is to be supposed dead, unless (in the good old Irish acceptation of the word), his head has been bonâ fide and beyond all controversy, cut off. For instance, you shall see him drop down, and turn all the colours of the rainbow ;-'poisoned beyond all doubt!' say you. No such thing!-it is either a sleeping potion, intended to last for a certain convenient time, or else some wandering conjuror administers a restorative that brings him back from the very tomb. Drown him 'full fathom five,' and he shall be met with in some enchanted island or palace in the wood, with as many restoratives as would set up a dozen Humane Societies, and surrounded by luxuries enough to make one drown oneself for a chance of them. When you read-" and with these words he passed the rapier twice through Don Jasper's body, exclaiming, 'die dog.' or some such humane and affable accompaniment to the thrust,-it is by common courtesy allowed that the said Don Jasper is only to welter in his gore for a certain space; long enough to satisfy you that he is disposed of for this day six months;'—and then up he starts safe and sound, perhaps relieved of an imposthume in his lungs, which medicine had long pronounced incurable. As for hanging,-pooh! it is quite a disappointment to the reader if that does not prove a bungling job!—And so on with all deaths ad infinitum, save and except the incontrovertible one above mentioned. Vain therefore is it, when an author merely states that his hero is never seen more, or never heard of more, vain, worse than vain if he should flatter himself that the wily, experienced, veteran romance reader will take his word for it:-a very tyro would feel incredulous. From the first moment that such an assertion is hazarded, young and old are on thorns for his reappearance. Not a solitary stranger is permitted to put up at an hostel ;-not an unexpected guest makes his appearance at a castle banquet; not a knight with closed aventail and deviceless shield, presents himself at a tournament; not an outlaw lurking in his forest cave; nay not a serving man of handsome exterior, and who chances to have done the state some service,' but forthwith the voracious reader pounces upon him for The Lost One! So catlike is their vigilance, so sleepless their suspicion, so redolent of Bow Street their acuteness and activity, you would think that not to discover the poor author's little bit of nonsense,' as Win Jenkins says, involved a deep personal disgrace. Away then with mystery! "Via the cloud that shadows Borgia!" Not one instant will I stoop to concealment for well I know concealment would be vain :-not a single word will I waste to mystify the public,-for they refuse to be mystified. I will first take breath, and then the liberty of informing all, who have accompanied me thus far, that the horseman who halted at the entrance of fair Richmond town-halted only to breathe his steed, whom he had ridden somewhat hard, and cool his own brow, that glowed as much from the fire within as the heat without. And they will fully acquiesce in the propriety of my withholding from their confidence any soliloquy of his, whether vocal or mental, when they are told what their own sagacity has doubtless long ago discovered, that it was their old acquaintance Polydore, the page who had been whipt on the buttery hatch at Middleham Castle, who had been so busy about the kitchen fire, and so fond of the sweet-smelling savour of its viands, the night that the poisoned banquet was served up. Having made this frank avowal, I would merely hint that at present he goes by the title of Sir Angelo Lascelles, whose prowess against the Soldan and his Paynim host, won him knighthood from the sword of King Edward himself. That he had the fortune to save the life of Adrian Lord Scroop, the consequence of which had been so strict a friendship with that nobleman, that he became his brother in arms; and now, on his return from the Holy Land, was the bearer of missives to the Baron's lady, Aveline Neville, who having added the castles of Middleham and Raby, to Lord Adrian's large hereditary lordship of Bolton Castle, acted as chatelaine in the absence of her consort, residing the principal part of the year in that princely fortress with her two blooming children, Cicely and Maximilian. I think it is Dangle in the Critic, who says that "when they do agree on the stage, their unanimity is wonderful!"' and thus it will be confessed that when I do explain, it is not by halves. Sir Angelo Lascelles then, as it is expedient to term him, after casting a careless glance over the magnificent landscape before him, proceeded at a moderate pace down the steep and circling street conducting to the principal hostel in the town. This place of hospitable resort was situated in the spacious irregular area forming the market-place at Richmond. A wide, but disproportionately low gateway, surmounted with a startling effigy of the great black bull of the Nevilles, ushered Sir Angelo into a pleasant court, along one wing of which extended at midheight the well known solar, or open latticed gallery, gaily painted, and so built, as to offer, at once to the guests, the liberty of basking lazily in the sun, or of walking up and down its airy arcade, safely sheltered from the rain. A low balustrade of carved and coloured open-work, wrought in circles and saltires, and quatrefoils, formed its only protection from the yard below, from whence Sir Angelo could see the fustian blouze of the citizen, and the long-tailed cowl of the merchant, enlivened by the gaudy raiment of some young Franklin, or the blazoned livery of the important pursuivant, among the chequered groups that sauntered in the solar, or quaffed the cooling tankard of cyder with sprigs of balm, in some shady corner of its light colonnade. Sunny, yet shaded, secluded, yet gay, the solar, at the Black Bull, was enlivened with that mingled hum which ever marks an assembly of detached groups conversing in public, but on separate subjects; the busy and ubiquitous figure of the drawer flitting from knot to knot, answering all questions and supplying all wants, formed the link that connected the whole. Sir Angelo haughtily avoided this popular haunt of the lounger in the thirteenth century; and, delivering his steed to the care of the ready ostler, he made a signal for the chamberlain to conduct him into a private apartment. Before he disappeared, however, in the interior of the hostel, Sir Angelo's presence and attire had attracted the eye of several who were enjoying their meridian in the pleasant solar. He wore the bascinet, or lighter kind of helmet, of a picturesque globular shape, without a crest, and open in front, and the glancing steel mail of his light haubert was brightly revealed beneath a surcoat of purple silk, in the centre of which, a large sunflower enwreathed with fire, surmounted this motto. I DIE IN ADORING. The broad belt of knighthood cinctured carelessly his loins, and the scimitar, a weapon recently borrowed from the Turks, sustained itself on his thigh. His lance bore the broad red pennon, on which was emblazoned the same device of the sun-flower, with that audacious motto, which appeared to proclaim that ignominy, time, and distance, had not quenched his old flame. That he had a lively recollection at least of the disgrace it drew down upon him, we shall see as we proceed. The cup of racy canary had been quaffed, and the silver tankard, its sides misty with the coolness of the fresh drawn liquor, had been restored to mine host, who, according to custom, made a leg, and with the old fashioned hael'finished its contents; when Sir Angelo abruptly broke silence. "How far, sir host of the Black Bull! may it be from hence to Bolton castle?" "What, Bolton in Wensley? why you may rest and feed your charger, sir knight of the sun-flower, and feast yourself to boot in my poor hostel, and yet reach the towers of Bolton before sunset.' "Tarries the lady baroness at Bolton now?" "Marry! doth she: I saw her ladyship's gentle face myself this Lammastide, what time I went with Red Hal the furrier, and long Dickon the smith, to the castle; in our pageant, when I enacted St. Dunstan. Fegs! had you seen how my lady laughed when I took th' oud un by th' nose! Oh 'tis a peerless dame ! " "The lady Scroop is liberal then in her maintenance during the baron's absence?" "Liberal? ay, as the blessed sun and rain of heaven, to be sure, that gladden everything they touch! "Holds she high state?" "Ay, by the Holyrood! royal state, sir knight: gallantly doth the baroness Aveline queen it in her castle: yet is she merry and gracious withal. She holds festivals, whereat barons and dames flock like barn-door fowls to the table of dais: yet can she speak a free and kindly word to a poor hosteler like myself. 'Twas but at last Lammas pageant, that spying me out, for all my tin mitre and gilt vest (for I had been pantler at Middleham in th' oud baron's time, him as they said was poisoned by the cook, not as I believed it-) but as I was a saying, says my lady 3 "It boots not, mine host-bring me wherewith to mend my draught ;-but stay-tell me, for I am bound to Bolton castle, and a stranger,-tell me, doth the lady Scroop love--I would say doth she cherish much the remembrance of her absent lord?" Mine host stared. "I mean, among all the gay revellings and tournaments at which thou sayest she vouchsafes her presence,-is there no gallant, no knight, who boasts of her bel accoyle,-I say enjoys the favourable regard of so absolute a lady?" "Now foy! Sir Knight of the Sunflower! foy! that speech smells foul to come from so fair a face!" Nay, I meant no disparagement to the noble dame. But I have warred in Palestine, and am lord Adrian's brother in arms, and having seen him in peril, and sweat and bloodshed, I only doubted lest the baroness dealt lightly in these sports and festivals." "Not a whit! not a whit! she deems (and all who know the lady Aveline, approve her judgment), that her warlike lord's honour is better consulted in having hospitality and good fellowship maintained in his absence, than if she were to sit mewed up in a corner of the deep quadrangle, at Bolton, or pining in her closet in Middleham donjon. She has been heard to say (and I, for one, hold it a gallant saying and a good),— that her beads in her oratory, and her prayers in the chapel,-shall never mar the feast in the hall, or the chase in the forest. There be tears, mayhap shame for the exile; but glory and the red cup to the absent crusader! "True, true! said Sir Angelo, while a transient spasm twitched his features, "and I may well joy at thy speech: for thou wottest, mine host, that this bountiful open cheer of the Lady Scroop bodes well for a wandering red-cross warrior like myself." "It bodes well to every one who loves honour, and whom honour loves," replied mine host of the Black Bull, somewhat snappishly, for he felt piqued at the liberty the strange knight had taken with one to him so enskyed, and sainted as the lady of Bolton. The noonday meal was now set before Sir Angelo; and, on its conclusion, he sauntered forth into the stables; where, having seen that his steed had been well provendered, he loitered listlessly up and down the court of the hostel, occasionally pausing, as his notice was at tracted by the various coteries in the solar above. At length, a stout-made yeoman, somewhat past the meridian of life-his attire bespeaking from its gorgeous blazon, that he appertained to the illustrious house of Scroop and Raby, was observed by Sir Angelo, as he descended the open "While the peasant of the south seeks only to know where the best ale is brewed, and the newspaper most to his mind taken in; the peasant of the north is looking forward and upward, and acquainting himself with poetry and history, till he rivals those "far seen in Greek, (!!!) deep men of letters," in taste and knowledge;-nay, have we not seen one of them, at least, successfully assert his right to the very summit of the Scottish Parnassus?!!!!" This is the language of a reviewer, the existence of whose journal depends upon the patronage of Englishmen. By the "peasant of the north" is meant of course the peasant of Scotland. Where did the scribe obtain his means of comparison? and what does he mean by this insult to his readers? We venture to assert that more ardent spirits are drank in one parish in his country than in some whole counties in England. When will Englishmen resent the insolent attacks of these men, who, while they are deriving subsistence from the patronage of the English public, serpent-like sting the hand that fosters them. K. HINDU LEGEND. The following Hindu legend is given by Mr. Roberts. "A woman who was going to bathe, left her child to play on the banks of the tank, when a female demon who was passing that way carried it off. They both appeared before the deity, and each declared the child was her own: the command was therefore given, that each claimant was to seize the infant by a leg and an arm, and pull with all their might in opposite directions. No sooner had they commenced than the child began to scream, when the real mother, from pity left off pulling, and resigned her claim to the other. The judge therefore decided, that as she only had shewn affection, the child must be hers." No people venerate the graves of their ancestors with such an enthusiastic devotion as the Indians. War is the masterpassion of their bosoms, and their next most sanguine feeling is to lay themselves, after death, beneath the green turf of their fathers. There are no ordinary changes of nature that can so disfigure the tombs of those they love, as to cause them to forget where they were laid. Although civilization has hurried the most of them from the Atlantic shores, and the husbandman's grain has long waved over the gentle slopes of their burial places, there may occasionally be seen one of this banished race, clad in the wild romance of the wilderness, threading our hills and valleys, to view once more the simple sepulchres of his fathers; and he scarcely ever fails in finding the precious earth, though the eye of a white man sees nothing but the level lawn or uninterrupted symmetry of the hills. Some time in the latter part of the last century, a decree went forth from the sovereignty of the state of Massachusetts, removing the Indians from their hunting grounds. Some there were among this race, who, by presents and protestations of love and protection, complied with this mandate; but others were determined to die on the graves of their forefathers. Such was the resolution of the chief of a small tribe, called the Owas. His name was Eagle-eye, He had watched the handful of warriors whom he had led on to battle, one by one pass away into the western world; and when he pressed the young hand of Snake-foot, his only son, for the last time, the silent tear sprang into his eye. He told him to be brave-to scalp every male white that fell in his way. He pointed to the blue smoke that was curling over the dwellings of a distant village, and then turned his face to the green, sunny slope where their fathers slept. He yet recollected how the roar of a falling tree, in the solitude of the forest, started him from his slumbers, and now thought how true the suspicion was that then crossed his mind. He then expected that a few more moons, and the forests would be gone, the turf of the hills broken, the graves of his ancestors levelled! He now saw all this, and him- As the march of improvement increased, it was determined Eagle-eye should remove. Plans were put in operation to effect this; when a friend stepped forth to comfort the warrior, and give him a home beyond the sweeping decrees of the law. There was a rough, rocky island, of about six acres, in the river Housatonic, where it crossed the Connecticut line, that appeared to be under the jurisdiction of neither Massachusetts nor Connecticut. The governments of both states had often endeavoured to decide to which it lawfully belonged, but to no effect. This island was the property of one Winfield. How he came by it, I suppose it is not absolutely necessary to know: at any rate, he had an "indisputable title." This he gave to Eagle-eye, to be his home; and further promised him, in case he died first, he [Winfield] would lay his body among the bones of his ancestors, and keep a sacred watch over them afterward. The Indian. in return, vowed eternal gratitude to his benefactor, and promised him any service he was capable of performing; at the same time, swearing lasting vengeance on every other pale face within his reach. Upon this island was a curious cave, formed by the rocks, that rendered it famous for miles around. It was, in the interior, like a large garret of a house, the rocks running together like the roof of a building. At one end was a pool of clear and sparkling water, that was kept fresh by a small orifice in the rocks that led a stream away. The music of the clinking rill was all that broke the silence of the cave. This was the charm that lulled the warrior to rest at night, and the first thing that saluted his drowsy senses in the morning. Doa, (for that was his dog's name), on first awaking, invariably trotted up to this spring, and after lapping its pure waters, used to proceed to the body of his reclining master, and putting his paws upon his breast, lick his coppered and wrinkled face, to warn him that the sun was breaking over the hills. Although an enemy to the state, he yet often crossed the narrow waters between him and the main, for the purpose of hunting. He went forth clad in skins, with his belt of wampum, and otherwise attired in the costume of savage life. He spurned every article of civilization but the rifle and its necessary ammunition. These were furnished by Winfield. He might be seen in the stillness of a June morning, paddling his frail canoe in the cooling shade of the banks, dressed in all the savageness that characterized the warrior of the "far west. His face was hideously painted, and his head completely shaved, except one long tuft on the crown. The slightest noise would startle him, and resting with his oar clasped in his hands, his keen eye would pierce every crevice in the creeping vines that ran along the shores. It was not many months before the interior of his rocky home presented a most beautiful sight. Few, save Winfield, saw it while Eagle-eye was living. The Indian used to say, that although the game was fast leaving the hills, yet his old age should not deprive him from beholding it. He had, therefore, with great ingenuity, stuffed the skins of whatever he killed, and hung them on the bare walls of the cave. Some, were placed standing on the earth. A bear might be seen in an elevated position, with a rabbit clasped in his fore paws; a deer with his antlers flung back, as if rushing with full speed through the thicket; the gaunt wolf, with his mouth brought into a mock growl; and serpents of all species were coiled around on the ledges of the rocks. Birds were suspended by small threads from the peak of the roof, with their wings spread and their necks stretched out, as if in the act of flying; and several large turtles were crawling on a damp spot of earth in a corner of the cave. And finally, the calm pool of water was literally alive with the quantity of fish that were swimming around in it. But the most touching spectacle of all, was a little artificial forest. Eagle-eye had cut small trees of various kinds, and taking them to this cave, erected them in one corner, with all the taste of nature itself. The branches were filled with squirrels, and a few foxes were placed round on the earth below. This is a faint sketch of the home of Eagle-eye, the chief of the Owas. His hatred to the whites was unquenchable. When the western horizon began to grow dark from the rising storm, and the silent lightnings were leaping around the edges of the clouds, the warrior used to proceed to a small rocky promontory on the south of the island, and kneeling on its summit with his dark hands thrown up, implore the god of the thunders to shake the cabins of the pale faces to the earth! His dog, Doa, was the agent whereby he kept up a communication between himself and the whites; and he had only been taught the path leading to the house of Winfield. They corresponded by signs. The dog carried a slender stick in his mouth, to one end of which was tied a small basket, and in this some tokens were placed, the meaning attached to which, had previously been agreed upon. He Things were thus conducted, when suddenly the Indian ceased receiving intelligence from Winfield. Day after day passed, and the dog returned with the same contents with which he departed, rubbing round the legs of his master with a piteous whine. At last, one still, bright night, the warrior was aroused from his dreams by a stern voice. partly raised himself from his bed of skins, while Doa by his side, was engaged in a muttering growl. In the aperture to the grotto, the figure of a pale face was seen, and the broken moonbeams were streaming in the cavern on each side of him. Eagle-eye grasped his tomahawk, and proceeded to the object; but the voice of Winfield paralyzed his death-bent arm. "Winfield!" said the hunter, his eye surveying him from head to foot, and then closed his speech by bidding the dog to cease his noise. What further colloquy ensued, it is needless to record. At any rate, the chief proceeded to a large bag which hung in the corner of the cavern, and taking out some withered leaves and dry roots, they both left the island, and shaped their course for the village of Winfield's residence. Let us for a moment change the scene. Winfield's only daughter was silently drooping away under the withering influence of the consumption. She |