ness to accompany Sir Raimonde, and, with a profound obeisance, retired. Deep and agonizing were the sighs that convulsed the breast of the bereaved father when retired to the solitude of his chamber. His feelings at length somewhat subsiding, he threw himself on his bended knees, and with the fervency of a wounded spirit besought the support of Heaven, that alone could sustain him in the trying hour that awaited him that alone could enable him to look, "with eye unscathed," upon the mangled remains of his last and only boy. * * "Brave Christian! but late I thought to meet my fate without a pang, but thy unexpected nobleness has wrung my soul-dishonour even had pained me less. I slew thy son, yet as an open foe, and purchased victory with my blood. Not proudly would I speak, yet know that thy son's vanquisher owns no ignoble name. My blood never flowed in any former contest,this willing tribute, Osman, the champion of the Moslem host, pays to the young Christian's valour. Thou, generous man, who thus with friendly zeal couldst intercede for thy worst foe, wert worthy of so brave a son. In addressing to thy master a petition for my life, thou hast uttered to deaf ears an unavailing prayer-but there is one who has heard thy entreaty, and who honours the feelings that prompt it. From his hand will be thy recompense. This poor but honest offering, all that fortune has left me, do thou accept from a grateful foe." As the sufferer spoke, he unbound a jewelled bracelet from his wrist, and presented it to Sir Raimonde, who, without removing his eyes from the unhappy youth, received the gift. “Christian, farewell!" resumed the Saracen. "The fate thou fain wouldst shield me from, the fate the recreant only fear, I now await-await without a murmur, for mine will be an unlamented death. No father will deplore my early doom-no mother wail her son with unavailing tears. An orphan I have lived, and now, as is most meet, I fall alone." The Saracen threw off his mantle, and, kneeling to receive the stroke, addressed the headsman- "Friend, do thine office- strike nor be fearlessly, strike forcefully. there need to iterate the blow!" Humanity triumphed even over bigotry and revenge. A thrill of horror ran through the numerous spectators, as the flashing sabre descended, and the quivering head of the young and gallant Saracen rolled on the sand. Turning in sickened emotion from the harrowing scene, the eye of D'Avenal for the first time glanced momentarily on the bracelet that had been presented him by the sufferer. That fatal gift revealed a tale of horror. Springing wildly from his seat, Sir Raimonde clasped the headless trunk to his breast, and, turning to the executioner, exclaimed in frenzied accents "Wretch by thy hand my son has died-my boy-my long-lost Theodore! Ah me! 'twas hard, 'twas cruel, that I should know, too late to avert, the dire reality! That bracelet was, in happier hours, a gift from my Matilda. Throughout the warfare that employed my youth, I wore that jewelled trinket-a gage of love, and, as my fancy deemed, a talisman against every harm. Returned to the home of my fathers, united to my Matilda, and blessed with pledges of our love, that bracelet was placed around the neck of our elder boy, and tells, too truly tells, the fatal truth. That boy was torn from me while our army lay before Jerusalem. Brought up in the accursed creed, he has lived an unbeliever, and dies-the murderer of his brother! I have deeply sinned, and bitter, bitter is the forfeiture I pay." "Away, ye triflers!" cried the aged sufferer, as the attendants were about to remove the corpse of his ill-fated He strained it once more in his embrace, and, sinking with it on the ground, was conveyed insensible from the spot. son. The unhappy D'Avenal survived the shock but a few hours. His last request was complied with, and his remains were interred with those of his sons. A romantic spot without the walls of Ascalon was selected as the place of their sepulture. The tomb, which was shaded with cypress-trees, bore the following inscription Ora, viator, pro animis infelicium!" THE FAR OFF, HAPPIER LAND. I MARK'D her in her infancy, I mark'd her in her prime, And, all unmix'd, her hopes were fix'd If o'er the sunshine of her life The clouds of sorrow flew, Was dimm'd or shadow'd too: She saw the arm of death uprais'd, Nor fear'd to tread the "vale" which led She said that o'er her lowly couch And angel's voices mingling there And suddenly to yonder skies Her soul of light has ta'en its flight J. S. C.. THE FLOWERS OF CHAUMONT. BY BERTIE AMBROSSE, ESQ. I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, IN the latter part of 17, I had wandered along the heights of the Boulognais, which extend to the east of Picardy, and had nearly forgotten, in the visions of a tranquil reverie, that I was unprovided with a bed. I had taken my repast, which I carried with me, in the ruins of St. Louis; where the deciduous condition of the crypt has formed itself into a cavity, which is still the source of fruitful speculation to the rural superstition of the hamlets round. The waters of that spring, which issued at the prayer of a hero, favoured by the tutelary saint, have long since disappeared; and the cessation of the fountain, miraculous as its original eruption, has left a narrative of wonders, from time to time augmented by the fancy of relators; till the local tale at length assumes the character of legendary eld, in which the strength of early fear and superstition are faithfully preserved, even in the serious story of its modern annalists. From the only arch which now remains of that dila pidated chapel, as I lay upon the close green turf, I looked with placid satisfaction on the rich variety before The me, and blessed, with undissembled contentment. I was, however, won thankfulness, the bounty of that fate from my unopened volume by the which has given to a country, too long splendour of the scene. The villages molested by the wild illusions of de- of Louche, Nielle, and Ferlinghen, structive glory, an interval of peace, embosomed in a rich variety of verin which to prosecute the innocent dure, the dismantled town of Ardresand useful purposes of life, and yield the scene of such historic recollecto the incentives of prosperity and tions-the spires and tower of ancient social happiness the industry and Calais, gleamed before me. genius of its natural beneficence. refreshing breezes, enriched by odours It was hardly possible at such a time, of wild flowers and herbs, and somewith the imposing beauties and fer- times bearing on their wings the gladtility of nature exuberantly spread be- some song of female peasants, gave fore me, to have fancied a sufficient the atmosphere a soothing influence, cause for the destruction of those conducive to that state of pensiveness, peaceful blessings, or to think that repose, and memory, which constisuch a state of pure felicity depended tutes a wakeful dream. In all that on ambition, despotism, or misdeed was immediately around me I found that the petulant collisions of the the emblem of my own solitary great could annul, in their results, quietude and peace; and as my eyes the sober wisdom of simplicity, and eventually roved to the dim distance hatefully divert the wholesome labours of the horizon, the remoter facts of of contented humbleness from goodly life gone by arose with an endeared ends, to pour their energy on objects remembrance, and visited my heart of insane cupidity, or worthless with a serene and pleasing melanschemes. Ye great ones of this tran- choly. How many of the youthful sient life, when will ye drink the cup agents in such scenes were now no of truth and justice? when will ye more! how many of the living and renounce the idle projects of your beloved, whom, perhaps, it was orvanity and avarice, and learn, from dained that I should meet no more, the humility of better and more useful who could have felt the placid rapture beings than yourselves, to practise the of that unshared hour! The tenderreligion ye profess? when will the ness of those emotions, the irreprespresumptuous pride of grandeur and sible sincerity of such a mood, resultoppression stay the gross abuses of its ed in some patient tears; and when stewardship, and expiate, by modera- the depth of thought had riveted my tion and humanity, the accumulated speculation to a single point, I was vices of its superfluity and power? suddenly awakened from my dream by the dark shadow of a passing cloud. On looking to the west, the tops of the dense forests of Licques and Guignes were gilded by the stormy lustre of the horizontal sun, whose slanting beams were shortly hidden by a host of clouds, that hurried over his red orb, in the likeness of a scattered army. The hoarse accent of the autumnal gusts gave increasing tokens of a gale, and the fair stillness of the day, which had hardly waved the flowers on the ruins of St. Louis, was apparently about to close in dark and stormy violence. I lit my cigar, and descending the declivity, on the ridge of which St. Louis stands, I saw the darkened waters of the winding Hem somewhat ruffled, and burnished by the stormy radiance of the western I removed beneath the shadow of the northern ruin, and was taking from my pocket a volume of Chaulieu, the vade-mecum of my loitering life. He is to me the poet of the Frenchindeed of modern times-who seems to have approached most nearly to the truth, the charming levity, the chas tened worldliness, and pleasing pensiveness, of Horace. I always find his verse a balin to the afflictions of a spirit long accustomed to the passions of an anxious life. I read him in my solitary hours with entertainment and -I hope-improvement. He is a mirror to my own conceptions, and I seldom look into his page without extracting from its unpretending wis dom something solacing to my mortality, and breathing resignation and |