heads with which the Academy was swarming. The youths on whom this tempest of invective fell smiled -and the Keeper, pleased by submission, walked up to each easel-whispered a word of advice confidentially, and retired in peace to enjoy the company of his Homer, Michael Angelo, Dante, and Milton.

The students found a constant source of amusement in his oddities, his jests, and the strong biting wit which he had ever at his service. They are all fond of repeating his jokes. He heard a violent altercation in the studio one day, and inquired the cause. It is only those fellows the students, Sir,' said one of the porters. Fellows' exclaimed Fuseli, I would have you to know, Sir, that those fellows may one day become aca

I know not whether it be true that Fuseli himself supped on raw pork, by way of excit. ing his imagination, the night before he began his " Nightmare,"