the see, by the unanimous vote of the Chapter. The elected dignitary seemed overcome by contending feelings; but, having wiped away some decent tears, he assumed an air of gravity, which almost touched on superciliousness. Don Julian addressed his congratulations, and was the first to kiss the new Archbishop's hand. "I hope," he added, "I may also congratulate my son, the young man who is now at the University of Paris; for I flatter myself your Lordship will give him the Deanery, which is vacant by your promotion." "My worthy friend, Don Julian," replied the Archbishop elect, "my obligations to you I can never sufficiently repay. You have heard my character; I hold a friend as another self. But why would you take the lad away from his studies? An Archbishop of Santiago cannot want preferment at any time. Follow me to my diocese; I will not for all the mitres in Christendom forego the benefit of your instruction. The deanery, to tell you the truth, must be given to my uncle, my father's own brother, who has had but a small living for many years; he is much liked in Santiago, and I should lose my character if, to place such a young man as your son at the head of the chapter, I neglected an exemplary priest, so nearly related to me." "Just as you please, my Lord," said Don Julian; and began to prepare for the journey.

The acclamations which greeted the new Archbishop on his arrival at the capital of Galicia were, not long after, succeeded by a universal regret at his translation to the see of the recently conquered town of Seville. "I will not leave you behind," said the Archbishop to Don Julian, who, with more timidity than he showed at Toledo, approached to kiss the sacred ring in the Archbishop's right hand, and to offer his humble congratulations, "but do not fret about your son. He is too young. I have my mother's relations to provide for; but Seville is a rich see; the blessed King Ferdinand, who rescued it from the Moors, endowed its church so as to make it rival the first cathedrals in Christendom. Do but follow me, and all will be well in the end,"

Don Juan bowed with a suppressed sigh, and was soon after on the banks of the Guadalquivir, in the suite of the new Archbishop.

Scarcely had Don Julian's pupil been at Seville one year, when his far extended fame moved the Pope to send him a cardinal's hat, desiring his presence at the Court of Rome. The crowd of visitors who came to congratulate the prelate, kept Don Julian away for many days. He at length obtained a private audience, and, with tears in his eyes, entreated his Eminence not to oblige him to quit Spain. "I am growing old, my Lord," he said; "I quitted my house at Toledo only for your sake, and in hopes of raising my son to some place of honour and emolument in the church; I even gave up my favourite studies, except as far as they were of service to your Eminence. My sonmore of that, if you please, Don Julian," interrupted the Cardinal, "follow me you must; who can tell what may happen at Rome? The Pope is old, you know. But do not tease me about preferment. A public man has duties of a description which those in the lower ranks of life cannot either weigh or comprehend. I confess I am under obligations to you, and feel quite disposed to reward your services; yet I must not have my creditors knocking every day at my door ; you understand, Don Julian. In a week we set out

for Rome."

"No

With such a strong tide of good fortune as had hitherto buoyed up Don Julian's pupil, the reader cannot be surprised to find him, in a short time, wearing the Papal crown. He was now arrived at the highest place of honour on earth; but in the bustle of the election and subsequent coronation, the man to whose wonderful science he owed this rapid ascent, had completely slipped off his memory. Fatigued with the exhibition of himself through the streets of Rome, which he had been obliged to make in a solemn procession, the new Pope sat alone in one of the chambers of the Vatican. It was early in the night. By the light of two wax tapers which scarcely illuminated the farthest

end of the grand saloon, his Holiness was enjoying that reverie of mixed pain and pleasure which follows the complete attainment of ardent wishes, when Don Julian advanced in visible perturbation, conscious of the intrusion on which he ventured. " Holy Father!" exclaimed the old man, and cast himself at his pupil's feet; "Holy Father, in pity to these grey hairs do not consign an old servant-might I not say an old friend? -to utter neglect and forgetfulness. My son-" "By Saint Peter!" ejaculated his Holiness, rising from the chair, "your insolence shall be checked-You my friend! A magician the friend of Heaven's vicegerent! Away, wretched man! When I pretended to learn of thee, it was only to sound the abyss of crime into which thou hadst plunged; I did it with a view of bringing thee to condign punishment. Yet, in compassion to thy age, I will not make an example of thee, provided thou avoidest mine eyes. Hide thy crime and shame where thou canst. This moment thou must quit the palace, or the next closes the gates of the Inquisition upon thee."

Trembling, and his wrinkled face bedewed with tears, Don Julian begged to be allowed one word more. "I am very poor, Holy Father," said he; "trusting in your patronage I relinquished my all, and have not left wherewith to pay my journey." "Away, I say," answered the Pope; "if my excessive bounty has made you neglect your patrimony, I will no farther encourage your waste and improvidence. Poverty is but a slight punishment for your crimes."—"But, Father," rejoined Don Julian, "my wants are instant; I am hungry. Give me but a trifle to procure a supper to-night. To-morrow I shall beg my way out of Rome."" Heaven forbid," said the Pope, "that I should be guilty of feeding the ally of the Prince of Darkness. Away, away from my presence, or I instantly call for the guard."-" Well, then," replied Don Julian, rising from the ground, and looking on the Pope with a boldness which began to throw his Holiness into a paroxysm of rage, "if I am to starve at Rome I had

better return to the supper which I ordered at Toledo." Thus saying, he rang a gold bell which stood on a table next the Pope. The door opened without delay, and the Moorish servant came in. The Pope looked round, and found himself in the subterraneous study under the Tagus. "Desire the cook," said Don Julian to the maid, "to put but one partridge to roast; for I will not throw away the other on the Dean of Santiago."

THE CHILD AND HIND.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

COME, maids and matrons, to caress
Wiesbaden's gentle hind;
And, smiling, deck its glossy neck
With forest flowers entwined.

"Twas after church-on Ascension-day-
When organs ceased to sound,
Wiesbaden's people crowded gay
The deer-park's pleasant ground.

Here came a twelve years' married pair-
And with them wandered free

Seven sons and daughters, blooming fair,
A gladsome sight to see.

Their Wilhelm, little innocent,
The youngest of the seven,
Was beautiful as painters paint,
The cherubim of heaven.

By turns he gave his hand, so dear,

To parent, sister, brother,

And each, that he was safe and near,

Confided in the other.

But Wilhelm loved the field-flowers bright,
With love beyond all measure;

And culled them with as keen delight,

As misers gather treasure.

Unnoticed, he contrived to glide
Adown a greenwood alley,
By lilies lured, that grew beside
A streamlet in the valley.

And there, where under beech and birch,
The rivulet meandered;

He strayed, till neither shout nor search,
Could track where he had wandered.

Still louder, with increasing dread,
They call his darling name;

But 'twas like speaking to the dead-
An echo only came.

Hours passed, till evening's beetle roams,
And blackbird's songs begin;
Then all went back to happy homes,
Save Wilhelm's kith and kin.

The night came on-all others slept
Their cares away till morn;

But sleepless, all night watched and wept
That family forlorn.

Betimes the town-crier had been sent

With loud bell up and down;

And told th' afflicting accident

Throughout Wiesbaden's town.

The news reached Nassau's duke-ere earth

Was gladdened by the lark,

He sent a hundred soldiers forth

To ransack all his park.

But though they roused up beast and bird

From many a nest and den,

No signal of success was heard
From all the hundred men,