impressed on it in indelible characters. The most experienced physiognomist would have been unable to detect in this noble face the expression of disorderly desires, but on the contrary might have discov ered the evidence of deep feelings and a lofty soul. It was not without a feeling of embarrassment and fear that he presented himself to the assembly. By the direction of the chamberlain he made a low reverence on entering the hall, a second when in the middle of the floor, and bowed his knee when permitted to approach the Pope. Sixtus gave him the apostolic blessing, ordered, as customary, a chaplet to be presented to him, and commenced the enquiry by asking him "What is your name?" He mentioned it. "What is your occupation?" The young man hesitating to reply, a prelate said "He is amanuensis of Signor Pandolfo Norsini, my neighbour." "Well,” said the Pope to the chamberlain, "let Signor Pandolfo be put to the question." "Stop," said the informer, "I am here for no other pur pose than to spare my master and the other accused persons the pain of the rack which none of them has deserved, for the guilty person is before you. I am he!" At the same time he opened a bundle of pa pers; here are Satires, Epigrams, exclusively my own work; here are the original papers; passages altered and improved with my own hand; no soul was acquainted with my secret; I myself fixed the Pasquinades to the statue. I speak nothing but truth, so help me God. I know not whether I have acted wisely, but having doomed myself to be judged by man, I shall submit to the consequences of an action, the honour or the shame of which I will share with none."

Sixtus the fifth, the most implacable and remorseless of all priests, did not disdain the pleasure of keeping his victims trembling in his grasp. Accomplished in the art of dissimulation, he knew how to conceal the most irksome vexation; and we need not be surprised if, after describing the enormity of the crime in a laboured speech full of fine sentences, he succeeded in kindling in the breast of the unfor tunate young man a spark of hope with no other intention than to render more painful the blow he was about to inflict. He had pledged his most sacred word, that if the guilty should name himself, not only should he receive the reward of 2000 pistoles, but that his life also should not in the least degree be endangered. As for the 2000 pistoles our poet refused them, but his life he accepted it as a boon ; prepared to lose it, he received it back with heartfelt delight. Life is sweet at the age of twenty-three; it is doubly sweet when poetry touches all around us with its magic wand, and every object breathes the language of love, and all flushes with life, when we still trust the word of man, on the face of woman. His life, which he felt as given to him a second time by the hand of God was for him a boon which filled his heart with the utmost exultations of joy. Tears of joy rushed down his cheeks, and his proud heart was subdued in gratitude and repentance. Noble and generous youth! couldst thou believe in the sincere forgiveness of a priest? Looking with secret remorse on the late productions of his satirical pen, he was about to bend his knees in thanksgiving, when Sixtus uttered his terrible sentence. "I have promised you life, but never impunity. To spare the head of a libeller or of a murderer, and thus allow them to do more mischief, would be to act in the teeth of humanity and justice. Is it

enough to have broken the pen or the dagger? Were they the true instruments in the perpetration of the crime? Are there not other pens and daggers to be had? No! the spirit, the mind alone is the criminal. You may deprive the wretch of his liberty, but are you sure that the wicked fruit of the mind will not break forth through the walls of a dungeon. Therefore the body must not be incarcerated, but the spirit. Is that your opinion?" A few heads bowed assent; but the Pope, sure of his red-caps' submission, did not pay any attention to it, and went on: "Thus then we pass our irrevocable sentence:-that tongue which spoke against us slanderous and damnable words shall be cut out with the knife; the hand which wrote them down, and the hand which was instrumental in posting them up, shall be both cut away, and nailed on Pasquino's statue. Thus the spirit of this man, his spirit sweltering with poison, shall henceforth become a weapon harmless to all but himself."

Sixtus rose; the cardinals in silent horror gazed on the terrible man whom they had elected their chief, and in the distant part of the hall, prelates and divines whispered to one another; some glancing timidly on the poet, others doubting whether legal forms had been infringed, or whether the execution would be public. The officiating chamberlain ran through the hall in all directions, delivering and receiving messages; and in the meanwhile the tale of woe and horror had transpired abroad. The condemned stood motionless as if entranced. A cold perspiration ran down his forehead, while his limbs were quivering. One while he cast round a glance, struggling, as it were, to awake from a heavy dream. He clasped his hands and touched the chaplet with his lips, while his whole frame was convulsed: but suddenly grasping his light cloak which lay on his shoulders, he wrapped himself up with the fearful looks of a man who is ready to receive the pointed dagger in his breast. Sixtus was just in the act of descending from the Estrada to leave the assembly, when a piercing shriek, a woman's voice, was repeatedly heard through the palace. This moanful, heart-rending voice instilled a shuddering into the hearts of all present. Sixtus himself was struck and stopt at the first utterance of the shriek; the unhappy youth lifted up his head, a fearful paleness overspread his countenance; he listened for some time to this voice, which becoming fainter died gradually away; now it was heard no more. His foot struck furiously the ground, he raised his hand towards the Pope, as if commanding him to stop. He. darted towards. him a glance in which rage and contempt were mingled, indicating to all who could read it, that now he would fling his curse on the cruel hoary man; but the fearful battle of his feelings had subdued his powers; his quivering lips refused to give utterance to one word. Sixtus, the cardinals respectfully following behind, walked out with a firm composed step; and the wretched youth, overpowered by the raging tempest in his breast, fell senseless into the arms of-the executioner.

280

THE TRYSTING STONE.

A FRAGMENT.

BY D. J. LIETCH.

BESIDE the ruin'd chapel-in the dell

There stands an aged hawthorn, spreading wide
His moss-grown branches:-in the summer time
He sheds a shower of white and withered blossoms
On a stone seat beneath-THE TRYSTING STONE.
There in the olden time the holy men

Who dwelt within yon grey and mouldering walls,
Would oft retire in the cool evening hour,
By sweet and pensive contemplation led.
But they are gone: their temples are cast down,
Their altars desecrated, and their faith
Become the scorn and by-word of the world.
Alas! that men should for Religion's sake
Nourish and vent upon their fellow men
The savage passions which she bids them quell!-
Amid the wreck of the old chapel's splendour
This little seat remains: there many a scrawl,
Cut in the stone, of lover's names entwin'd,
Trac'd by the trembling hand of passionate love,
Are fading fast away. Three centuries
Have pass'd since first the Trysting Stone became
The haunt of youthful lovers :-ah! since then
What a sad wreck of all the loves it witness'd!
Death has slain Love in many a burning bosom ;
And Time has conquered many :-some have felt
The fearful pangs of Jealousy succeed

To the fierce passion of their headlong youth ;-
Most have sunk down into the apathy

Which waits all early joys;-some have been faithless :-
I've a brief tale of such an one to tell.

Beneath yon little plot of darkest green,
Near the old carved gateway of the chapel,
There is a lovely grave:-a rich laburnum
Flings down its shower of gold upon the turf-
So fall the purity and joys of youth!—
'Tis Ellen Beaumont's grave: she fixed her love
Beneath her own degree: gentle he seem'd,
And he was fair and tall, and in his speech
Youthful enthusiasm seem'd to breathe

Its truthful music;-ah! well might she deem-
So well he play'd his part-that he was true.
But Henry Sitwell had a sordid soul,

So wed to base ambition-avarice-
And lust of power, that he did hold affection
But as a minister to these desires.

And so it was, that rising in the world—

(The busy world-whose cares like thorns do spring
Choking the sweet and dewy flower of Love!)
He did forget his plighted vows to Ellen.
She saw his growing coldness, and she felt
Its gradual distinctness grasp her heart,
Crushing its hopes and impulses to dust!
Yet scorned she to complain ;-for well she knew
That Henry never could have been to her

What her young, fond, and spotless heart had deemed.
She mourn'd not then for him; 'twas the fair dream
Of bliss and love, which beautified her youth,
Gone-lost and withered, ne'er to spring again,
Which told her, earth was not a resting-place
Fit for her pure desires and impulses.
She died and as I've seen a prison'd bird
Pour such a flood of plaintive melody,

As made the heart ache with a strange emotion,
The night before it died, so 'twas with her:
The whole day long, she sat upon her couch
Weaving flow'r chaplets, roses, lilies,-pale
And perishing flowers of every form and hue
Mingled in sweet confusion, and as she went on
With her strange delicate work, she sang such strains
Of ancient melody, that ne'er before

Her voice seem'd half so musical as then :-
'Twas in the evening; she fell asleep

Like a tired child,-fatigued and overspent.
Her sister spake to her she answer'd not :-
"Twas strange to see her smile so like to life-
Her own sweet, pensive life,-when she was dead!
A finish'd chaplet in one hand she held,
And in the other was a withered rose-bud

Which she had pluck'd from the fresh blooming flower.
'Twas strange and wond'rous sorrowful to see
That wither'd rose-bud in her slender hand,—
Herself a withered, pale and beauteous flower

Pluck'd from the fresh and blooming wreath of life!

ANOTHER BUNCH OF ORIGINAL ANECDOTES

"ONCE upon a time"-to commence with the introductory phrase of fairy tales and infantile romaunts" there lived" in a celebrated Anglo-Scoto borough an equally famous public character, alias common beggar, designated DANCIN' GEORDIE, cotemporary with a no less infamous dame, vulgarly called-for what reason we are not old enough to divine-MEGGY THE GOAT. The just mentioned matron inhabited a tenement in one of the remote lanes of the superlatively "good (?) town," and her domicile was resorted to at such untimeous 2 N

VOL. II.

82 ANOTHER BUNCH OF ORIGINAL ANECDOT ES.

hours, and by such questionable company, that both the house and hostess were evilly spoken of far and near. We may observe en passant that her notoriety was of an extent and kind to immortalize her name, at least to render it as abiding as Meggy-the-Goat Lane. Well, the aforesaid Geordie, whose wont it was to recommend his needful condition to the lieges by a pas seul-whence originated the above cognomen,- chanced to come to terms with Meggy anent the privilege of occupying a corner of her garret after his daily wanderings. Now, whereas George, though reckoned a fool, possessed a considerable share of mother-wit, being once questioned by an old country gentleman respecting the place of his habitation, gave for answer" the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." Bless me!' exclaimed Mr. I could not have supposed that you, George, who profess to be so religious, would fix your lodgment in the house of a woman so disreputable! I'm sure, you are well acquainted with her character?' 'Ou aye,' replied Geordie with apparently supreme simpli city; but you ken, the sheep an' the goats maun gang th'-gither for a time, Maister.' Suffice it to notify, that the sage pun was succeeded by a hearty laugh on the part of the auditor, and a substantial dinner to the credit of Geordie.

In the same borough abode Mrs. whose nearness and niggardliness were proverbial, notwithstanding she enjoyed a large share of this world's goods. One day, when engaged in some economical occupation, her ears were stunned by the unwelcome sound of "Serve a puir man, Ma'am !" Turning round to the intruder, she vociferated in hasteful wrath-(oh! shame upon the pen that records such dishonour to one of the fair!)- "Gang to h-l wi' you !"-The philosophical mendicant, no way daunted, coolly informed her-" I've been there already, Ma'am." Startled at the unexpected intelligence, our virago's curiosity was excited ;-"Aye, an' what's gain' on in that quarter?"— "Just what's gain' on here, Ma'am," answered the complaisant beggar, "the puir stand at the gates, an' the rich get far'her ben." hae," hurriedly spake the other, either conscience-stricken by the prospect, or unwilling longer to encounter a person with whom she could not successfully cope,-" hae, hae, there's a whin saut herrin' for ye." The man of rags bagg'd the spoil of his prowess, and with a "Thank ye, Ma'am," departed.

"Hae

A celebrated clergyman of the Scottish church was remarkable for a strong and inveterate antipathy to cats,-so much so, that his nervous system was excessively irritated whenever one of the race appeared in the same room with him. On a certain occasion, while holding a diet of examination at Mr. - 's farm-stead within the parish, one of the feline tribe entered the apartment where the family and servants were being catechized. The minister shook, but decency forbade him to complain. A few minutes elapsed: in popped puss the second; then a third; then a fourth; then a fifth; and lastly a sixth. The unhappy divine trembled from head to foot, and joyful to him was the concluding "Amen." Subsequently seated at the farmer's hospitable board, the worthy minister commenced-“ Mr. have surely a great number of cats in your house." "Ou, I dinna 'ken, I think we hae twal the noo." Reader! conceive, if thou canst, the ten-fold horror which followed this announcement. The reverend

you