While he spoke this, he viewed the stranger still more attentively than before, but observed no change in his countenance, nor any symptom that might intimate a consciousness of evil design. He was habited like a knight, was of a tall and majestic stature, and of dignified and courteous manners. Still, however, he refused to communicate the subject of his errand in any place but that he had mentioned; and, at the same time, gave hints concerning the secret he would disclose, that awakened a degree of solemn curiosity in the baron, which at length induced him to consent to the stranger on certain conditions.

Sir knight, said he, I will attend you to the forest, and will take with me only four of my people, who shall witness our conference.

To this, however, the knight objected. What I would disclose, said he with solemnity, is to you alone. There are only three living persons to whom the circumstance is known: it is of more consequence to you and your house than I shall now explain. In future years you will look back to this night with satisfaction or repentance, accordingly as you now determine. As you would hereafter prosper-follow me; I pledge you the honour of a knight, that no evil shall befall you. If you are contented to dare futurity-remain in your chamber, and I will depart as I came. Sir knight, replied the baron, how is it possible that my future peace can depend upon my present determination? That is not now to be told, said the stranger; I have explained myself to the utmost. It is late; if you follow me, it must be quickly;-you will do well to consider the alternative.

The baron mused, and, as he looked upon the knight, he perceived his countenance assume a singular solemnity.

The baron paced his apartment for some time in silence, impressed by the words of the stranger, whose extra

unknown to me; tell me, yourself,-is it reasonable that I should trust myself alone with a stranger, at this hour, in a solitary forest? Tell me, at least, who you are, and who assisted to secrete you in this chamber.

The knight frowned at these latter words, and was a moment silent; then, with a countenance somewhat stern, he said

I am an English knight; I am called Sir Bevys of Lancaster, and my deeds are not unknown at the holy city, whence I was returning to my native land, when I was benighted in the neighbouring forest.

Your name is not unknown to fame, said the baron; I have heard of it. (The knight looked haughtily.) But why, since my castle is known to entertain all true knights, did not your herald announce you? Why did you not appear at the banquet where your presence would have been welcomed, instead of hiding yourself in my castle, and stealing to my chamber at midnight.

The stranger frowned, and turned away in silence; but the baron repeated the questions.

I come not, said the knight, to answer inquiries, but to reveal facts. If you would know more, follow me, and again I pledge the honour of a knight that you shall return in safety. Be quick in your determination-I must be gone.

After some farther hesitation, the baron determined to follow the stranger, and to see the result of this extraordinary request; he therefore again drew forth his sword, and, taking up a lamp, bade the knight lead on. The latter obeyed, and, opening the door of the chamber, they passed into the anteroom, where the baron, surprised to find all his pages asleep, stopped, and, with hasty violence, was going to reprimand them for their carelessness, when the knight waved his hand, and looked so expressively upon the baron, that the latter restrained his resentment, and passed on.

The knight, having descended a staircase, opened a secret door, which the baron had believed was known only to himself, and proceeding through several narrow and winding passages came at length to a small gate, that opened beyond the walls of the castle. Meanwhile, the baron followed in silence and amazement, on perceiving that these secret passages were so well known to a stranger, and felt inclined to return from an adventure that appeared to partake of treachery as well as danger. Then considering that he was armed, and observing the courteous and noble air of his conductor, his courage returned, he blushed that it had failed him for a moment, and he resolved to trace the mystery to its source.

He now found himself on the heathy platform, before the great gates of his castle, where, on looking up, he perceived lights glimmering in the different casements of the guests, who were retiring to sleep; and, while he shivered in the blast, and looked on the dark and desolate scene around him, he thought of the comforts of his warm chamber, rendered cheerful by the blaze of wood, and felt, for a moment, the full contrast of his present situation.

The wind was strong, and the baron watched his lamp with anxiety, expecting every moment to see it extinguished; but though the flame wavered, it did not expire, and he still followed the stranger, who often sighed as he went, but did not speak.

When they reached the borders of the forest, the knight turned and raised his head, as if he meant to address the baron, but then closing his lips in silence, he walked on.

As they entered beneath the dark and spreading boughs, the baron, affected by the solemnity of the scene, hesitated whether to proceed, and demanded how much farther they were to go. The knight replied only by a gesture, and the baron, with hesitating steps and a suspicious eye, followed through an obscure and intricate path, till, having proceeded a considerable way, he again demanded whither they were going,

and refused to proceed unless he was informed.

As he said this, he looked at his own sword and at the knight alternately, who shook his head, and whose dejected countenance disarmed the baron, for a moment, of suspicion.

A little farther is the place whither I would lead you, said the stranger; no evil shall befall you I have sworn it on the honour of a knight.

The baron, reassured, again followed in silence, and they soon arrived at a deep recess of the forest, where the dark and lofty chestnuts entirely excluded the sky, and which was so overgrown with underwood, that they proceeded with difficulty. The knight sighed deeply as he passed, and sometimes paused; and having at length reached a spot, where the trees crowded into a knot, he turned, and, with a terrific look, pointing to the ground, the baron saw there the body of a man, stretched at its length, and weltering in blood; a ghastly wound was on the forehead, and death appeared already to have contracted the features.

The baron, on perceiving the spectacle, started in horror, looked at the knight for explanation, and was then going to raise the body, and examine if there were yet any remains of life: but the stranger, waving his hand, fixed upon him a look so earnest and mournful, as not only much surprised him, but made him desist.

But what were the baron's emotions, when, on holding the lamp near the features of the corpse, he discovered the exact resemblance of the stranger his conductor, to whom he now looked up in astonishment and inquiry! As he gazed, he perceived the countenance of the knight change and begin to fade, till his whole form gradually vanished from his astonished sense! While the baron stood, fixed to the spot, a voice was heard to utter these words:

The body of Sir Bevys of Lancaster, a noble knight of England, lies before you. He was this night waylaid and murdered, as he journeyed from the holy city towards his native land. Re

spect the honour of knighthood and the law of humanity; inter the body in Christian ground, and cause his murderers to be punished. As ye observe or neglect this, shall peace and happiness, or war and misery, light upon you and your house for ever!

The baron, when he recovered from the awe and astonishment in which

this adventure had thrown him, returned to his castle, whither he caused the body of Sir Bevys to be removed; and, on the following day, it was interred, with the honours of knighthood, in the chapel of the castle, attended by all the noble knights and ladies who graced the court of Baron de Brunne.

M' ISS MARIA EDGEWORTH was born at Edgeworthtown in Ireland 1771; her education was carefully directed by her father, who was much attached to literary pursuits. She commenced her career as an author in 1801 by the publication of a work entitled: 'An Essay on Irish Bulls,' written with her father's assistance. Soon afterwards Miss Edgeworth wrote Castle Rackrent' and 'Belinda,' in the first of which the amusing traits of the Irish character are depicted. In 1804 she published her 'Popular Tales,' whose title speaks for their contents, and in 1806 Leonora, a novel in two parts. In 1809 she brought forward three volumes of Tales of Fashionable Life,' which were followed in 1812 by several others under the same title. In 1814 Patronage,' a novel in four volumes, appeared, in which

IRISH TRAVELLING.

Impatient to see my own castle, I left Dublin. I was again astonished by the beauty of the prospects and the excellence of the roads. I had in my ignorance believed that I was never to see a tree in Ireland, and that the roads were almost impassable.-With the promptitude of credulity I now went from the one extreme to the other; I concluded that we should travel with the same celerity as upon the Bath road; and I expected that a journey for which four days had been allotted might be performed in two. Like all those who have nothing to do any where, I was always in a prodigious hurry to get from place to place; and I ever had a noble ambition to go over as much ground as possible in a given space of time. I travelled in a light barouche, and with my own horses. My own man, an Englishman, and my cook, a Frenchman, followed in a hackney chaise, I cared not how, so that they kept up with me; the rest was their affair. At night, my gentleman complained bitterly of the Irish post

the miseries derived from dependence upon the patronage of the great are vividly portrayed. In 1817 'Harrington, a tale written against the persecutions of the Jews, was produced, and Ormond, a tale of Irish Life. The death of her father in 1817 occasioned a break in the succession of her works, but in 1822 she wrote Rosamond,' 'A Sequel to Early Lessons," a continuation of which appeared in 1825, under the title of Harry and Lucy; all of which are tales for children, and excellently written. In 1834 Miss Edgeworth published 'Helen,' a novel in three volumes. In all her works it may be seen, that she has striven to embody good sense and utility combined with amusement, and she has been perfectly successful in her attempt. She died on 21st May 1849.

carriages, and besought me to let him follow at an easier rate the next day; but to this I would by no means consent; for how could I exist without my own man and my French cook? In the morning, just I was ready to set off, and had thrown myself back in my carriage, my Englishman and Frenchman came to the door, both in so great a rage, that the one was inarticulate, and the other unintelligible. At length the object of their indignation spoke for itself. From the innyard came a hackney chaise in a most deplorable state; the body mounted up to a prodigious height, on unbending springs, nodding forwards, one door swinging open, three blinds up, because they could not be let down, the perch tied in two places, the iron of the wheels half off, half loose wooden pegs for linchpins, and ropes for harness. The horses were worthy of the harness, wretched little dog-tired creatures, that looked as if they had been driven to the last gasp, and as if they had never been rubbed down in their lives; their bones starting through their skin; one

In an indignant voice I called to the landlord-'I hope these are not the horses-I hope this is not the chaise intended for my servants.' The innkeeper and the pauper who was preparing to officiate as postilion, both in the same instant exclaimed: 'sorrow better chaise in the country! Sorrow!' said I-'what do you mean by sorrow?' "That there's no better, plase your honour, can be seen. We have two more to be sure-but one has no top, and the other no bottom. Any way there's no better can be seen than this same.' And these horses,' cried I-'why this horse is so lame he can hardly stand.' "Oh, plase your honour, though he can't stand, he'll go fast enough. He has a great deal of the rogue in him, plase your honour. He's always that way at first setting out.' 'And that wretched animal with the galled breast!' 'He's all the better for it when once he warms; it's he that will go with the speed of light, plase your honour. Sure is not he Knockecroghery? and didn't I give fifteen guineas for him, barring the luck-penny, at the fair of Knockecroghery, and he rising four years old at the same time?' I could not avoid smiling at this speech; but my gentleman, maintaining his angry gravity, declared in a solemn tone, that he would be cursed if he went with such horses; and the Frenchman, with abundance of gesticulation, made a prodigious chattering, which no mortal under

do,' said Paddy; 'you'll take four, as becomes gentlemen of your quality, and you'll see how we'll powder along.' And straight he put the knuckle of his fore-finger into his mouth, and whistled shrill and strong, and in a moment a whistle somewhere out in the fields answered him. I protested against these proceedings, but in vain; before the first pair of horses were fastened to the chaise, up came a little boy with the others fresh from the plough. They were quick enough in putting these to: yet how they managed it with their tackle I know not. Now we're fixed handsomely,' said Paddy. 'But this chaise will break down the first mile.' 'Is it this chaise, plase your honour? I'll engage it will go to the world's end. The universe would not break it down now; sure it was mended but last night.' Then seizing his whip and reins in one hand, he clawed up his stockings with the other; so with one easy step he got into his place, and seated himself, coachmanlike, upon a well-worn bar of wood, that served as a coachbox. Throw me the loan of a trusty bartly for a cushion,' said he. A frieze coat was thrown up over the horses' heads-Paddy caught it. "Where are you, Hosey?' cried he. 'Sure I'm only rowling a wisp of straw on my leg,' replied Hosey. Throw me up,' added this paragon of postilions, turning to one of the crowd of idle bystanders; 'arrah, push me up, can't ye? A man took hold of his knee, and threw him upon the horse; he was in his seat in a trice; then clinging by the mane of his horse, he scrambled for the bridle, which was under the other horse's feet-reached it, and, well satisfied with himself, looked round at Paddy, who looked back to the chaisedoor at my angry servants, 'secure in the last event of things.' In vain the Englishman in monotonous anger, and the Frenchman in every note of the gamut, abused Paddy; necessity and wit were on Paddy's side; he parried all that was said against his chaise, his horses, himself and his country,

with invincible comic dexterity, till at last both his adversaries, dumb-founded, clambered into the vehicle, where they were instantly shut up in straw and darkness. Paddy, in a triumphant tone, called to my postilions, bidding them 'get on, and not be stopping the way any longer. Without uttering a syllable, they drove on; but they could not, nor could I refrain from looking back to see how those fellows would manage. We saw the fore-horses make towards the right, then to the left, whilst Paddy bawled to Hosey,-'keep the middle of the road, can't ye? I don't want ye to draw a pound at all, at all.' At last, by dint of whipping, the four horses were compelled to set off in a lame gallop; but they stopped short at a hill near the end of the town, whilst a shouting troop of ragged boys followed, and pushed them fairly to the top. Half an hour afterwards, as we were putting on our drag-chain to go down another steep hill, to my utter astonishment, Paddy, with his horses in full gallop, came rattling and chechupping past us. My people called, to warn him that he had no drag, but still he cried-'never fear!'-and, shaking the long reins and stamping with his foot, on. he went thundering down the hill. My Englishmen were aghast. "The turn yonder below, at the bottom of the hill, is as sharp and ugly as ever I see,' said my postilion, after a moment's stupified silence. 'He will break their necks, as sure as my name is John.' Quite the contrary; when we had dragged and undragged, and come up with Paddy, we found him safe on his legs, mending some of his tackle very quietly. If that breeching had broke as you were going down the steep hill,' said I, 'it would have been all over with you, Paddy.' 'That's true, plase your honour; but it never happened me going down hill, nor never will, by the blessing of God, if I've luck.' With his mixed confidence in a special providence and in his own good luck, Paddy went on, much amusement. It was his glory to keep before us, and he rattled on till he

to my

came to a narrow part of the road, where they were rebuilding a bridge. Here there was a dead stop. Paddy lashed his horses, and called them all manner of names; but the wheel-horse Knockecroghery was restive, and at last began to kick most furiously. It seemed inevitable that the first kick which should reach the splinter-bar, at which it was aimed, must demolish it instantly. My English gentleman and my Frenchman both put their heads out of the only window which was pervious, and called most manfully to be let out. Never fear,' said Paddy. To open the door for themselves was beyond their force or skill. One of the hindwheels, which had belonged to another carriage, was too high to suffer the door to be opened, and the blind at the other side prevented their attempts, so they were close prisoners. The men who had been at work on the broken bridge came forward, and rested on their spades to see the battle. As my carriage could not pass, I also was compelled to be a spectator of this contest between man and horse. 'Never fear,' reiterated Paddy; 'I'll engage I'll be up wid him! Och, the rogue, he thinks he has me at a nonplush, but I'll show him the differ.'

After this brag of war, Paddy whipped, Knockecroghery kicked, and Paddy, seemingly unconscious of danger, sat within reach of the kicking horse, twitching up first one of his legs, then the other, and shifting as the animal aimed his hoofs, escaping every time as it were by miracle. With a mixture of temerity and presence of mind, which made us alternately look upon him as a madman and a hero, he gloried in the danger, secure of success and of the sympathy of the spectators. 'Ah! didn't I compass him cleverly then? Oh the villain, to be browbating me! I'm too cute for him yet. See, there now, he's come to; and I'll be his bail he'll go asy enough wid me. Och! he has a fine spirit of his own, but it's I that can match him; 'twould be a poor case if a man like me couldn't match a horse any way, let alone a mare, which this