Having thus said, he knelt down, with the child between him and the Rock, and commenced a silent prayer, while his clasped hands rested on the head of the infant, his long grey hair hung down upon his shoulders, and his clear blue eye was fixed steadily upon the fatal Candle. As he prayed, the anxious parents observed the light grow fainter and fainter, and the shadows of the old man and child become less and less distinct, until at length the sallow hue of the pilgrim's countenance could scarcely be distinguished from the bloom that glowed upon the fresh cheeks of the infant. Before his prayer was ended, the light had disappeared altogether, and the child came running into the arms of its enraptured mother. When the first burst of joy had been indulged in, she looked up to thank the stranger; but he was nowhere to be seen!

The death-light has never since re-appeared upon the Rock, although it preserves the name which it received from that phantom. Cormac and Minny long continued to exercise the virtue of hospitality to which they owed so much in this instance; and, I am told, that the child became a bishop, in course of time. This, surely, is good fortune enough to enable one to wind up a long story with credit; and I have only to conclude, after aunt Norry's favourite form, by wishing—IF THEY DIDN'T LIVE HAPPY, THAT YOU AND I MAY.

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

Elle etait de ce monde ou les plus belles choses ont le
pire destin.- MALHERBE.

I LOOKED far back into other years, and lo! in bright

array,

I saw, as in a dream, the forms of ages passed away.

Ir was a stately convent, with its old and lofty walls, And gardens with their broad green walks, where soft the footstep falls;

And o'er the antique dial-stones the creeping shadow past,

And all around, the noon-day sun a drowsy radiance cast. No sound of busy life was heard, save, from the cloister

dim,

The tinkling of the silver bell, or the sisters' holy hymn. And there five noble maidens sat beneath the orchard

trees,

In that first budding spring of youth, when all its pros-. pects please;

And little recked they, when they sang or knelt at vesper

prayers,

That Scotland knew no prouder names- -held none more

dear than theirs ;

And little even the loveliest thought, before the Virgin's

shrine,

Of royal blood, and high descent from the ancient Stuart

line;

Calmly her happy days flew on, uncounted in their

flight,

And as they flew they left behind a long continuing

light.

The scene was changed. It was the court-the gay court of Bourbon,—

And 'neath a thousand silver lamps, a thousand courtiers

throng;

And proudly kindles Henry's eye-well pleased I ween

to see

The land assemble all its wealth of grace and chivalry ;— Grey Montmorency, o'er whose head has passed a storm

of years,

Strong in himself and children stands, the first among his

peers;

And next the Guises, who so well fame's steepest heights

assailed,

And walked ambition's diamond ridge, where bravest hearts have failed,

And higher yet their path shall be, stronger shall wax

their might,

For before them Montmorency's star shall pale its waning

light.

Here Louis Prince of Condè wears his all-unconquered

sword,

With great Coligni by his side-each name a household

word!

And there walks she of Medicis-that proud Italian

line,

The mother of a race of kings-the haughty Cathe

rine !

The forms that follow in her train, a glorious sunshine

make

A milky way of stars that grace a comet's glittering

wake;

But fairer far than all the rest, who bask on fortune's

tide,

Effulgent in the light of youth, is she, the new made

bride!

The homage of a thousand hearts-the fond deep love of

one

The hopes that dance around a life whose charms are but

begun,―

They lighten up her chestnut eye, they mantle o'er her

cheek,

They sparkle on her open brow, and high-souled joy

bespeak.

Ah! who shall blame if scarce that day, through all its brilliant hours,

She thought of that quiet convent's calm-its sunshine and its flowers.

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held

its way,

And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of even

ing lay;

And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes
Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.
No marvel that the lady wept,—there was no land on earth
She loved like that dear land, although she owed it not
her birth;

It was her mother's land, the land of childhood and of friends,

It was the land where she had found for all her griefs

amends,

The land where her dead husband slept-the land where she had known

The tranquil convent's hushed repose, and the splendours of a throne:

No marvel that the lady wept,-it was the land of France

The chosen home of chivalry-the garden of romance! The past was bright, like those dear hills so far behind her bark;

The future, like the gathering night, was ominous and dark!